#so figured I should cook from his book more

[diazpatcher]

7x09 my thoughts

"my resignation" WHAT BOBBY WHAT. this man needs extensive therapy bc why does he think he doesn't deserve good things.😭

Athena being the supportive wife she is. "Walking away from the 118" THOSE ARE YOUR KIDS

Edmundo noches is at it, with his ex dead wife's doppelganger 💀 the date is waaaaaaaaaaay to romantic for 2 people who aren't an official item.

Eddie baby no, you're not only emotionally cheating you are full on cheating bro 😭💀 pls let her be part of his mental breakdown.

Athena fighting for bobby even when bobby doesn't want to anymore:( Athena is such a great wife I can't fucking handle it.

Finally they talk about Bobby's struggles, of balancing his past and his present and the guilt he has😭 as much as I want retirement for the Grant-Nashes I don't want Bobby to leave 😭

Bobby is straight up evil, he wants to retire and before he does so, he takes care of every single person in his team "they're not the only kids you're raising Mother Hen"😭

BUCK is the Chef😭 BRO THE WAY HES ACTING MAKES ME THINK HES GONNA DIE😭

Buck and Eddie cooking together😭

Buck looking at Bobby the way a kid looks at their dad waiting for praise 😭 im not okay bro that whole sequence fucked me over. BOBBY😭 7 years😭 "here's to seven more" 😭 Their father son relationship makes me want to chew on glass 😭😭😭 "it's been my pleasure kid"

BUCK MEETS THE DOUBLE, OMG. THE WAY HIS FACE FELL😭 He is so fucking funny I can't 😭OH OH BUCK IS MAD. He used the Back door💀😭 The way he's trying to figure out if Marisol is still around lmao😭 "Eddie who's kim" HILARIOUS ACTUALLY. "Marisols my girlfriend, she just a friend" "a friend who's a dead wringer for your dead wife' OKAY BUCK😭 Buck has healed he is ready to confront and pull Eddie out of his ass. The way Eddie is trying to justify his actions, "does this poor woman know thay she is a carbon copy of your dead wife"

"Im worried about you" HUSBAND BEHAVIOUR 😭😭😭

The kids🥺🥺😭 Wilson-Han family is so special to me❤️ Chim knowing something is wrong with Bobby!!!

I knew that the Council woman was gonna be a bitch. I knew it.

I feel so bad for Kim. She got pulled into this mess it's insane. "But I'm not her" THIS POOR WOMAN. she knows Eddie just wants to replace Shannon with her 😭😭 heartbreaking. "which was not fair to you"

Hey anyways Eddie did that after buck talked to him even his break up with his ex wife's doppelganger is colored by the interactions with buck.

"I never meant to lead you on"

"but you did" 😭 "I guess she was the love of your life" STOPOP😭😭😭

Eddie should be talking about this with Frank 💀

"living happily in Florida with his husband" lmao💀 Okay either Amir is gonna help Bobby or he's gonna torch the place. oh he's gonna torch the place. right.

Mom and Dad are fighting 😭 oh god Athena is so desperate. She's trying so hard. "You're making your round to say goodbye" 😭 Athena still worrying about Bobby being suicidal. "And you're standing on the ledge of a building again, Bobby." 😭 I'm in shambles. somebody glue me back together.

Athena doesn't know about the Book...

"I threw it in the trash on the night of our first date." She gave him hope that he was worth something 😭.

Garica is a BITCH. idc what happened to her she's a bitch. Who is she to refuse Mara a home😭 just bc her idiot son refused treatment. They're ripping apart a family they don't give a shit. Fuck CPS. fuck those 2 especially. ripping Mara out of Karen's grasp what the fuck. Fuck this what the fuck.

WHAT. THE FUCK. IS KIM DOING. SHE GOT A HAIRCUT AND IS.WEARINF SHANNONS DR3SS???????? Eddie looks as horrified as I do. She's pretending to be Shannon IM GOING INSANE. Kim is so smart istg. "You have to let me go" 😭 She is doing the right thing but my god this is psychotic to watch 😭

Eddie finally FINALLy letting go of Shannon is so 😭 he deserves peace. Eddie breakdown era 2.0 let's go. he sounds like a little boy so scared and angry and hurt. CHRIS WALKING IN WITH MARISOL !!!

Bobby, Bobby??? bobby... oh. oh no. He is, he's drinking. Oh my god. he dreamed of his dad while HIS HOUSE IS ON FIRE. ATHENA!! he gets to save his family this time. BOBBY???? HE HAD A HEARTATTACK WHAT.

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #7x9 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911

[flintandpyrite]

Had time to cook so I made:

Pita breads

Jerusalem hummus (which is homemade hummus with garlic fried ground beef crumbles on top, you pour the beef over the hummus while it’s hot and scoop it up with the pita)

Twice-cooked eggplant, which is so elegantly simple I NEED to write up the recipe and share it, it’s maybe the best eggplant I’ve ever had (sorry, south indian eggplant curry I still love you) and only has a total of like 8 ingredients.

unfortunately I set off the fire alarm while cooking and could NOT get it to shut off for like an hour and cut my hand trying to disengage it :(. eventually maintenence had to come take the whole unit away because it would not shut up. so idk, you win some, you lose some. I also passed an exam worth 25% of my grade today so,,... can’t complain even though I am brain-meltingly tired. I did no homework today (see above, gigantic cooking project) but I feel like that’s ok and I’ll do some tomorrow.

#I was going to make Palestinian salad as well but the hummus recipe was actually kind of involved so I was pretty tired #and called it a night after finishing the beef #the hummus involved peeling an entire head of garlic and soaking it in 3/4 a cup of lemon juice #then blending it and letting it sit #THEN straining out the solids and using the garlic-lemon juice to make tahini sauce #AND THEN putting the tahini sauce in with the chickpeas #it was definitely the creamiest smoothest hummus I have ever made though so #worth it??? #idk #all recipes from #Zahav #by #michael solomonov #I got to go to his restaurant in philly in august and it BLEW ME AWAY #so figured I should cook from his book more #flintandpyrite recipe blog

[3seven-gambler]

#⌁꒰You using theiɾ shiɾt ; JJK men꒱

⋆ word count: 1276 ⋆ genre: fluff, suggestive. ⋆ includes: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, toji fushiguro. no specified pronouns. ⋆ a/n: this is my first writing in months, so bear with me pls(╥﹏╥) -~~~reminder that english is not my first language~~~

࿐♡Ꮐꮻꭻꮻ Ꮪꭺꭲꮻꭱꮜ

Gojo had -surprisingly- woken up before you after a rough night you both share. He put on some sweatpants and made his way into the kitchen, deciding on preparing breakfast for both of you. While he was making your favorite dish, he sensed a presence behind him.

-"Good morning, beautiful" he said while turning around to face you. -"How's my princess/prince doing?" he then took complete notice of your choice of clothing that morning, this being one of his shirts, which showed just enough of your body for him to go feral. He could see all the marks he had left the night before all over your tights, as well as some of the marks in your collarbones, marks for only him to see (along with some others that might be for the public eye).

-"Seems you like what you see" you said with a sleepy but teasing voice.

Satoru kept looking at you for a few more seconds. He dropped what he was doing and walked over you, grabbing your face softly with both of his hands. -"You look stunning" he said with a soft smile while giving you small pecks all over your face, and then he gave you a grin -"Maybe I should fuck you more often~"

-"Gojo this is the fifth time we do it in less than two days-"

࿐♡Ꮐꭼꭲꮻ Ꮪꮜꮐꮜꭱꮜ

Geto was reading a book while laying on the bed of your shared bedroom. He was patiently waiting for you to come out of the shower so both of you could cuddle for a while before preparing dinner.

-"Hey, sorry for making you wait" You suddenly say while opening the bathroom door.

Suguru drifts his eyes from the book to your figure, watching as you grab one of his shirts to put above your breath taking body.

-"Don't worry, my love, I don't mind waiting for you." He said while staring at you.

-"Is something wrong?" You said as you take notice of his staring.

-"Mh, no, not at all." He said smiling fondly at you.

You crawl into the bed and Geto leaves the book by his side, turning your way to hold you. You notice how he still has his eyes glued to you. Before you could ask again, he spoke.

-"Maybe I should toss all of your clothes and make you wear mine." he said while softly while caressing your tights. -"But at the same time, if you wear my clothes everyday, I don't think I could hold myself..."

࿐♡Nꭺɴꭺꮇꮖ Ꮶꭼɴꭲꮻ

For Nanami's dislike, he had to go home later than usual. It was Friday, meaning that you and him were going to spend time together. Every weekend you would spend time in each other's houses, and this time it was your turn to stay in Kento's house. He phoned you earlier, telling you that he was going to be late and saying how sorry he was. You brushed him off saying it was ok, that you would make dinner alone for you both. He told you it wasn't necessary, that he could grab some food on his way home but you insisted of making it yourself.

Later on, you went to his house. Opening the door with a spare key he had given you a while ago, you made your way inside. Before starting to cook, you went into Kento's bedroom to get change into more comfortable clothes, but noticed that you haven't brought your pajamas.

-"Oh, what should I use then?" you asked to yourself. You looked up and saw a pile of old shirts that your boyfriend usually uses in the comfort of his house. You smiled mischievously and grabbed the one he uses the most, and then you were ready to start making his favorite dish.

A few hours later, when dinner was almost done, you heard some noise coming from the front door. -"Y/N, I'm here" you heard your beloveds voice.

-"Kento! Hi! I'm in the kitchen!" You said happily.

Nanami quickly made his way into his kitchen where he was greeted not only with an amazing smell coming from the oven but with the most stunning view he had been waiting to see all day. You, all cute in his shirt. Wait, his shirt?

You took notice of this and said -"I'm sorry for this." You said grabbing a bit of the shirt -"I forgot my pajamas at my place so..." You couldn't finish since Kento's lips were on yours.

-"Move in with me." He says in a pleading yet mandatory way.

࿐♡ꮋꮖꮐꮜꭱꮜꮇꭺ ꮋꮖꭱꮻꮇꮖ

It was late. As it usually happends. And he knew. But he couldn't do much about it. Work has been more troublesome these recent weeks, and all Higuruma could think about was coming home to you. He was more than thankful to have found someone as patient as you, since this is not the first time he comes home late. As he goes inside the house, he calls your name, quickly making his way to the living room. His anxiousness calms down when he sees your angelic sleeping form, hugging a pillow as if your life depended on that. He lets out a soft chuckle and before waking you up he takes full notice of what you were wearing.

-"Of course you grabbed one of my shirts" he said smiling to himself. It isn't the first time he sees you in one, since you had asked him a few times before for his permission to wear one. But every time he sees you wearing his clothes, he gets giddy with excitement.

-"Hmm? Hiro?" You said almost in a whisper.

-"Hello baby, I'm home" He said sitting by your side.

You let go of the pillow you were hugging before and you sat on Higuruma's lap, hugging him instead.

-"I missed you" you said hiding your face against his chest.

-"I missed you too sweety, you have no idea how much I did" he said hugging you back.

࿐♡Ꭲꮻꭻꮖ 𝖥ꮜꮪꮋꮖꮐꮜꭱꮻ

He told you not to worry about the rain, since he was sure that it wasn't going to drop. The both of you had planned to go out on a date, but it seems that the weather had other plans for you.

-"I'm never trusting you with this again!" You said while running to his place.

All he could do was laugh. When you were both at the entrance of his flat he said -" 's just water, sweetheart"

-"I know that! But I'm all soaked wet and cold!" You said pouting.

-"Mhhm? Is that so?~" he purred into your ear -"I think I can help with that~"

You just push him away from you -"You can help me by giving my dry clothes" you said crossing your arms.

-"Whatever... You can grab something from there" he said pointing to his bedroom.

You went on and opened the wardrobe door. You were about to grab just one of his regular black t-shirt when you notice a white shirt hanging out there, being one of the only -if not the only- white piece of clothing there. You quickly changed and went over where your boyfriend was.

-"Are you going to take a bath?" You asked to get his attention.

-"Yeah, wanna jo-" he stopped talking as soon as he saw you -"Where did you find that?"

-"There" you said pointing to his bedroom as he had done before. -"Do I look good?" You said playfully smiling.

Toji felt no shame as he scanned you from head to toes. He suddenly grabbed you and tossed you on his shoulder. -"T-Toji?! What are you doing?! Put me down!"

"You, me, bath. Now." Is all what he said.

❥ 𝖱𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽. || 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖱𝖤𝖯𝖮𝖲𝖳/𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖲𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖤.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader #gojo fluff #geto fuff #gojo satoru fluff #kento nanami fluff #jjk reader insert

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

#time for Dracula Season pre-gaming :3 #thank you to everyone who sent in their suggestions! #dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula

[selineram3421]

*spaced out*

Courting Pursuit

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ (gn) gender neutral reader, mule deer reader, assuming alastor is a marsh deer, flustered alastor, Spanish translated, food mention-not specific, italics= thoughts, mentions of dismemberment ⚠

You had gotten Alastor's attention after that peck on the forehead.

It annoyed him though.

How dare some demon think to kiss him, the frightening Radio Demon, who slaughtered other Overlords to get to the top. He should be feared!

But after that day all you did was give him gentle smiles and what he assumes are compliments in Spanish. He's had to get a dictionary to translate them, not wanting to go to Vaggie every time.

After learning how to properly translate in his radio tower, he's left with a flushed face.

Damn that sleepy eyed deer- He huffs and tosses the book away.

Then he starts to notice more things about you. Mostly because he's trying to figure out a way to get you back for daring to touch him.

You look sleepy, almost all the time.

Noticing how strong you are when you lift one of the couches for Niffty to clean under it. How big your antlers are and how often you have to lower your head in order to enter a room without hitting your antlers on the door frame. Damn Angel for pointing out your big build and chest.

A button has shot out and broken a glass at the bar, the thread having finally snapped from the constant tension.

"Holy shit!", Angel laughed and turned to the white haired demon. "Hey vagina! You owe me a twenty!"

He learned the proper shirt size for you so that it wouldn't happen again.

Then he's noticed that you like to stand near him when given the chance. Sitting on the chair next to him when having dinner with everyone, sometimes following him to the bar, and then watching him cook.

It annoys him.

You still don't fear him.

Another night, another meal to be made and you're watching him cook again. The Radio Demon finally speaks up about your presence in the kitchen.

"If you aren't going to contribute in making the food, then leave.", he glances over his shoulder with a slight glare.

The mule deer stays leaning against the door frame for a second longer before pushing themselves off, walking over while rolling up their sleeves.

"Te ayudaré." (I will help you.)

It is quiet in the kitchen, save for the occasional ask for spices and other ingredients.

You are quite skilled with a knife.

He watches from the corner of his eye as you mince the vegetables.

After everything is done, you get the plates and set them down on the counter before starting to serve some the food one one of them.

"Who are you serving?", he questions.

You don't reply, instead you finish piling food on the plate before offering it to him with the same smile you always show him.

"Eat."

The Radio Demon was confused but took the plate anyway. It was the cook that ate last, it's always been that way.

"I don't really understand why you served me first. The others are in the dining room.", he said.

Before he could put his plate down, you stopped him and gave him a utensil.

"Please, eat. Has trabajado duro, así que come y relájate. Yo serviré.", you flashed another smile and gathered up the other food filled plates, balancing them on your arms as you made your way over to the door. (You have worked hard, so eat and relax. I will serve.)

He stood there as he watched you leave the room, taking a glance at the plate in his hands.

What exactly were you trying to do?

Later in the week, Alastor decided to pay a visit to Rosie and brought some food that you had made after finding out where he was going.

He sat on one of the arm chairs as the woman across from him complimented your food.

"I need advise for a problem."

The black eyed woman lifted a brow.

"You? Now this must be something good. You never ask for advise unless something has really stumped ya.", she said and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

"It's about that mule deer I brought with me last time, the hotel guest.", his smile strained slightly. "I don't understand why aren't scared of me like other sinners. Hell, even the Princess knows to be wary of me but the damn demon just smiles at me."

This gets her attention and she sits up a bit straighter.

"Go on.."

"Not only that, they dare to peck me on the forehead.", he looks away. "I hate that they aren't afraid. They sit close to me, compliment me, follow me around sometimes, helped me in the kitchen just a few days ago. Served me a plate even!", he raised a hand up in annoyance. "I've ripped demons apart in front of them but they still act so strangely around me! I don't understand! Why are they so odd!?"

Rosie laughs as she places her elbow on the arm rest, leaning her chin in the palm of her hand, wearing a knowing smile.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're being courted."

Alastor turned to look at his friend.

"A what now?"

You..courting him?

How absurd! Laughable even.

"Hahahaha!", he wiped a tear away. "I didn't think you'd make such a ridiculous joke, ha.."

The woman crossed her arms and stared him down with a look.

"Surely you jest.", he says.

Rosie sighs and stands from her seat. "Dear old friend, what are the ways to court or show interest in a person?"

"Ah..well. You know I've never-", he begins but is cut off.

"The most popular ways to court someone are to give the person of their interest compliments, attention, gifts, acts of service, and often treated in a respectable manner.", she lists off and she walks over to stand next to his chair. "And the oh so famous line of reaching a person's heart is through their stomach.", she says and pokes his mid section. "It sounds a lot like what that big darling deer is doing for you."

Alastor left, not knowing what else to say after his friend laid out the evidence so plainly for him to see. Once he arrived back at the hotel, he noticed the mule deer sleeping in the lobby on one of the couches.

"Everyone else is asleep in their rooms.", Husk spoke up fron the bar.

The spider demon is at the bar drinking a maroon liquid from a martini glass in his hand.

"Why are they..here?", the Radio Demon gestures to you.

"Said something about making sure to welcome you when you got back. I don't know why they'd want to though.", the cat demon serves himself a drink.

"Gentle Giant is real sweet, that's why.", Angel places his cup on the bar counter. "Damn, I'd want some hot demon to welcome me back home.", he says before leaning closer to the bartender. "Oh Husk~"

Husk just rolls his eyes and drinks his alcohol.

"They gotta sleep in their room. The couch is not that comfortable.", Husk mentions.

Not too long later, the two demons at the bar leave to go to their rooms to retire for the night.

Alastor now left with the task of waking you up.

He goes over and places a hand on your shoulder, beginning to shake you slightly.

"Wake up. You have to go to your room.", he says.

You slowly blink your eyes open and stare at him for a second. Then that soft dopey smile forms on your face.

"Bienvenido de nuevo.", you mumbled out. (Welcome back.)

". . . . . . . . ."

Shit.

He made sure you didn't hit anything on your way back to your room. Immediately walking away after your door closes to think over a few things.

Fun fact: Female deer can also have antlers but it is very rare and only occurs when there is a hormonal imbalance of testosterone/regulation issues.

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @wat4r @lustylita @sleep-7372 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

#mule deer reader #deer demon reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #x reader #gn reader #alastor x reader #mentions of dismemberment #flustered alastor

[fictionadventurer]

Hobbies need to be accessible. I believe that it’s becoming more and more important for people to have physical hobbies that create real things and develop real skills--giving people a sense of accomplishment and overcoming feelings of helplessness. But so often, it seems like even beginner-level instruction is aimed at making the entry barrier as high as possible.

I was reading this book where this guy argues that people should develop areas of “micromastery” when getting into a hobby. Find one small, achievable, but still impressive task to master, so you have a cool skill to show off (and the sense of accomplishment) without having to master an entire huge area of knowledge. Instead of learning to cook, learn to create a really good omelet. Instead of learning an entire new language, learn to count to ten. And then you have a knowledge base to help you if you want to explore further. Seems very common sense. Very accessible. Learning is for everyone, not just people who want to devote tons of time to a new hobby. But even that guy, in his instructions, keeps telling people to buy the most expensive equipment to have the best possible results. There’s even a point where he says “the more expensive, the better”!

That infuriates me. I am enraged. The guy who’s trying to make learning accessible to the masses is now saying this is the realm only of the rich! It’s telling people to buy into the marketing ploy that more expensive is automatically better! It’s absurd. It’s insane. There probably is equipment that improves the outcome of the final product, but it’s not necessarily the most expensive stuff, and you certainly don’t need the expensive stuff when you’re just starting out!

Yet, tutorials and craft books keep pushing this message. If you want to start drawing, you need an expensive sketch book and seven different pencils and different weights of pen, and the right eraser. If you want to bake, you have to have the best flours and the appropriate sourdough technique. If you want to knit, you better have the expensive yarn. That’s garbage, and it makes things more difficult than they need to be.

When you’re just starting out, you’re learning if you even like the activity. Do I like spending time drawing? Do I even like the process of knitting or woodworking or building model airplanes? It’s pointless to spend tons of money on good yarn only to find that you hate the process of knitting. Pointless to get the good pencils when the process of drawing makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

If you want to try something, just try it! As simply and cheaply as possible. Want to draw? Get a free pencil and a bit of notebook paper. Want to knit? Get a pair of knitting needles from the thrift store and some dollar store yarn. As you get deeper into the hobby, you’ll probably want to upgrade your supplies--but now that you know more about the process, you know what problems can be solved by better supplies.

I was always intimidated by bookbinding--the tutorials always talked about having the right glue and the right book press--until a guy in the comments said, “I use Elmer’s Glue and my laptop.” I could manage that! That was accessible! I got some glue and some big textbooks and made a book! Not perfect, but it wouldn’t have been perfect even if I had the fancy supplies--I was just starting out! And then I figured out that a paper cutter and some kind of tool to smooth the endpapers would be useful. So I got that--as cheaply as possible. I have made books and I have enjoyed it without a huge investment in time and money. And more tutorials need to take that approach. I refuse to believe that we have to give tons of money to the crafting industry. I refuse to believe that we have to be consumers in order to become creators.

#random thought of the day #crafting

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Comfort Zone

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Sirius Black x James Potter x Remus Lupin x Reader, Marauders x Reader

Characters:  Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2751

Summary: You and the boys go out of your comfort zone.

Tags/Warnings: PolyMarauders, Marauders, F/M/M/M, Post Hogwarts, Maraduers Era, Poly, Kissing, Angst, Fluff, Arguing

Notes: I am trying to get the other evans girl finished but the ideas wont stop and I have no self control x

MASTERLISTS // TAG LIST

‘You know he’s going to say no right?’ Remus said, watching you as you pulled the pie from the oven and placed it on counter top. James looked up from where he was lounging on the sofa, laughing as you scowled.

‘You don’t know that,’ you countered, moving to grab the potatoes that were near spilling over.

‘I know Padfoot,’ Remus said, placing his book down. 

‘We all know Padfoot Moony,’ James said rolling his eyes before he clambered out of his seat and came towards you, his hand dancing along your waist as he watched you cook.

’Exactly,’ you said, ‘and I know that he can be persuaded.’

‘What by a good meal,’ Remus said with a raised eyebrow, coming towards you too, resting his elbows on the counter as he eyed the pair of you. 

‘By a good meal and dessert,’ you mused. James chuckled, ‘she might have a point there.’

‘All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up,’ Remus said softly watching as your face fell in a frown, not relieved by James touch as he kissed your temple. 

‘Moonys right sweetheart,’ James said softly. You looked at him, worried that the hopes you’d pinned on this might’ve been in vain.

‘It’ll be fine,’ you said unsure who you were trying to convince, ‘I’ll make a good case for it you know me.’

The boys shared a look as you busied yourself obliviously thinking over the game plan as you finished dinner. You were just finishing up dolloping mash potatoes onto each of their plates when the fire in the living room glowed green, Sirius stepping out not a moment later. 

‘Hey,’ he said, shrugging his leather jacket off and coming towards you, placing a kiss on your temple as he said, ‘something smells good.’

‘I made your favourite,’ you said, gesturing to the steak and ale pie on the counter top, ‘pop it on the table will you. Dinner will only be a minute.’

‘How about that for service eh Pads?’ James ribbed, taking his seat at the table as did Remus with Sirius joining a moment later, placing the pie in the centre. 

‘Can’t complain,’ he mused as you placed their plates down, dropping into a seat yourself as Remus started to dish out the pie you’d made. 

It was quite the squeeze, your tiny kitchen feeling even tinier with the four of you around the table, but you loved it like this. It hadn’t been the plan of course; James and Sirius had moved in once leaving school and as your relationship developed you and Remus had sort of never left but you wouldn’t trade it. Even if it meant you had to run your wants and needs by everyone you loved, something you were building up to ask about but as Sirius looked at you your nerve went and instead you said ‘so how was work?’

‘Fine,’ Sirius said, ‘got a good case today.’

‘Yeah?’ you asked.

‘Yeah apparently there’s been quite a few dragon eggs smuggled into the country. Don’t know where from yet of course but should be interesting.’

‘That is interesting,’ you said, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back around.

‘What about you?’ Sirius asked, taking a bit of pie. 

‘Oh you know not much,’ you shrugged, ‘got the flat tidy.’

‘Just you?’ Sirius said looking at James who hadn’t been paying attention until then but glared at the inference. 

‘It’s my day off,’ James protested. 

‘Your day to be a lazy git,’ Sirius teased and though you knew he was joking there was an edge to it that you frowned at especially when James pretended to shrug it off. It was funny to you how your roles within this little thing could be defined so quickly. How even though Sirius had no more a claim over you than the others he was still so certain to make sure you weren’t being taken advantage of, the one you turned to when you needed help. How James was your relief, the one who kept your spirits up, who made you laugh even if he couldn’t make a bed or pick up a pair of socks to save his life. And Remus was the one you shared your worries with. The one who made you feel heard and seen in a house full of boys.  

‘Rem helped when he got back,’ you said reassuringly. 

‘See,’ James said,’ besides I thought you wanted practice looking after something I’m just giving you opportunity.’

‘Why would she want that?’ Sirius asked confused. 

‘No reason,’ you said far too quickly to ever be casual. You’d been gearing up to ask but seeing the conversation teetering on a row you’d decided to postpone until James opened his big mouth. Sirius’ eyes narrowed.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ you lied, ‘I mean I don’t know what he’s on about.’

‘Sweetheart,’ Sirius said, his voice low and daring. You looked to James and Remus to find them interested in their meals, no help to you even as Sirius said, ‘alright what’s going on?’

‘Well,’ you said nervously, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Why what’s wrong?’ Sirius asked worriedly.

‘Nothing bad,’ you said placing your hand on his reassuringly.

‘Jesus mate lighten up,’ James teased. Sirius rolled his eyes but elected to ignore him, his gaze falling on you as he said, ‘what is it love?’

‘It’s just well I’ve been thinking,’ you said.

‘What about?’ Sirius asked.

‘Well about us,’ you said bashfully, ‘about this little thing we’ve got going on.’

‘Right,’ Sirius said dubiously.

‘And I was just thinking that it might be nice if we expanded a little,’ you said meekly.

‘Expanded?’ he asked, thoughts whizzing visibly behind his eyes. 

‘Yeah,’ you said. 

‘Like someone else?’ Sirius asked glancing at James and Remus before back at you. 

‘No, no of course not. I don’t want anyone else but you lot you know that,’ you said, squeezing his hand. That appeared to trigger something as he said, ‘you’re pregnant?’

‘What?’ you and James baulked, with Remus inhaling a piece of broccoli at the same time which made him cough and splutter as you protested, ‘no of course not!’

‘Well what else could it be?’ Sirius protested, glancing at Remus to make sure he was okay before his eyes went back to you.

‘Not that Jesus,’ James huffed, thumping a still watery eyed Remus on the back to help dislodge the issue. 

‘Well excuse me for jumping to conclusions when you’re obviously all in on whatever this is,’ Sirius said irritably, gesturing between the three of you.

‘That’s cos we won’t say no,’ James countered.

‘I never said yes,’ Remus said, his voice still weak as he glugged down a drink of water.

‘Yes to?’ Sirius asked.

‘I want a kitten,’ you said quickly realising there was no point beating around the bush anymore given the anarchy that had already been caused. 

‘What?’ Sirius asked as if he hadn’t heard you.

‘A kitten,’ you reiterated, ‘I was thinking about it and don’t you think a little-’

‘No,’ Sirius said flatly.

‘But-’ you protested but he waved you off stating, ‘you know I hate cats.’

‘You don’t know that,’ you said.

‘Yes I do,’ he said firmly.

‘How do you know?’ you pressed, ‘I mean you might do.’

‘I don’t,’ Sirius said, his tone challenging you not to talk back to him. As if this was the end of the discussion, but you weren’t done.

‘You don’t know that you just think you do because-’

‘He’s a dog?’ James finished.

‘Because you’ve never been around them!’ you corrected, ‘but I think it’ll be really good-’

‘What to have it scratching everything up and shitting in a box in the corner?’ Sirius scoffed.

‘We can let it go outside,’ you offered.

‘In the middle of a city yeah right,’ he said shaking his head. 

‘Oh Pads please,’ you begged.

‘I said no,’ Sirius said firmly.

‘Oh go on mate,’ James sighed. Sirius glowered at him, as he started, ‘just because you’re bendable to whatever she wants-’

‘Because I want her to be happy,’ James challenged.

‘Because you like pissing me off and being her favourite,’ Sirius said making James scowl. 

‘Pads please,’ you pleaded. 

‘I said no,’ he said pulling his hand out from under yours as he started to eat again. Irritated you looked away from him, looking to Remus who’s remained quiet even though he had been watching.

‘Please Rem?’ you asked.

‘I don’t know love,’ he said.

‘Come on majority rules. James said yes-’

‘James would say yes to anything that would get your top off,’ Sirius muttered.

‘And you wouldn’t?’ James scoffed; Sirius’ digs seemingly having gone too far to be just light hearted teasing. A sentiment that was confirmed as Remus, the nominated peacemaker, said, ‘lads stop it.’

Unfortunately he hadn’t said anything about you and so you looked to Sirius and challenged him, ‘okay what about a baby then?’

‘What?’ Sirius gawped.

‘See kitten isn’t as mad as that,’ you challenged.

‘She’s got a point,’ James said, making you smile smugly that you still had him on side.

‘She doesn’t have any point she’s being ridiculous!’ Sirius snapped.

‘I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one who won’t even hear me out I mean did you even wonder why I want one?’ you challenged. As the boys looked at you silently you continued, ‘I want a kitten because I want something for me. Something that’s just mine that I don’t have to share with anyone. Now I’m not saying I hate what we have going I love you all you know that. I just like our little home; I think we make it really lovely and you take such good care of me I just want something to love besides you three.’

All three of them remained silent, staring at you. When none of them spoke the weight of your words started hitting you, your vulnerability and longing now feeling more like a weakness rather than strength, as if you were in the middle of the ocean surrounded by three sharks. 

‘Fine,’ you huffed as your embarrassment caught the better of you, slamming your fork down and standing up.

‘Oh come on don’t get in a strop,’ Sirius scoffed, throwing his own utensils down.

‘Babe come on,’ James said tugging at your sleeve though you yanked it from his grip.

‘Pads is right let’s not fall out over something silly,’ Remus said, and though his was the nicest tone of the three of them it was that which made you see red.

‘Oh so I’m being silly now?’ you snapped, ‘when you won’t even contemplate doing something a little out of your comfort zone.’ 

‘You know I don’t like them,’ Sirius reasoned weakly.

‘Yeah you’ve made that clear I just thought I’d mean enough to try something you don’t like,’ you said curtly, throwing him a glare as you added, ‘I mean haven’t we all gone out of our comfort zone.’

‘That’s not the same,’ Sirius scoffed.

‘Isn’t it?’ you challenged.

‘You know it isn’t,’ he replied darkly. 

‘Feels like it’s one rule for the boys one for me,’ you said firmly. 

‘Babe you it’s not like that you know it’s not,’ James said softly. Sirius however didn’t seem to be caving, his jaw clenched at the accusation. 

‘Look,’ he started.

‘You know what forget it,’ you snapped, pulling away from the table and slamming your chair under it no doubt knocking a couple of knees as you did not that anyone complained. In fact the other boys looked worried, Remus especially as he said, ‘aren’t you going to eat your dinner?’

 ‘I’m not hungry,’ you lied, storming off to your bedroom, the door slamming behind you.

As James and Remus looked towards Sirius they found him on his feet too, grabbing his coat from where he’d hung it and shrugging it on. 

‘Mate come on,’ Remus grumbled. Sirius ignored him, heading to the fireplace.

‘Where are you going?’ James asked, turning so that he could see him.

‘Out,’ Sirius said and before they could protest he disappeared through green flame. 

✵✵✵

‘I still don’t think they’re good together,’ James said, his voice rumbling against your belly where his head was resting, your fingers running through his messy locks soothingly.

‘I don’t mind them,’ you said, trying not to giggle and tease him about the fact he’d maintained he had no interest in watching the soap you were currently watching.

‘Hmm,’ he muttered neither in agreement nor rebuttal. 

Before you could say anything though the door clicked open, making him lift his head from your stomach, and Sirius appeared in the doorway. Though James had been on your side, telling you how he agreed Sirius was being unreasonable he straightened up, no doubt aiming to be peacemaker as he said, ‘hey mate.’

‘Hey,’ Sirius said hesitantly, frowning as you refused to look in his direction. Nevertheless he cleared his throat and continued, ‘can I borrow you for a minute?’

‘Uh yeah sure,’ James said scrambling off you though as Sirius threw him a look James said, ‘oh you don’t mean me.’

You glanced their way for a fraction of a second before turning your attention back to the screen, thankful neither of them saw it. Sirius sighed and leant on the door frame, ‘are you still not talking to me?’

‘Are you still being selfish?’ you replied, your eyes still ahead, arms folded across your chest.

‘Guys,’ James sighed.

‘No actually,’ Sirius said cutting him off and earning a scoff from you. With a sigh he walked forward towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of it as he said, ‘would you just come into the living room? Please?’

You watched him for a moment, his grey eyes pleading with you in a way that made your heart thump. It was enough to make you let your guard down as you sighed and said, ‘fine.’ 

He climbed up before you heading to the door with you and James following him out into the living room. You were still miffed at him but more annoyed at yourself for being so malleable when it came to any of them playing on your heart strings. 

‘Now I understand if you don’t like it but there wasn’t much I could do at this time of night,’ Sirius said, turning to face you. Your gaze skimmed the living room, clocking Remus who was sitting on the couch but nothing that gave you any clues as to what he was talking about. As he watched you his face grew nervous.

‘Well?’ he asked, still you weren’t sure but before you could ask him what the hell he was on about you heard a little mewling chirp. Your eyes immediately flew in the direction of the noise where you found a tiny kitten trotting around on Remus’ lap, tiny claws clinging from his jumper as it threw itself about.

‘Oh my god!’ you squealed, racing forward to scoop the tiny little thing off of Remus’ lap. It wriggled about in your arms as you fawned over it.

‘Hi sweetheart, oh my god, hi, hi,’ you cooed, cuddling it to you, ‘oh my god aren’t you cute!’

‘It’s a good job he is otherwise he’d be long gone given how many times he’s scratched me on the way over here,’ Sirius grumbled, making you look up from your fit of fawning.

‘Aw sweetie do you not like the big doggy,’ you teased, earning a mew from the tiny black kitten in your arms. 

‘And yet he’s been awful fond of the big bad wolf,’ Sirius joked earning a chuckle from you all. You smiled and decanted the kitten into Remus’ arms so that you could go to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he held you to him, a smirk playing on his lips.  That was also the beauty of your relationship, whenever you did argue or disagree about something it never lasted long.

‘Hi,’ he said, moving a strand of hair from your face.

‘Hi,’ you replied.

‘Did I do alright?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘Sirius this is amazing,’ you whispered, ‘thank you so much.’

‘Yeah well it’s good to get out your comfort zone I suppose,’ he shrugged. 

‘You might be right,’ you said, leaning in to kiss him tenderly, ‘are you sure we just want one?’

‘Don’t push it,’ he mumbled into your lips. 

SIRIUS BLACK TAGS

@caitlin1996

#my writing #comfort zone #poly marauders #Sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x james potter x remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #marauders era fic #marauders #marauders fic #harry potter fic #hp fic

[astaroth1357]

Oh God, What Have We Done??: Father!Belphegor Headcanons

You know, I was going to write this for Simeon, and I still might, but Belphie lost the Dad poll and I must right an injustice when I see one.

Content: Somehow incredibly fluffy with Big Happy Family vibes; mostly meme fodder

~♡♡♡~

I refuse to believe this could have been planned. No person in their right mind is going to look at Belphie and go, "Oh yeah. That's some real good father material right there!" Belphegor wouldn't even say that to himself.

Either a condom broke, a pill was skipped, or some orphaned demon child imprinted on these two like a baby duck and followed them home. Either way, NO ONE wanted this, but it's happening.

Belphegor's reaction to realizing that he's a Dad:

Everyone else's reaction to realizing Belphegor is a Dad:

Beel's reaction to realizing that he is an Uncle:

But seriously though, Beel is the only one with any kind of unwavering faith that his twin can pull this off. Never doubts him for a second and never will.

Everybody else though....? Well. Satan is already cleaning out the local libraries of their parenting books, Asmo's searching Mommy blogs, and Lucifer keeps staring off into the middle distance like he's questioning every single life decision that has brought them to this point. Fear is rampant, despair is on high.

The biggest worry is that Belphegor is going to leave MC more or less high and dry. He's not exactly known to be a "go-getter" when times are tough and though he has his soft side, sure, no one would call it particularly "nurturing."

Diavolo and Barbs weren't even sure if they should announce the news to the realm. Of course one of the Lords of the Hell having an offspring is a pretty big deal but under these circumstances...

What if it was treated like a joke by the populous? Painting a target for ridicule on Belphie and MC's backs had to be the LAST thing anybody wanted...

Even Belphegor, in a pretty heartbreaking moment of self-reflection, tried to convince Beel to take over for him instead. Not to shirk the responsibility, but out of pure acknowledgement that he would make the better father between them...

Beel, of course, was not having this for a second. And you know what? Everyone would do well to listen to the wisdom of Beel! Because he knew instinctively something that everyone else had conveniently forgotten-

No matter the circumstances, Belphie's kid was a part of the family. And that meant that they, the MC, and even Belphie himself were never going to be doing this alone.

And that fact was proven quickly enough when every member of the family, extended or otherwise, stepped up to lend a hand.

Levi and Mammon took it on themselves to go out and buy whatever baby items they needed and seemingly came in every day with handfuls upon handfuls of bottles, baby gates, socket covers, and TOYS (literally so many toys. They bought more toys than diapers).

Lucifer and Asmo set to work on renovating a nursery/kid's room almost immediately. The eldest had the plans drafted within a week of the news while Asmo buried MC and Belphie in paint swatches and magazine catalogs for the walls and decor.

Satan roped Beel in to help him train Belphegor to be a little less lazy and more attentive to the MC and the baby. Even going so far as to curse a baby monitor to sound like fog horn to him and only him if the kid began to cry.

The angels chipped in with gifts and free offers to babysit (mostly from Simeon, but Luke is already eyeing the little one like a baby sibling and is protective as such).

Solomon uh... Well Solomon offered to cook MC whatever they wanted through the pregnancy at first, but when that got a HARD veto he switched to just giving HoL a touch of magic baby proofing. Nobody can figure out how to get under the kitchen sink anymore, but that means the baby won't either!

And, of course, despite Belphegor not liking him much, Diavolo is probably the BEST psudeo-uncle a kid could have. He's already sent Barbatos out to curate the best baby food and Lucifer is training him on how to hold infants properly so he can take turns being babysitter with Simeon.

As a father... Belphie isn't perfect. He did whine more than a few times about no longer being the "baby" everyone doted on. A couple times, he may even act just as childish as his kid...

But in the moments late at night when he's rocking them in his arms, dead tired from being awake for hours but determined to make sure they sleep first...

Or when he's walking around the House with them tucked to his chest because they'll never cry if he holds them.

How he pays attention to every little thing that interests them so he can craft each of their dreams more exciting than the last...

Or how he, more than any of the others, knows what a precious treasure it is to be with those you love since you never know when they'll be gone...

He'll do alright. With the love and support of everyone else, their child will have everything they need...

As long as they don't turn out as spoiled as he is 💀

#tales from the drafts #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me headcanons

[randombush3]

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

words: 11455 (SORRY THERE WAS A LOT TO FIT IN)

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks part two x

content warnings: it’s gets a little sad but tbh the next part is the one you should be worried abt 🤘

notes: this one covers 2017-2019. i apologise if it’s a bit jumpy because if i covered EVERYTHING you’d be sat here reading for days. also, this part was so slow to be finished because i abandoned it for ages and only just decided i should probs get to finishing it. the next part is the last one!

It’s about three months later, and there is not a silence that can’t be filled with the sound of Alexia’s voice. You don’t know how to prove this, because you leave none to be filled, instead seeking to occupy every spare second granted by your tour schedule to call her, to text her; to talk to her. 

You spend your nights on balconies all over the continent. Your smoking habit is worsening but the excuse of getting some fresh air to do so is a perfect way to weasel yourself out of parties and clubs and late-night chats with your friends. You much prefer to spend your time finding out more about the woman you quickly become obsessed with. She often verbalises her disdain for your disregard for your lungs – something that transcends the language barrier with an overwhelming clarity – but she is glad that you are talking to her either way.

A few times, you go as far as to hop on a secretly booked flight. You never step outside the airport, leaving Barcelona very much stamped in your passport but not on your list of places you have explored, but Alexia is more than content to pursue your hooded figure as you lead her into hidden corners of the arrivals lounge she begins to associate with the racing feeling in her heart when she sees you. Kissing against walls and on hard airport seats is not what feeds most budding romances, but you don’t care. You happily fly to her whenever you have a spare five minutes, and she is more than content to make the time spent physically together worthwhile.

The tour is nearly over. Five shows in three weeks, and then you can traipse back to London to fight off the delayed hangover in the comfort of your own home with meals cooked by your parents to keep you going. One of the worst things about being on the road is the food (or lack thereof), and your athlete gi… Alexia, is unimpressed with your nutrition. You find that she does not agree with most of your lifestyle, yet she seems captivated by it; like she is discovering a different, scarier world, and she can’t close her eyes.

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

She has enough dread for the event to have communicated it far more efficiently than usual, with most conversations needing to be doubled in length to get past the all-too-familiar grunts of unrecognition. The streets of Barcelona are filled with whispers of a women’s league, and she is unsure of the pressure that is starting to grow on her shoulders. A birthday is inconvenient, she claims, though you only laugh. 

You tell her about Virgil – she knows you love him, she knows you love most things to do with him – and his famous quote. “Labor omnia vincit,” you say, finding it ironic that you are only able to talk to her right now because you skipped out on soundcheck and a run-through with the backup dancers. “Work conquers all. It reminds me of you.” 

Her lilting Spanish laughter fades as she actually thinks about it. 

“Es verdad,” Alexia replies, and you are glad to understand. “Quiero ser la mejor del mundo así que ‘labor omnia vincit’.” 

“You’re speaking Latin with a Spanish accent.” 

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

It hasn’t settled in Alexia’s mind that you, who calls her whenever you can because you miss her opinions and her jokes and the face that you can picture when she speaks, are the same person as the one she sees on Jenni’s phone as the team crowds round the screen to watch a viral video from your concert last night. 

“A birthday present for you, eh, Ale?” Jenni jests, clinging on to Alexia’s admission months ago about her crush on you. She doesn’t know about the reality of it all. No one does, as of yet. 

“Who puts them in these outfits?” asks Leila, mildly outraged at the bedazzled lingerie you’d been dressed in. “There’s nothing to them! They might as well go on stage naked.” 

“It’s fine. They get hot while they’re performing anyway,” Alexia dismisses, not wanting to delve into your issues with your stylist. Well. Her issues with your stylist, who seems to not care about dignity or have any faith in the world’s imagination. (That, and Alexia is not sure she likes this idea of sharing, though she is aware that nothing defines you as hers.)

“Oh, did they tell you that themselves?” She glares at Jenni, and shoulders her way out of the huddle. It’s not Jenni’s fault that her mood has been easily soured, because tomorrow is Alexia’s birthday and then, the next day, she has to get to Madrid for her national camp. The Euros later this year is going to be in the Netherlands, and her dreams for her country are currently far-fetched. It hurts, and you’re well aware of her misery.

In fact, you are so aware that you are on a flight from Oslo on the fourth of February. It’s too special a day to miss. You have once again abandoned soundcheck. 

Alexia receives a text as she slides into her mother’s old car, considering flinging the device out of the window at one of her teammates’ heads after they sang to her at training without the mercy of letting her forget that she is one year closer to the end of her career. At this rate, the career will be full of wasted potential. She is in a terrible mood about it. 

And then she looks at her phone. 

You have really tried to up your game with the Spanish of late, enlisting the help of a private tutor who Skypes you twice a week with new phrases and grammar that mildly resembles that of a dead language you carry more than a passion for. 

You: Estoy aquí!

The only thing she can think to do is slam her index finger on the call button of your contact, nail bending painfully on the glass of the screen. 

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

She drives at an embarrassingly desperate speed, because just over a week is too long a separation and her day has been awful and there is something so magnetic about your presence that she would be going against nature to do anything other than find you. Obviously, find you she does: right in the arrivals lounge, same black hoodie as always disguising your identity. It’s not any busier than usual, and you catch sight of her the minute she pushes her way to the front of the crowd of expectant faces. 

With a weary grin, you walk towards her, and she knows that this game is only temporary. There will be privacy close by, and you can speak then. 

She turns with a nod, and you follow as she takes the usual route, but suddenly there are fingers intertwined with her own and you are stopping her in front of everyone. 

“Feliz cumpleaños,” you say with a pronounced failure and a hilariously concentrated expression. Alexia giggles, and the storm cloud above her dissipates, but the kiss she wants to press to your lips will have to wait. There’s somewhere empty just around the corner, and she tugs your hand to get you to come with her – to match the same haste she has – but you don’t. “Al coche. So we can go to your casa.” 

Her eyebrows raise. 

“It’s your birthday,” you explain, stepping towards her so that the people around you see a couple instead of two women walking in a vague direction. Alexia swallows, body tingling at your proximity. Her body always tingles when you stand near her like this. “It’s your birthday, so I am here for the night. My flight is tomorrow.” 

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

Alexia does not even remember what it’s like to be miserable. She is set alight by your presence, by your lips, your hands, your soft greeting that you whisper in her ear when she pulls away to drive you to her flat. It’s a new place, and she is free from the fuss of her mother. 

You smile when she pulls you out, taking your bulging handbag in one hand and grasping yours with the other, and she kisses that smile as she presses you against the mirror in the lift. The bag hits the floor with a thud, your overnight things spilling out because of her carelessness, but you pay the rolling Dior lipstick no mind, too caught up in the way her tongue swirls in your mouth. How her hands grip your waist. 

She’s stronger than last time. She gets stronger every day: she is going to be the best footballer in the world. She is dedicated to her sport. 

Your palms travel up the back of her t-shirt, cold from the metal you’d previously had them pressed against. Alexia flinches as your fingers brush a particular spot, the skin there slightly raised. 

“¿Que pasó?” you ask, head tilted to the side as she draws back, panting. “Are you hurt?”

She examines your eyes. Deeply inquisitive. Full of something that may resemble love in the future. 

Alexia smiles – an expression that she wears mostly when she is thinking about you. You watch as she turns around, the lift jerking to a halt as if to hurry up her slow movements. As she lifts up her t-shirt, you eye the tattoos you are aware decorate her back. There are going to be more someday, she has always been clear about that. 

And, oh. 

You’re not usually so attached. Alexia, it’s apparent, is a complete exception.

She asks you if you like it. You lean forward, and kiss the four words (she must have researched the quote, because you excluded the last when you mentioned it), tongue running over the redness as if you are going to heal the irritation. She moans quietly, more surprised than anything else. 

“Do I get the credit for it?” She shakes her head, which you catch in the mirror opposite, and, before you can voice your protest, she is facing the right way again and kissing you as she leads you to her door. “You know, there’s another quote from him that I much prefer to that one. ‘Labor omnia vincit improbus’ is… Do you know the word workaholic?” Again, her head shakes. She backs you against the wall next to her door, lips attached to your neck as you keen under her touch. 

She slots her leg between yours, and you forget your next sentence. 

It’s a heated kiss. It promises tonight’s activities to you, and you cannot wait for her to unlock her door. 

Your lips run along her neck as she jams her key into the lock. You suck and bite, spurred on by the moans she bites back with a clenched jaw. You find it sexy: her determination to get you inside. And it’s her birthday, after all. She deserves it. You have another gift for her in your bag, but she is grateful for this anyway.

“Inside,” she gasps as you smooth your tongue over the newly-created hickey you just gave her, kicking her door wide open and hauling you through the gap. 

The flat is pitch black, but Alexia knows it well enough to chuck your bag towards the dining table and have you on your way to the bedroom without needing to switch any lights on. But your hands wander, and she gets distracted. She stops you in the middle of the flat, only half a second into your journey, and her life feels so full (especially when you moan like that). The room feels so full. 

The room is full. 

The room is…

“Moltes felicitats, moltes felici–” sings (and abruptly stops) a whole choir of Alexia’s friends and family, the lights switching to bathe the two of you in total mortification. 

Alba’s hand covers the eyes of her cousin’s six-year-old, whose mouth has formed a perfect circle.  

Silence washes over what looks to be a surprise birthday party. One which Alexia was assured yesterday was not going to happen. By multiple guilty attendees! 

Alexia looks helplessly between you, her mother, and the shit-eating grin on Jenni Hermoso’s face, remembering herself promptly when Eli’s eyes drop to the placement of her hands on your bum. She almost jumps away from you. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, stewing in the terribly awkward silence as Alexia’s eyes only grow wider and wider. “Alexia.” 

She breaks from her frozen state, thawed by the husk of your voice. 

“Jo…” 

The crowd explodes, and you let the tsunami of Catalan wash over your ears. There is so much noise, and so many people, and you can only watch as Alexia tries to answer all of their questions. She shakes her head, nodding at the same time, switching between two different languages to cover the shrieks from Jenni and the absolute bollocking her mother is giving her in front of everyone about dignity and respect. You are famous, says Eli, and you do not need Alexia’s horny motives to embarass you like that. 

“She’s a celebrity,” Eli chides with a glare at her daughter, eyes softening as you continue to stare at the sea of faces blankly. You are backed against a wall with nowhere to run. “Alexia, introduce us to your girlfriend. Now.” 

“You guys don’t need to be introduced to her!” Alexia replies like a petulant child, nearly crossing her arms and stamping her foot. “You know her name, and you’ve seen her. So you should all leave, really. Mami, I told you I didn’t want a party.” 

Eli’s hands fly from her body to halt the departure of the guests as they catch on to how unwanted they are. “No, we are still going to have this party,” she insists. It’s the final decision. “So, go on. Introduce us.” It’s definitely not a question. 

You clear your throat, wanting to save Alexia somehow. “Hola,” you begin, and every face breaks out into a beaming grin. “Um. Soy Y/n. Y… soy de Inglaterra?” 

“Sí,” Eli says with a swell of encouragement that you can feel from two metres away. 

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

“Guys, this is Y/n. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and she definitely does not speak Catalan, so either you practise your English or we cut the cake Mami has made and then you–”

“I am a big fan!” Jenni squeals, accented words loud and piercing as she surges towards you, sparking the movement of the entire body of people. No one listens to the rest of Alexia’s declaration. 

… 

There is a reason you are so well-liked, Alexia determines. She can see it as you interact with her family and closest friends. You smile and you listen and you remember things about people that they would deem insignificant. And it helps that you look breath-taking while doing it all.

Sitting at her dining table, Alba on one side, her mother on the other, she watches you flit around her flat with a talent for socialising, charming every person you speak to. 

“She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?” Eli comments, noticing the hesitation in her daughter’s expression. 

“I don’t know how she feels,” is what Alexia replies, because there is no way you can ignore the emotion she pours into your conversations. It exceeds that of a simple crush or hormone-fuelled desire. “She is incredible. I am me.” 

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

“And she at least likes the way you kiss her,” Alba chimes in, her contribution unnecessary but making Alexia blush at the memory. The fact that her entire family saw that, most of them knowing where you were heading, is something she might be tossing and turning about at night for a while yet. 

“Your father would love her.” 

“I think so too,” Alexia says, chin resting on her palm as the world melts away, your eyes briefly meeting with hers as one of the children giggles at the face you have just pulled behind their mother’s back. A pang of disappointment reverberates in her chest as she grieves momentarily over the loss of her favourite person on Earth, wishing he could have shared the traumatic experience of today. He would’ve laughed so hard at her face when the lights went on.  

“She seems lovely, really. Very polite. Is it because she’s English?” 

“She is very…”

“I suppose the Latin came from her?” Alba asks with a smirk, prodding the fresh tattoo over the thin material of Alexia’s t-shirt, grinning as her sister hisses in pain. 

“Next time, we can go somewhere quieter and talk properly. I know that you’ll be busy when tonight is over.” 

Both Alexia and Alba shudder. “Mami!” her little sister groans, suppressing her gag. 

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Alba.” 

“Never say ‘sex’ in front of me again,” Alexia tells her smug mother.

“Well, never get so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice the balloons taped to your flat number.” 

Alexia bolts outside to check, and hates herself when she sees them. 

…

“Dance with me!” 

You grab Alexia’s hand, pulling her towards you. The party has lasted longer than she’s happy with, and you have seemingly forgotten about what you could be doing. You love to dance. You love music. 

The little boy who’d been your partner up until now sticks his tongue out at Alexia, and she reciprocates the gesture. She is the birthday girl, after all. 

You don’t understand a word of the music, but the beat flows through your hips as you move them against her. She runs her hands up and down your sides, your tank top now the only layer between your skin and her impatient fingers, hoodie having been stripped off the minute the party became interesting. 

“My mother likes you,” Alexia whispers into your ear as you sway in time to the rhythm. Her lips brush your ear lobe, and you shiver despite the growing heat between you. 

“This was very much a surprise,” you giggle in response, possibly answering wrong because her Spanish didn’t quite catch.

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “You are not having fun?” 

“I am,” you reply with a nod, a smirk slowly creeping into your content expression. She holds her breath, reminding herself of the presence of her family as you grind into her. “But I also can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

They sing again, completing the lyrics this time. You are even taught them before-hand, pushed out to the side of the crowd, very much silently told that you currently hold no place in Alexia’s life in comparison to these people. They all love her. You aren’t there yet. 

But, she values your presence. 

Alexia doesn’t care much about the people here tonight. She sees them almost every day, and she knows they are constants. What she does care about is you. 

You, in that tank top. You, with your hair down, face fresh even though your day must have been exhausting. You, with a red mark on your collarbone that no one knows how to point out to you in English. 

Soon, everyone is gone, and you are panting underneath her. Her lips capture yours, muffling the groan that comes with the movement of her fingers inside you. Your legs wrap around her body tighter, heels digging into her back. 

Her hair falls around you; encapsulating you, surrounding you with only her. Her smell, her taste, her fingers. 

You moan as her determination to destroy you becomes apparent. She hits every spot that has been neglected for the past few months, and though it is the first time the two of you are doing this, it’s as if Alexia has studied your body for years already.

She breaks apart from you as you come, your back arching off the mattress, chest pressing against hers. She wants to see your face for the first time. If she had a camera, she would have used it. You look beautiful. 

Nothing on Earth compares to the cliff you have just been pushed off, and it is as if you are falling for eternity. 

She goes again, and again, and again. She’s an athlete. 

She ruins you, but her strong arms hold you together afterwards. 

You fall asleep, for the first time in a while, with someone by your side. Whose hands find purchase on her favourite part of you, pulling you on top of her as she whines at your own tired attempt to make her feel good. Alexia whispers that she has been given enough, that she doesn’t need it, and she thinks you fall asleep to the sound of her incomprehensible, breathy Spanish. You cling to her. 

…

The tour ends. 

You couldn’t be happier. The final show is a blessing, and the tears in your eyes are of joy. You, Gio, and Anya are going home at last. 

However, the well-decorated flat you walk into lacks everything possible, because there is no Alexia standing in the middle of the living room. She can’t be here, though you wish things were different. The season has been successful for her so far, and she is busy. 

You really miss her. One night wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, and you are starting to realise the gravity of your blushes. 

You like Alexia, and you have fallen hard and fast.

“You’re not coming back with us,” your brother says knowingly, skiing beside you down the picturesque blue run in Les Gets. You have come here every year since you were eight. April is a little later than usual, and the snow often turns to slush towards the afternoon – though one could argue that is simply a cue to move onto apres-ski – but it is pleasant to be on holiday with your family. People try to bother you, but it is easier to pretend you don’t see their waves when you have your ski goggles pulled over your eyes. 

Your brother coughs, not pleased that you are ignoring him, reducing him to ‘everyone else’. (His ego, far too preened, far too large, cannot handle the idea of that.)

In front of the two of you, your father turns with precision and great technique. You can’t relate: you’re drunk. You have been since this morning. 

“Sorry?” Your innocence is pretence and he rolls his eyes behind his Oakleys. 

“Your flight. I saw it was booked to take you somewhere else. Somewhere you’ve been going a lot.” 

“You’re not subtle.” 

“You’re not subtle,” he replies, skis dangerously close to yours. You have to swerve, sending you onto the off-piste section of the run much to your irritation. With the excuse of tackling the jumps, however, you are lucky to evade further questioning, watching as he glides off into the distance, reaching the banner and skidding to a halt to wait for you and your mother. Your mother prefers to drink more than ski. She is always holding up the rear. 

When you return to the chalet, bought by your parents a decade ago to solidify their roots in Les Gets, your brother seems to have remembered your conversation from earlier. Your parents have gone out for dinner, leaving the two of you to make something for yourselves. He is glad to have you alone. 

“You don’t like lads, do you?” And, in truth, it’s an insightful question by his standards. He cares; he just does not know how to show it. 

Pausing the construction of your sandwich for a moment, you allow him to see you for who you are. He’s your brother, after all. “Not at all,” comes your response. 

He hums. “Thought so. You’d have gone out with half of England’s football team otherwise. God knows that they don’t mind.” 

“England has a women’s team.” 

“Gross.” His lips purse as he thinks about his little sister’s love life, and he decides that he would like to know more about Barcelona. “Are you buying a villa?” 

“What?” 

“Well, you go to Barcelona a lot. Are you buying a villa with the girls? Is that what celebrities do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Mum and Dad buy villas. It isn’t just celebrities who splurge on property.” 

“You’re not answering my question.” 

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.” 

He laughs – hearty and deep. His laugh reminds you of dark forests for some reason; tall trees that dwarf your body, but keep you safe nonetheless. “I wish you’d never gotten famous. My life would be so much quieter if half my mates weren’t trying to squeeze something or other out of my connections.” His pride is profound in his misery, and you smile, blushing. “You’re not buying a villa.” 

“Well done, genius,” you taunt, assembling your sandwich once again in hopes that the baguette will kill the buzz in your mind. You can’t really think when you’re drunk, and, recently, when there is nothing else to occupy you, your mind wanders to Alexia. What is she doing now? Does she miss you? Is she excited to see you in three days? 

It dawns upon his face with an amusing animation. “You’re seeing someone,” he accuses. 

“Maybe,” you shrug. “She’d be one lucky girl.” 

“One unlucky girl, you mean. I’d better find out who she is and tell her to run for the hills. You’re about two decades overdue for an exorcism, and it shows.” He swiftly appears behind you, despite his lumbering limbs, and flicks your ear as your teeth sink into your dinner. You squeal, pushing backwards to get him away from you. “What’s her name? Who is she? What does she do?”

“She is… classified.” 

He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to find a list of Spanish names and see which one turns you into a tomato.” 

“She’s still classified.” You prod your index finger into his shoulder.

“Hey.” You retract your finger, surprised by the tenderness of his tone. “You can tell me, you know. You’re my little sister. I really don’t give enough of a fuck to spread it.” 

With great shame, you absolutely do not need to be told twice to talk about your favourite Spanish woman on the planet at the moment. He actually has to beg you to stop. 

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

Not just in terms of your relationship, but in general, too. Walks are more enjoyable, and so are mornings, afternoons, evenings. She likes that you feel comfortable to chill in her flat while she goes to training. She likes that she comes home to you. She likes that you spend your days with a pencil between your teeth, a blank page set out in front of you. 

Now that the tour is over, it is clear what comes next. The new album will be the best ever made, you have decided, because you might finally understand the lyrics that you sing. They could resonate. 

They will resonate. 

Alexia asks you to be her girlfriend when she drops you off at the airport. Your plane is private and she can kiss you goodbye when you agree. 

You love being Alexia’s girlfriend. You repeat your new identity over and over as you fly back to London, and it is a mantra that plays on loop in your mind as you get on with life back home. 

The girls tease you mercilessly when you spill it. All three of you are on the balcony, though this time there is a joint placed between your fingers rather than a cigarette. Slightly high, more so giddy about Alexia, you confess. They’re happy for you, but Gio can’t help but text Anya later that night. 

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

Gio is sitting upright in her bed, ensuring that her panic is quiet so her new boyfriend does not wake up. Her fingers hover over the keys shamefully, but she has to tell someone and it can’t be you.

Gio: The publicity plan. 

It’s at your studio session the next day when all comes to light. Your manager/publicist appears, which is honestly quite rare. She’s not fond of the claustrophobia of the small room, nor the darkness it becomes shrouded in when you, Gio, and Anya are trying not to murder each other. 

Dave swivels around on his chair, bored with the bickering. You aren’t sure about a lyric, but they disagree, even if Anya knows you have a better point than the third member of your group. 

Your manager clears her throat. “Y/n, may I speak with you? It’s quite important.” 

“Do this lyric without me,” you grit out to Gio. 

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

They hear your protests from the studio, the shout of frustration piercing through the small gap underneath the door, overcoming the supposedly impregnable sound-proofing. 

There are tears streaming down your face upon your return. Fuck her, and fuck him. 

Anya and Gio can’t look at you. Their chins dip to their chest as they slump in place, succumbing to the predetermined guilt they discovered last night. 

“It’s not fair,” you cry to them as they refuse to turn around, throwing yourself onto the sofa with a heaving sob. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. She’s going to hate me — she’s not going to love me anymore, and I… I love her.”

Anya’s mouth opens with a sob of her own. She had thought Alexia was a dalliance. She hadn’t realised. 

It’s fun to have someone, she knows, but it is painful to love them. 

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

“You love her?” she asks, though she is sure of the answer as another gasp leaves your body with a chilling desperation. 

“Yes, I fucking love her. It was obvious.” 

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

“They want it to last a few months. Enough to draw the attention away from my aversion to men and his relationship with some blogger.” 

Anya gulps. A few months is a lot to endure, especially for the footballer whose heart you’ll be breaking. “You’ve said no, right?” she tries, paling as she grips onto the mic stand, trying in vain to remember the harmony she is supposed to sing. “You’ve told them… You’re you, of course you’ve said no!”

“Of course,” Gio adds, equally in denial. 

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

Telling Alexia is hard, and not just because of the tears running through your words as you try to get them out over the phone. 

In Barcelona, her head hangs in disappointment. She is never going to be good enough for you, she tells herself. The world will soon slot you by the side of another celebrity, and you will be pictured together as many times as humanly possible. No one will know that she is the one you call when you need to talk to someone, or that it is her rose that is pressed between your favourite copy of Little Women, saved from Sant Jordi. No one will be any the wiser to the girlfriend you keep in Spain, nor assume that you are visiting the country for a reason other than tourism and partying with your favourite foreign men’s football team. 

It goes like this for months. 

It sours the second- place finish in the league even more; makes the Champions League semi-final exit soul-destroying; and completely ruins her joy about winning the Copa de la Reina (worsened by a picture of you and him released the morning of the final). 

She is still your girlfriend, but she is always one step behind you. She is in the shadows of the crowd when you sell out Wembley for the first time, and is just out of frame in the picture captured backstage of you and your lover embracing. His muscles do not feel the same as Alexia’s, but he becomes a friend, you guess. He isn’t fond of the arrangement either. 

Then, when Alexia feels as though she might explode from the jealousy she harbours, she is tested once more as you go radio silent for a day. It’s unbearable. You usually text her every hour. 

She misses hearing you greet her with ‘I took a smoke break’. She misses the taste of your lips, and the heat of your breath, and the swell of emotion you cause inside of her when you show her that you really care. 

It’s a hard day. The Euros have started, and Spain has won their first two group stage matches. Vilda is terrible as usual, but it is nothing in comparison to the cavity left in her chest where you have carved out your notifications. Alexia has never wished to be distracted from football before, but today is clearly Judgement Day. 

“Is this about your girlfriend?” Jenni pesters, mocking Alexia’s frown by exaggerating it on her own face. “She’s not pinging your phone every five minutes and now you’re inconsolable.” 

“I have many things to be upset about,” Alexia replies moodily, though Vilda’s earlier berating has had no effect on her mood because it simply cannot get worse. “Our coach is shit, and we don’t get treated like England or Holland does.”

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

Jenni is repulsed by the fire in Alexia’s belly seemingly having been put out. Her grimace is noticeable as she bends down to unlace her boots, glancing around the shoddy locker room, imagining what Alexia claims a few of the other teams have. 

“Maybe she’s busy. She is, like, famous. She could be out for lunch with Shakira!” 

“No, that was last month.” 

Jenni pauses for a moment, awestruck at her friend's seriousness, before collecting herself and trying another approach. “Why don’t we do some shooting practice while you wait for her to call? That way, Spain gets more goals, and you’re…” 

She doesn’t get to finish, cut off by the alarming brrrp of Alexia’s phone. Her friend saddens at the volume, pitying Alexia for how loud she has turned her ringer up just in case she had been missing your notification all along. 

Alexia swipes her phone up from the bench, and hurries into the toilets. 

Throughout the five months you have been dating, Alexia has become increasingly more aware of your intense reactions to emotional situations. You feel when you feel. She admires you for your work ethic, as you do her, because you fly from Barcelona to London and back again, all while writing songs, humming melodies, and holding together your high-profile life. Unfortunately, your determination and tendency to give everything and more has bled into every aspect of your life. And you are a wreck when she finally gets a word out of you. 

“Tranquila, cariño,” she tries as you suck in a pathetically shallow breath. She knows exactly how many kilometres away from her you are, and she wishes she could sprint the distance. “Tranquila. What has happened?” 

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

“My manager.” Alexia’s hand balls into a fist and she quietly celebrates. Well, until you sob again. “I mean, we all fired her. But now we have no manager and Dave is concerned about the structure of our group and the album sucks and it’s shit and HE tried to kiss me yesterday, even though he’s got a girlfriend too!” 

“Búa, más slower, por favor. I’m not inglesa!” 

Life, even if you are upset right now, starts to look up. You even get to spend a month with her, practising your Spanish (mejor-ing your nivel de español), meeting her family in a more appropriate context, and even watching the first match of the 2017-2018 season. Which Alexia is adamant they will win. 

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

It’s not a hard decision to make. Not when you have built IKEA furniture together, and spent a week in Menorca with her, her mother, and her sister. Not when her English is littered with your vocabulary and references to Virgil and the like, and your family can all shout at you in Spanish because they’ve heard her do it so many times. Not when ‘I love you’ is the easiest sentence she’s ever said. Every minute of her life that she gives you is like exchanging part of her soul for pure, complete bliss. 

You’re fucking freezing, and befuddled at the fact that Alexia has requested to take a walk in the park near your flat. Your Spanish girlfriend, the same woman who finds summer too temperate in England, has somehow turned into a snow-lover, even if there is only damp grass and a biting wind. Alexia wishes England had white Christmases, but it’s a myth, she has discovered. 

The ring sits in her coat pocket. She chose it with Alba before she left the warmer climate of Barcelona, and her sister did not ask her whether she was rushing into things. It’s not too soon; if anything, she should’ve asked a year ago. 

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” you groan as you shiver. She takes your hand, her woollen gloves itchy against your bare skin, but it warms you up. “We could be inside, in bed. There’s a new series we could start, or, I don’t know, don’t you have some football game to watch?” 

“I hate watching football with you.” 

You part your lips to respond, but she is not lying and she has said it before. Some bullshit about you supporting all the wrong teams. 

“Well, I hate it when you drag me out into the freezing cold for no reason. If you want a dog to bring on walks, just say so. We can go to Battersea before you leave tomorrow.” 

“Don’t,” she murmurs, halting you both near the inky water of the lake you have been circling for the past five minutes. It sucks that her visits are temporary, even if you are technically moved into each other’s homes (she has your keys, you have hers). With the remaining time left before her flight tomorrow at noon, she has worked up the courage to do it now. 

It’s like scoring a goal: receive the pass; dribble; gear up for it; shoot. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Her free hand reaches into her pocket. “Nada.” 

“No, you’re acting weird…” You blink a few times as if to adjust better to the dim light coming from the distant lampposts. A plop sounds from the water, and she jumps. She’s on edge.

“No.” 

“Yes. Jesus, you haven’t decided to break up with me in the middle of a park at night, have you?” Your question packs an unnerved insecurity, and she feels a little guilty about the suspense. She fiddles with the ring in her pocket, and then she takes a deep breath. “Hey,” you try tenderly. “Seriously, Ale, what’s wrong?” 

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She sighs, “here,” and she grabs your hand to press it into the soft warmth inside. And there’s a piece of metal, heated by her fingers. With a chunk of rock on top of it. It feels like an engagement ring. You’re probably not getting broken up with tonight. 

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hòstia.” She frowns, and you consider pushing her into the lake. “I am going to say it now.”

“But you already—”

A quick display of her athleticism, for the muscles exist despite being buried underneath all those layers, and she is down on one knee. Her joggers will have wet patches, and she hates the squelch of the mud beneath her, but she has a perfect view of your surprise. Your tears. 

“Bueno. Your brother helped me to… write the speech,” she starts, and her rehearsal is adorable. Although, honestly, you don’t hear what she has to say because you have already made up your mind. 

You tell her yes in as many languages as you can. 

And she thanks you with breathy moans into your mouth as you guide her towards a bench, and then your flat, and finally your bed. 

When you are finished, well into the early hours of the morning she will have to leave, you climb out of bed, missing the firm grip of her toned arms the minute you’re out of it. There is a burning, overwhelming sureness inside of you that you can’t escape. You know it is soon – probably too soon for most – but there is a person out there for everyone, and yours is right in your bed. 

Your guitar, slightly dusty from the neglect because of your frequent visits to Barcelona, rumbles when you pluck it from its stand, collapsing into the armchair beside your bed with a groan, feeling the ache of your muscles that only affirm just how good a time you’ve had with your fiancée. 

You don’t play anything interesting, but the noise is enough to rouse Alexia from her heavy slumber. She lifts her head from where it has been buried within the silk pillows of your bed, and watches as your fingers pluck the nylon strings with vague allusion to one of your older songs. The weight of her ring – your engagement ring – does not seem to affect your playing: in fact, Alexia realises your hand was naked without it. You hum, fingers beginning to itch for a cigarette the minute the guitar starts to bore you, and she clears her throat. 

Her grin is self-satisfied and certain. “Me voy a casar contigo,” she says into the dark stillness of your bedroom.

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

You stay in Barcelona in December, hiding from the bitter chill of England. No one questions it, and the absence of a manager grants you so much freedom. The girls pop to the city one weekend to brainstorm a song, but, other than that, you are content to forget your own identity and become Alexia’s fiancée, one of the regulars at the increasingly more popular Barça Femení games (only the team know you’re there, able to see through the caps and sunglasses). 

There are still rumours circulating about you and him, though their credibility has lessened ever since he revealed himself to have been in LA for a while. To the world, you’re sort of MIA. They catch you occasionally when you return to London for photoshoots or just to chat with your friends and family, but they get nothing more. Your Instagram posts are few and far between, and the most recent paparazzi picture is of you leaving Gio’s house to buy her a pregnancy test. 

When the test is positive, something is tweaked inside of you, and you return to Barcelona – a place that is now your home too – carrying a lead-ish guilt. 

Alexia loves her football, and Alexia is obsessed with her career. You are too, but you have done what you can, really. The BRIT nominees will be announced tomorrow, and you know that you and the girls are on that list. You have your fame, you have your money. But Alexia has neither, and she should. Especially when her male counterparts are raised high and mighty on large, golden platforms. 

You know just how ambitious she is, and that is why you lack surprise when you enter her flat to find her hunched over her iPad at the dining table, replaying the same twenty-second clip over and over until she has identified every single fault and created a plan to correct them. 

She barely registers your presence, but you don’t mind how absorbed she is in her footage. It is nice to make the ever-composed Alexia jump when you slink up behind her, pressing your lips against her neck. She dissolves herself in the fuzzy feeling you give her.

“Hola,” she says, regaining control when she spots another mistake, grasping her pen tightly as she scribbles down Spanish words you can’t be bothered to read. 

“Hola,” you reciprocate, though you are a lot more enthusiastic about it. “Tengo una pregunta.” 

“Oh no.” You wrap your arms around her shoulders, and she relaxes. Your ring reflects the light from her screen as if to remind her that you are hers, and that softens her previous sternness slightly. Another kiss to the skin behind her ear, and she is more open to talk. 

Clicking your tongue, you think of where to start. “Okay, first, I have news.”

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

“She’s… pregnant.” The emergency you were recalled to London for was actually a pleasant surprise for her and her boyfriend. You’re unsure about how committed they are to each other, and whether a baby is a great idea, but you held your tongue when Anya shook her head at you. 

“Uf. Pobrecita, ¿no? She loves tequila.” 

“She does love tequila,” you agree with a chuckle. You extend your hand slightly and press pause on the footage. Alexia pushes back against you. Her chair scrapes against the wooden floorboards, but there is a gap between her and the table now. She motions for you to sit in her lap. 

She tilts your chin up and kisses you gently: a welcome home kiss. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?”

“What would you do if I told you that I was pregnant tomorrow?” 

“I would ask you if you have been cheating on me with a man,” she replies instantly. You laugh, head falling forwards, resting on her shoulder. She runs her hands up your sides, fingers firm, thighs tensing underneath you. 

“But hypothetically. If it were possible,” you continue, a smirk working its way onto your lips, guilt forgotten. You may have spent your plane journey scrolling through pictures of Alexia with the various babies in your life. It was a self-indulgent act, and it has very much led you to now. 

Her eyebrows furrow with the adorable crinkle in between them, and she is seriously trying to work out if she is missing something. You go to London, you come back, you want a baby? 

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

She watches the smirk on your face blossom into a smile, and she feels a matching one tug her lips upwards. “Is it going to support España or England?” The latter is pronounced in your accent, and you make a mental note to ask Jenni if she has been doing impressions of you to her teammates. 

“It can choose when it’s older,” you say, waving off her stupid football question. Since dating her, your interest in football has decreased. She has sort of put you off. You only really watch it to watch her now, or when United are playing an interesting game and your father is antsy enough to text you every minute. 

“No, it can’t.” You blink. She pulls you into her. “It chooses now. Spain or England, and Manchester United or Barcelona. There are right answers.” 

“Manches–”

“Wrong! I think I will have to make sure the baby is not brainwashed.” 

You panic for a moment. “Wait, you do know I’m not really pregnant, right?!” 

Alexia is not the most ready for children, but she is always prepared to give you everything you want. “If you want a baby, mi amor, let’s make a baby. Sin chicos.” You giggle coyly as she hoists you up – the display of strength exuding an unbearably sexy cockiness. “And after,” she says in between kisses as she stands, “we can look on the Internet for options.” 

“¡Vamos!”

…

The Barcelona women’s team congas its way back into the Home team changing room of the Joan Gamper, following a 7-0 win. Alexia kicked off the goal-laden game in the sixth minute, and she is on cloud nine. Victory is the sweetest taste in her mouth, and one where she knows you are watching is even better. 

Mapi flicks her shoulder as they dance to the music bursting from someone or other’s speaker. “You’re so happy,” she says, her grin wide and eyes shining. They dance topless, most of them, but Alexia has subtly been rushing to get dressed and find you. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and she has promised that you can take her to dinner somewhere now that your morning sickness has subsided and only started to affect you when it is supposed to. 

“We just won,” she explains over the shouts of joy from her teammates. 

María León joined from Atleti this season, but she has known Alexia longer than that, and she can tell when there is something more to football in her emotions. Though it is a well-kept secret, Alexia has two obsessions, and you are one of them. 

“Yo sé. But you have been very happy recently, in general. Except, you don’t come out for team nights or hang back to practise more after training, so it is definitely to do with Y/n.” Alexia’s absence in her teammates’ lives is actually unusual, seeing as you are very encouraging and a firm believer in the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality. Your urging is what sends Alexia to bars and clubs with the girls, though she has neglected all of these outings ever since you showed her your positive pregnancy test (best belated birthday present ever). “So… what’s going on?” 

“You’re so nosy.” 

“I’m interested. I love her, and I want to know how she has made it so that you haven’t had a bad day for the last three months, even when we lost to Bilbao. Is it sex? Does she suffer through–”

“No!” Alexia interjects, cheeks reddening. Mapi smirks at the twenty-four-year-old, proud to have embarrassed her. She still claims that she is not a prude. Her phone buzzes on the bench – you’re asking how long she is going to take.

Mapi swipes Alexia’s clean clothes from her grip, holding them behind her back as she giggles at her friend’s exasperation. “Tell me, or go outside like that.” 

“Good thing it’s May,” Alexia shrugs, grabbing her phone and bag, knowing you won’t at all mind spending time with her in just her sports bra. She is pulled back by Mapi, who has hooked her finger into the waistband of Alexia’s shorts and yanked hard enough for them to have stretched. 

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

“So it wasn’t you who told Leila about Patri’s crush when I made it clear that we weren’t even supposed to know?” Mapi shifts uncomfortably, letting go of the shorts. “And it definitely wasn’t you who let everyone find out about my engagement because you don’t know what an inside voice is?” 

“Hey, you never specified that you were going to be sneaky about it!” she defends, as she has done ever since the entire canteen went silent in shock and then, two seconds later, broke out into a clamour of pleas to be bridesmaids and to get Bad Bunny invited to the wedding. 

“It was implied,” Alexia shoots back with a glare. 

“Fine. Be annoying. I’ll just ask Y/n.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s got better things to do.” 

“Ouch,” Leila says, patting Mapi on the back as she shoves her way into the conversation. The two are partners in crime, and Alexia hates that she is now outnumbered. “But tell us. Please, Ale.” 

“We’ll even not nutmeg you for a week.” They love to try. It’s their highest priority mission.

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

“Y/n is pregnant.” Three months down the line is not necessarily when she wants to announce her personal business to the entirety of Spain, but you both know that it’s safe to tell people now.

Mapi laughs. “Ay, Alexia, you don’t have to lie to us.”

She looks at her friends blankly, having not expected this reaction. When she told her mother, the woman at least had it in her to take it seriously (albeit with quite the cautious ‘are you sure?’). “I’m not lying,” she then says, more to Leila than the giggling Mapi in front of her.

“You’re not…?” Leila tries, grappling with it. Two pairs of eyes drift down to Alexia’s crotch, squinting at the material as though some previously concealed appendage is going to jump out at them.  

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

“She’s, like, actually pregnant? Like, de verdad, she is pregnant?” 

“Or she’s smuggling a lime under her shirt.” Her nod is small and she has the glimmer of a smile on her face despite Leila and Mapi’s gobsmacked expressions. Her phone buzzes: it’s you again. “And, if you two don’t mind, I don’t want to leave her waiting for me outside.” 

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

When she finally escapes the changing room, she climbs into her car. With heartbreak from both you and your dad, you have sold your i8 in favour of getting Alexia a Land Rover. Most of your money is in savings. You earn loads, but it is hard to find things you want to spend it on, and a lot of it goes towards private jets to get you to and from Alexia. 

You are sitting in the passenger seat. “Jugaste bien,” you say as her hand moves up from its instinctive resting place on your thigh, settling on the growing swell of your stomach. “I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.” 

“A horse?” 

“Or a house. Or, I don’t know, an entire cavalry. Feed me.” Her alarm — a mistranslation — causes her to almost run over the steward directing her out of the car park. “Tengo mucha hambre, Ale.” She nods with a roll of her eyes. She’s been warned about pregnant women. 

…

In the bustling excitement of Estadi Johan Cruyff, which has slowly filled with more and more fans in the time you have known the plastic seats and improving pitch, you find yourself in the midst of an unexpected turn of events. With your due date approaching and Alexia’s insistence that you are surely made of glass, you have been forced to part from your sisters (Gio and Anya) and live in Barcelona. She wants the baby to be born here. You’ve negotiated that the next one will be had in London. 

Alexia’s mother notices the deep breath you take in, well-acquainted with the horror on your face having worn that same expression twice before. ¿Estás bien?” she asks you, the steadiness of her voice comforting to the flurry inside your head. 

The whistle blows and the game kicks off. This can’t be happening now. 

It’s too early. There’s a… What are they called? Braxton-hicks? 

“Sí,” you affirm with a curt nod. The not-contraction doesn’t hurt that much, you tell yourself. You settle in the seat and focus on the match in front of you, using the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers (it can now be called a crowd!) to keep you grounded. With a reassuring smile, Eli offers you her hand. You take it and try not to crush her metacarpals. 

It’s definitely possible that you are in actual labour, considering the increasing intensity of your contractions, but you are not about to leave the match. Alexia would notice your absence. This game is important for her team – it’s the last before the Christmas break. 

At halftime, Eli quietly reassesses you, tricking you into seeing the team’s medic when guiding you to the ‘toilet’. Already briefed on the situation, the medic asks you a few questions in accented English, much like that of your newly trilingual fiancée. “Don’t tell her,” you beg quietly through a huffed sigh, gladly taking the seat offered to you. “I’ll wait until it’s finished.” 

“There is another hour left.” 

Your ears burn and another contraction shoots through you. You shake your head, fending off the pain while you do so. “He can’t be a Barcelona fan,” you insist. Eli grins at the knowledge that her first grandchild will be a boy, but you do not see it, too focused on convincing the medic to keep the child’s other mother in the dark about what is currently happening in the Barcelona medical room. “I’ll wait.” 

Eli hands you your phone per your request. You call Gio, whose daughter is only two months old. “Don’t tell me,” she starts when you fail to greet her. The sound of her voice, her accent, her tone is relieving, though you are incredibly grateful for the woman who continues to hold your hand as though you are her own daughter. “Nah, nah. Where are you? I’m gonna jump on a flight, alright? I’ll call Anya and we’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

“Babe, we are going to rush. Where are you?!” 

“A match!” You try to remember the breathing exercises you learnt for this exact moment. “Her match. Second half’s only just started. She… She doesn’t know.” 

Gio’s loud, boisterous laugh rings out, and you can tell that she is not at home. No one with a newborn baby can afford to make noise at that volume. “Fucking hell. Ever heard of sense?” You don’t respond, embarrassed that you are in too much pain to think of a comeback. “I’ve left Mia at my mum’s, so don’t you worry. Want me to bring anything from home? Cadbury’s, maybe?” 

“One of those massive bars?” 

“Yep, done deal.” She pauses. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna ring Anya now, alright? Call your mum – or your dad, if you two haven’t yet made up. I’ll see you soon. Tell Alexia her baby’s on the way!” 

Your protests are cut off by the final beep of her hanging up, and your head drops back as another contraction, your body squeezed as though some giant rubber band has just snapped back into place. Eli stands up, worried now. 

Before you can tell her that you are alright, a gush of water hits the sterile floor with an unnerving splatter. The prospect of having to care for another life suddenly becomes very real. “Tenemos que ir al hospital.” 

“No.” 

“Soy la abuela. Yo sé que hacer.” Even the medic, who has nervously stayed by your side, much more experienced with ACLs than broken waters (and stubborn pregnant women), looks intimidated by the firmness of Eli’s words. “Por favor”: she softens her blow. 

You glance around the room, slowly descending into agony and helpless against the wrath of rationality from your fiancée’s mother. “How long’s left of the match? ¿Cuántos minutos quedan?” 

The medic holds up all ten fingers. You grapple with your body, begging the baby to sit tight for a moment. “Let her finish. We can go when the whistle blows.”

Your contractions get closer together. 

Eli’s frustration leads her to ask God for the baby to not have inherited your stubbornness. She also loves you more for it; admiring your insistence to keep Alexia from missing everything. 

You don’t call your own mother. You simply type out a shaky text to the family group chat; blunt and to the point. ‘Baby. Now.’

Half of your universe storms the web, booking flights to Barcelona. Anya and Gio are almost at the airport already — a few steps ahead of your panicking parents and your brother, who has been enjoying dinner at the Savoy with his clients. Those who serve as your planets, revolving around you like you are the sun, do you a favour, letting Dave know that you probably won’t make it to the Skype call scheduled for tomorrow morning. Dave, in turn, now expanding into management, informs your newly-hired publicist (good riddance to the old one). The world has expected a pregnancy announcement ever since you failed to appear at your most recent awards show, despite winning in your category. 

It's almost an eternity later that Alexia, football boots clacking against the floor, flings open the door of the medical room. Eli calls out, warning her daughter about slipping on the sizable puddle that has spread out beneath you. 

Your fiancée is valiant in her attempt to mask her sheer panic. 

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asks her mother, stepping over your amniotic fluid and placing her hand on your shoulder. You squint, trying to open your eyes though this contraction has been the most excruciating so far. 

“We were waiting for you. She was adamant that you finished your match.” 

“No football match is more important than her!” If you understood Catalan (and weren’t in labour), you’d have teased her for being a sap. “Call an ambulance, Jesus Christ. Look at her — she needs a doctor.” Her composure revisits her fleetingly, and she turns to the medic. “Thank you for looking after her.” There is no answer because it is drowned out by her barking more orders her mother’s way. 

“No ambulance,” you declare before your mouth opens in a silent sob. “Drive me. Not an ambulance.” 

The last glimpse the Estadi Johan Cruyff gets of Alexia Putellas in 2018 is her carrying you to her mother’s car, your face buried in her team-issued jacket in case anyone is waiting outside to take pictures of the players. 

Eli drives; something she doesn’t like doing often but feels is necessary with the nervous bounce of her daughter’s legs in the backseat enough to convince her that they’d speed like the Flash if anyone else ended up behind the wheel. She knows Barcelona, can navigate it with her eyes closed, and you are at the hospital before you can begin to tell Alexia how much you think you can’t do this. 

“I really fucking can’t do this!” you cry out, situated in the delivery room. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, already dampening your hair. Alexia thinks you look beautiful, and she has been made proud of the last two hours. You’ve also helped her a lot with English swearwords. 

“You can.” 

“I can’t.” You’re told to push again. “Alexia, you are having the… next… fucking… beach ball.” Each word is punctuated by a guttural moan. 

Waves of intense pain contort your face in agony, and the midwife continues to talk you through your task as though instructing you how to park a car. “Estás haciendo muy bien, mi amor,” she tells you, ignoring the possibility that you may have rendered her left hand boneless. 

“There’s a baby coming out of my vagina,” you shout, “don’t even try to test my Spanish, you twat.” 

The midwife shoots your fiancée a pitiful look. “She’ll take it back,” she says in Catalan. 

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

You can imagine the conversation taking place in the middle of you delivering her literal child. “No, I won’t! It’s breaking me in half.” You grip her hand harder. “Never. Again.” 

But, with a final, visceral (and heavily encouraged) push, the room is filled with the sound of life. Nico comes into the world screaming at the top of his lungs. All Alexia can think to say is, “definitely yours.” 

…

Life is a lot more tiring trying to juggle being a mother and a pop star. 

The press have a field day when you announce the birth of your son with a simple Instagram post, your engagement ring second only to the swaddled lump on your chest. The caption (‘ours’) sparks debate on who exactly is the other parent. Well, father. Alexia’s teammates, while waiting to finally be allowed to meet your bundle, spend a good two months teasing her mercilessly about it. Most notably, Alexia almost loses La Reina to Papi. 

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

You hire a new manager so that Dave can focus fully on the last album 2sday will produce. The group has been together for six years, and you have made your millions.You seek neither money nor fame, but it comes knocking on the door of your quaint apartment in Barcelona anyway, along with a record deal only for you. A solo act.

Between Nico crying, Alexia playing football, and you trying to write songs that don’t end up criminally depressing, the contract on your dining table slowly becomes forgotten about. Alexia is too stressed about the impending World Cup to grant you a moment to breathe. You spend your days in Barcelona with a baby attached to your hip, the question of his parenthood still a mystery to the public, and, ever so slowly, you begin to resent your life. 

It could be postpartum depression, but you have no time to really investigate the symptoms. 

Alexia, two weeks before she needs to leave for her national camp and then the World Cup in France, comes home to an eerily silent apartment. 

She calls out your name, wondering if you have perhaps gone to her mother’s house. The terrible sinking feeling comes with your reply. “Can we talk?” you ask. 

She finds you perched on the Egyptian cotton sheets that cover your double bed. The sheets are out of place here, greatly exceeding the original budget of the decor, and, where Alexia sees this as you adding to her life, you feel you are somewhere you don’t belong. It is fine when she is next to you, holding your hand, claiming the other half of the now six-month-old baby boy gurgling in his carseat. When she isn’t there, though, the vacant space taunts you. 

“I have no friends here,” you tell her quietly. The gravity of the mood settling over you pulls her onto the mattress, not caring if the sheen of sweat she wears as her outermost layer of clothing dirties the expensive creamy white beneath her. “I have no friends, I don’t speak the language, and I think that I have played at being a normal person for long enough. I mean, it’s great to watch you and to be there for you, but, darling, that’s not who I am. This,” you gesture to the loungewear you have on, stained with dribble, “is not who I am.” 

Alexia hears what you are saying. She understands; she remembers the nights where you’d call her, a cigarette rasping your voice, sparkles shining in the valley between your breasts. She has seen this coming. It would be impossible not to notice the dimming of such a strong love between you: still present, yet slowly fading away. 

“They want me to sign a new deal. Alone.” The suitcases lined up in the corner of the bedroom become glaringly obvious. Nico is in his carseat for a reason. “I think it would be good for me to go back to London. I need to feel like myself again, and my parents are willing to watch him. I sold my flat – I’ve bought a house in Highgate.” Tears sting your eyes as you speak, and you know where Alexia’s shoulder is without having to look, resting your head against it. “I love you. I love you so much, but I just can’t do this anymore.” 

It’s as if the ground crumbles away beneath her. Your words hang above Alexia’s neck like an axe, waiting to execute her, waiting to end everything. She can’t look at Nico, whose face crumples at his mother’s clear heartbreak. 

The world, once vibrant, lays in ruins. Her funny story from training dies on her tongue, and her question of whether you wanted to visit her mother before she left for camp disintegrates, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asks, and you hate the way her voice cracks with uncertainty. “Are you moving permanently?” 

“I haven’t called anything off. It’s still going ahead as planned.” She senses the but. “But I… I can’t think here. I can’t be here. I want – I need – to go home.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

She is going to be at the World Cup anyway. You and her will always find your way back to each other. She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” 

She is going to fall apart without you. 

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

[artyandink]

Five-Star

Summary: You’ve been dating Dean Winchester, which is nothing short of a fever dream. A brilliant fever dream. But when you decide to test him on how much he wants you, you don’t get the answer you expected to have.

A/N - Welcome to the Karak Chaii-verse! I had an idea to write Dean with an Indian POC, since I’m one myself. Creds to @zepskies and her brilliant Midnight Espresso-verse, and you should definitely check that out. This is a small drabble that I thought up.

Your family had moved to the US around a year after you were born. That’s because the monsters in India were far more dangerous than in America due to the origination of them from the depths of Indian mythology, such as a rakshasa or arunasura, but you found that here was far more escalated.

At least, you’d found out when you met the Winchesters.

You came from a long line of crazy good Indian hunters, so you were already a great one yourself. Back in India, your parents would pose as part of the CBI, but you had to resort to finding someone who could make you a believable FBI badge once you turned eighteen and got into hunting solo, which was around 1997. There you met Bobby Singer, who hooked you up with what he called the ‘All-American Hunting Kit’, which consisted of an array of fake IDs and a lore book. You were glad your training, done by your dad, was done by the intensity of monsters in India rather than here, otherwise it’d be harder to get by.

On a hunt for a vampire and wraith hybrid in Grant Pass, Oregon, you came across the Winchesters, the shorter of the two having dubbed the hybrid ‘Jefferson Starships’. That man was Dean, and you were taken by his charming, goofy attitude that switched to an attractive sort of intensity when faced with imminent danger. You just didn’t expect ‘imminent danger’ to be the mother of all monsters.

Once your parents had found out that you were hanging out with the Winchesters, who were at the centre of any and all supernatural trouble in America, they sent you a thousand calls telling you to get your ass out of there before you got killed. You being you, you didn’t listen. Not when you knew that you’d get withdrawal symptoms from not seeing the million dollar smile of Dean Winchester, which quickly won you over (and his lips too, which knew damn well what they were doing).

As for Sam, you quickly saw him as your little brother figure, who also helped you manage your unruly hair by recommending the right hair products that you now had stocked up. You’d both nerd over monsters, you’d tell him about all the ones you’d encountered in India while Sam told you stories about all that he and his brother had gone through.

Which was no less than a lot. And you thought India was a harder place to live, by what your parents told you. Here there’s the friggin’ Apocalypse.

Dean was obviously your favourite Winchester. He’d told you he really liked you about two years and a half after you met amid averting eyes and stammered words as he spewed compliment after compliment, standing there in the Bunker’s kitchen like a nervous melon in his grey robe, black shorts with hot dogs on them and black undershirt with fuzzy hair.

You’d cut his nervous ramblings off by pulling him in by the lapel of his robe, lips puckered in surprise as they met yours as the tangy taste of cherry and sweet, buttery pie crust flooded your taste buds and even more so when Dean quickly took control of the kiss, hands tangling in your hair and grabbing at soft curves like his life depended on it.

One thing Dean loved about you was your cooking. Your mom had taught you a wide array of Indian dishes that you could cook, and the moment the first bite of your rajma and rice graced Dean’s mouth, it was hook, line and sinker. You’d taught him how to eat chole bhature, roti and sabzi and which masala was which so he could know what the hell did you put to make him fall for you over and over again.

You were scrolling on your YouTube shorts one day when you came across a video of a woman asking her husband what his favourite snack was to see if he’d say her or not. You didn’t look like the definition of a snack right now, with your unwashed hair tied up in a bun that your mom taught you to do with no hair tie whatsoever in grey sweatpants, Dean’s undershirt and fuzzy mismatched socks, but you decided to try it out anyway as Dean came into the bunker’s living room, approaching you from behind with a delicate yet possessive cup of your chin and a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted in that low voice of his that was effortlessly seductive even when he wasn’t trying, his hand sliding down to comfortingly rub over your chest and shoulder as he passed by. “Doin’ ok?” He sat down beside you, arm around your shoulder as his fingers began to play with your hair, warm green eyes trained on you.

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “Doing alright, yeah.” Then you decided to try out the question. “Dil, what’s your favourite snack?” You called Dean dil sometimes because it meant heart in Hindi, and he had yours.

The question got a chuckle out of him as he jerked his head to the right in amusement. “Awh, sweet girl, that’s hardly fair. I’d say beef jerky, but that new thing you, uh, introduced me to really raised the bar.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment in contrast to the large grin on his face. “The aloo whatzitsname.”

“Aloo lachha.” You corrected with a giggle, barely holding back the urge to say what the answer was.

“Yeah, that. Or, uh, pie, but that’s a dessert and not a snack. Maybe that rajma stuff, but that’s a meal.” He continued rambling on any and all snacks he’d added to his palette since meeting you, until a bout of laughter from you slowed his roll. “What? What’s so funny, huh?”

“So… your favourite snack isn’t me.” You teased with a smirk, which got the cogs in his head turning. “You failed, sorry, honey.”

The words got a raise of his eyebrow and a slow and subtle roving of his eyes down your body and a bite of his lip. To him, you looked absolutely delicious. Like the best thing at a five star restaurant.

He stood up with a low grunt, facing you before grabbing you by your hips, hoisting you up so fast that you had to wrap your sweatpant-clad legs around his waist with a small shriek. “See, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that bordered on reverence and somehow the intention to devour at the same time, which had you moaning already. His tongue slipped into your mouth, briefly getting a taste and giving you the distinct flavour of the aloo chaat you had made for lunch mixed with beer before he pulled back and nipped your bottom lip, groaning at the feeling of your fingers now tugging at his hair.

“You…” Dean paused for a breath and a low chuckle, staring at you hungrily. “You are the whole damn buffet.”

TAGLIST:

@k-slla @hobby27 @supernatural-jackles

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist

[hellcat8908]

He Notices Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: None, just a quick little writing to try to get me out of the writing slump I'm currently in.

You managed to sneak outside of Rita's unnoticed, or so you thought. "What are you doing with him?" Azriel asks from the shadows behind you, startling you. "What do you mean?" You ask, confused by his sudden interest in your relationship with Davian. "It's obvious he knows nothing about you. He keeps trying to make you into someone you're not." He says blatantly. "You don't know what you're talking about." You argue, not wanting to have this conversation. "He doesn't know how to make you happy or how to love you."

"And I suppose you do?! I suppose the great spymaster has me all figured out! In case you haven't noticed, I don't have men lining up to date me, especially not you!" You raise your voice to him, frustrated with this conversation. "I notice more than you think I do, especially when it comes to you." He says calmly, baiting you. "Oh yeah? Tell me me then spymaster, what about me? Have you noticed that others wouldn't." You challenge. "Oh, angel, where do I begin." He says with a grin that makes you question your decision to challenge him.

"I notice the way you always bake our favorite dessert when one of us comes back from a long mission. I notice the way you grin when the characters in your book are being cute and how you blush when you get to the spicy scenes. I notice how you always close your eyes and make a wish whenever you blow out a candle. I notice how you effortlessly calm Nyx down when the rest of us can't. I notice how your hair falls loosely around your face whenever you cook, and you try to blow it out of your way. I notice the way you count the stars when you can't sleep. I notice how you always bring at least one flower back from every assignment and press it into a journal as a keepsake." He says as he watches for your reaction.

He's stunned you into silence. "I've been in love with you but was too afraid to tell you. I can't help but notice all the little things you do and find joy in them. I'd gladly wait in line for a chance to be the one you love, even for a moment. When you're ready, I'll be waiting for you, however long it takes." He says before walking back inside, leaving you alone. Your emotions are a tangled mess, but for the first time, you feel seen as more than your title or a member of the inner circle or just a friend.

"There you are, babe. I was wondering where you got to." Davian says as he comes out to find you. "Just needed some fresh air." You say. "Are you ready to go?" He asks. "Yeah, just let me say bye first, then I'll be ready." You reply. "Sure, babe." He says with a smile. After saying goodbye to everyone, the two of you start walking towards your apartment. The conversation remains simple as you approach your door. He leans in for a kiss, but you stop him, "Davian, I think we should talk..."

Azriel was sound asleep when you knocked on his door. He opened his door, surprised to see you standing there. Before he could say anything, you asked, "Did you mean it? When you said you loved me, did you mean it?" He doesn't hesitate, "Every word, angel." Before he can say another word, your lips are pressed against his. He's caught off guard but quickly recovers and deepens the kiss, bringing his arms around you and pulling you into him. He breaks the kiss before burying his face into your neck as he holds you, "I've waited too long for that," he murmers. "Come on, angel." He says before picking you up and carrying you towards his bed.

"Azriel, I'm not dressed for bed." You inform him. He grabs one of his shirts for you and a clean pair of his boxer briefs. "The bathroom is to the right if you want privacy." He says before putting you down. You quickly change in the bathroom before climbing into his oversized bed. He pulls your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, "Sleep, angel." He murmurs in your hair. You feel more comfortable in his bed than in your own apartment. "Goodnight, Az." You whisper. "Goodnight, angel." He says, sounding half asleep already. You can't help but smile as you drift asleep with him.

#acotar #batboys #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

[wilbursprincess]

Arranged Marriage With Princebur

Princebur x Reader

Warnings: Sex, mentions of sex, angsty towards the end :D

Hi Tumblr. I wrote this as a ‘crack fic’ (mostly just self indulgent) but was so proud I figured you all deserved it too :) If you’ve read parts 1-4 of my Princebur headcannons, then this is familiar, but if not, you’re in for a treat! This is very loosely inspired from one of my favorite books of all time, ‘The Giver Of Stars’ by Jojo Moyes.

Fic below cut!

When my parents sat me down one day, I knew the news couldn’t be good.

The king and queen of my country were getting older, and all the newspapers were talking about their son, Wilbur, soon to take over the throne, wondering who would be his bride. I’d seen him, a black-and-white photo adorning these articles, and secretly felt sorry for whoever he’d be forced to marry. The royal family was big on arranged marriages. How else would they get more heirs to the throne?

“We’re going to the castle for tea,” my mother explained briskly. “The queen was aware you’re her son’s age, and-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt, gaining a sharp glare from my father. “You want to marry me off to a prince?”

My father smiles, though it’s far from warm. “Well, hopefully, if they take liking to you.”

“Have you considered I don’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage, just to be a vessel for heirs to the throne?” I say, both my parents’ gazes turning stony.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother snapped. “It’s a great honor to marry into the royal family. Wilbur’s a good man. Handsome, even.”

Sure. Wilbur’s handsome, if you like the snobby prince look.

“Go get ready,” my father adds, getting up from the table. “Wear your nicest dress, and try and do something with your hair. It looks like you rolled around in a barn.”

~

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” the queen simpered, giving me a watery smile. “You look lovely. Just like a future princess should.”

Lovely?

The corset my mother cinched me into was so tight, I couldn’t take a deep breath in, a trickle of sweat running down my back. My best shoes hadn’t been worn in over a year, and they were slightly too small, with a blister already forming on my heel. The heavy makeup caked on my cheeks and eyelashes felt thick. Maybe this was why all the royals looked miserable all the time.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, forcing a smile when my mother nudges me under the table. “These cakes are delicious.” That wasn’t a lie, however, my father had stopped me from taking more than one. Probably on the grounds that it wasn’t ‘ladylike’.

The queen forces another smile. “Our cooks here are very talented, dear. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger when you marry Wilbur. They’ll wait on you hand and foot.”

I force my face into what I hope is an impressed expression.

I might complain about the chores at home, but I’d be bored silly without them. What would I do, just sit around all day? And wait, wait, did she say ‘when’?

“Did you say, ‘when’ she marries Wilbur?” My father says, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

The king nods. “We did. Your daughter is exactly what we’re looking for in a bride for our son. She has lovely composure, perfect manners, and we can tell Wilbur’s already taken a liking to her.”

I sneak a glance over at Wilbur, who gives me the tiniest smile. Begrudgingly, I had to admit he was vaguely handsome. Sharp jawline, refined features, slightly messy brunette curls, and sparkling deep brown eyes.

Maybe this won’t be too bad.

“They’ll make such perfect babies,” my mother adds, the queen nodding her agreement. Snatching my eyes away from Wilbur, I pick up my now-lukewarm tea to hide my embarrassment.

Nevermind.

“So it’s agreed?” My father asks.

The king smiles. “It’s agreed. We’ll get to wedding planning right away. Everyone loves a good royal wedding. It’ll bring the country together.”

~

I’d never seen such a ridiculous waste of money before. The newspapers were eating up any tidbit they could about the wedding, and all the headlines made me groan.

‘Wilbur’s bride-to-be rumored to walk down the aisle in a pure silk gown!’

‘The royal family reported to be buying the future princess an entire wardrobe of velvet and silk, complete with jewlery to match!’

‘Royal wedding to be decorated with thousands of roses!’

I did my best to avoid looking at the bold headlines on the papers that piled up on my kitchen table.

My parents were over the moon, helping me pack up my belongings in preparation for moving into the castle. Or, rather, they were deciding which of my belongings belonged in the castle.

“Why would you bring such an old dress? They’ll just buy you a new one.”

“Those shoes are dreadful. A princess should only be seen in heels!”

In the end, I ended up with just a suitcase of clothes, shoes, and the occasional personal belonging my parents let slide.

My mother decided to teach me all about how to raise children, complete with handing me a satchel of all my old baby clothes and teaching me how to pin a cloth diaper on an old teddy bear. She also had to give me ‘the talk’ about how I’d go about having these babies, which left me horrified.

“Don’t give me that look,” she snapped. “It’s natural. It’s how you were made.”

My father took it as his responsibility to teach me about royal etiquette. He’d once worked as a servant, and had decided it was up to him to drill everything into my head.

“No! Head up, shoulders back, heel-toe walking.”

“You sip tea with your pinky finger out! And stop slouching!’

Honestly, if they were sending me off to work on a farm, I’d be more excited.

~

“You may now kiss the bride!”

I force myself to stay calm as Wilbur’s rough lips brush mine, and the entire church errupts in cheers and applause. It was sealed. I was now a princess.

Wilbur offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead us back down the velvet-covered aisle. I force myself to relax and smile, waving elegantly to the people in the pews, just as my mother drilled into me.

He helps me into the shiny new carriage, drawn by two shiny white horses, flicking their braided tails. More velvet on the inside of the carriage, all the metal features pure gold.

“Is ‘congratulations’ appropriate?” Wilbur says, breaking the very tense silence.

I shift against the seat uncomfortably, the lace edges of my gloves chafing my skin. “I think so.”

“Well, then, congratulations,” he adds, slightly awkwardly. “And sorry.”

He’s sorry?

“What are you sorry for?” I ask, finally looking him in the eyes.

Wilbur sighs. “You didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did, actually, but you especially.”

The heavy silence is even worse when the entire country seems to be cheering us on.

“I promise I’m not that bad,” I offer, and Wilbur cracks a smile.

Neither of us speak for the rest of the ride, and when we arrive at the castle, two men dressed to the nines open the doors. I go to hop out, but Wilbur gently stops me.

“I’m supposed to help you,” he whispers softly.

Luckily, the photographers didn’t seem to catch my slip up, and I accept Wilbur’s hand to step out onto the grounds of my new home. My heels are hurting my feet, and I’m exhausted, but I fix a smile on my face and walk through the grand front doors.

~

“Well, happy wedding night, darling,” the queen says, kissing both my cheeks with a flourish and handing me a paper-wrapped package. “Just something to make tonight better for you both.”

I accept with a smile, trying not to think about what the package is, before turning and heading up the main staircase to Wilbur and I’s new bedroom.

Wilbur’s not in the room when I walk in, so I flop into the middle of the bed and cautiously unwrap the package. Something small and silky slips onto the sheets, and I unfurl the bundle to see a baby-pink, silk nightgown, the deep neckline and hem lined with lace. I hold it up to my body, seeing it barely reaches my knees.

The door opens, and I drop the nightgown, turning around to see Wilbur carrying in a massive amount of packages.

“Wedding gifts,” he explains, setting them down next to another huge pile I didn’t notice earlier. “Mother wants us to open them before we go to bed. And I have a suspicion-” he indicates a lot of tiny parcels. “-that I know what these are.”

Wilbur tosses them all to me, grabbing several himself before joining me on the bed to unwrap them.

“It’s shoes for you,” he says, handing me a pair of dainty red heels. “What’s in that one?”

I rip open the package and sigh. “A hat for a baby.”

He nods, opening the next one. “Some jewelery for you.”

“Baby shoes and socks.”

“An evening gown.”

“A baby blanket.”

“Some cufflinks.”

“Baby clothes.”

Wilbur gently stops me before I reach for the next one. “I’m detecting a theme.”

“Me too,” I sigh, showing him the nightgown. “Your mother gave me this.”

His dark eyes widen. “Thats…” he trails off, swallowing. “A nightgown.”

“Uh, yea,” I reply. “It’s a nightgown.”

Another awkward silence.

“Look,” Wilbur says, starting to gather up the gifts. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve still got something to do before we can get some sleep. I’ll clean up here, you go get ready, ok?”

Something to d- oh. That.

I nod, grabbing the nightgown and scrambling for our bathroom.

~

The nightgown is certainly… something.

It seemed far too inappropriate a gift from my now-mother-in-law, as I look at myself in the mirror. Everything is covered, sure. Just barely.

The lace scoops dangerously low in the front, raising dangerously high at the back, and is so thin, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Now I see what she meant.

There’s a sharp tap on the door. “You ok in there?” Wilbur asks. “You, uh, ready for bed?”

“Yea, I’m good,” I lie. “Just, uh, putting on the nightgown.”

A solid 5 seconds of silence.

“Can I see?” Wilbur’s voice comes out a lot more desperate than either of us was expecting. “I mean, if it’s ok with you-”

When I open the door, his eyes widen, taking in every single inch of silk, lace, and skin. “You…” Wilbur trails off, eyes everwhere but my face. “It’s definitely a nightgown.”

My face burns. “It is.”

“You go get comfortable, and I’ll, uh, get ready.” He says, trying to sound casual.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and I get into our new bed. The only upside is that our bed is massive, so it’s not like I’ll be spooning the guy every night.

I blink open my eyes as the bathroom door opens, and my new husband walks out in nothing but a pair of striped silk pajama pants, sitting low on his hips. He gets into bed next to me, hesitantly setting a hand on my thigh.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Wilbur murmurs, a caring note in his voice I hadn’t heard before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

I feel a new but welcome warmth blooming in my chest, both from the pet name and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. “I’m ready.”

~

Imagining what would happen on the wedding night, and actually doing it, were two different things. Two very different things.

I expected him to do what he needed to do pretty quickly, roll over, and we’d both go to sleep. Something I’d just lie there through.

Oh God, was I wrong.

There was something otherworldly about our two bodies becoming one, so strange, but so welcomed. It made heat pool between my thighs, pleasure bubbling up between our entwined bodies.

I couldn’t tell if Wilbur was enjoying it, but the noises he was making… soft groans and whines. They were like music to my ears, adding to the tightening in my core, something I’d never felt before, but I never wanted it to end.

The spiral low in my stomach kept tightening, ecstasy running over my body as he kept rutting into me, tightening until it snapped. And when it snapped, radiating out from the apex of my thighs, it was like I was on cloud nine, floating in the clouds, far above the castle, the country, and the planet.

I’d barely recovered from the wave of pleasure that slammed into me when Wilbur lets out a loud moan, burying his face in my shoulder as I felt my inner thighs suddenly wet. The only sounds in the room were mine and Wilbur’s shaky breaths, trying to collect our composure once more.

“If that didn’t work,” Wilbur murmurs, panting. “Could we, uh, do it again?”

~

I’ve been living in the castle, married to my husband, and a princess for a month now. I still wasn’t quite used to it. Gone were the days I pitched in around the house and could come and go when I pleased. Now, I sat around in a castle, wearing lace, silk, and velvet dresses that made me feel frumpy. All there was to do was sit in the library and read. I’d loose myself in leather-bound tales, about far-off and imaginary lands, trying to wish myself to live between the worn pages instead of here.

“I’ve washed your nightgown for you, ma’am,” one of our housekeepers says to me, dropping off a loud of laundry in our room, thankfully interrupting the conversation the queen was trying to have with Wilbur and I. “I couldn’t quite get the menstrual blood out of it, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no issue,” I reply, face burning as I take the neatly folded pile, avoiding the gaze I’m sure the queen was giving me. “Thank you.”

The queen shakes her head, continuing knitting something that looked, suspiciously like a hat for a baby. “It’s ok, dear,” she says, forcing kindness into her voice. “Maybe next month Wilbur will do his job.”

Wilbur snorts into his tea, making his mother give him a very stern look. We make eye contact over the rim of the mug, warmth blooming in my chest.

He’s on my side.

“That hat looks nice,” I say to hopefully break the awkward silence.

The queen grimaces. “It’s a sweater for a newborn,” she says briskly, making Wilbur hide his laughter with a pretend coughing fit. “Wilbur, are you ill? Why are you coughing.”

“I’m fine, mother,” he lies, gulping down the rest of his tea. “Why don’t you head down to the sitting room and let me and my wife spend some time together?”

She immediately brightens up. “Oh, yes, of course,” she says, packing up her knitting and giving me a wink. “Good luck, you two.”

The second the door shuts behind her, Wilbur groans, burying his face in his hands. “Does she only care about you as some sort of baby-vessel?”

I sigh, wringing one of my carefully-folded dresses in my hands. “I think so.”

Awkwardly, Wilbur leans over, carefully putting a loose arm around my shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think of you like that.”

Blinking up at him, I feel a heat spread through my face. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “So the… blood, it means you’re not pregnant, right?”

I nod. Wilbur’s face, inexplicably, breaks out in a grin.

“That’s good news?” I question, and he nods. “But, your parents-”

He shrugs dismissively. “Look, I had about as much of a choice as you did. Just because I have royalty in my blood, it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You don’t like being a prince?” I reply, shocked. “Whenever I see you in the papers, you seem to like this life.”

Wilbur laughs, shaking his head. “That’s called ‘acting’, darling.” The pet name makes my face flush, though it’s not unwelcomed. “And now I’ve somehow dragged you into this mess.”

“At least we’re both equally unhappy?” I offer. “I promise I won’t mention this to anyone else. We can get through this.” I hesitate before adding the last word. “Together.”

Nodding, Wilbur brushes his lips against my cheek. “Together.”

~

“Wilbur, are you alright?” I ask, walking into our room a few nights later to see my husband sitting on the edge of our bed, looking pensive. “What happened?”

He sighs, patting the blanket as an invite for me to sit. “Mother’s been complaining to the staff about not getting her grandchildren yet. Apparently, she got pregnant with me the night she married my father, and saying I’m not living up to the family legacy.”

“Oh.” As much as I hate myself for it, my core tightens deliciously at the thought of Wilbur and I’s wedding night. “I’m sorry. I… parents.” I awkwardly finish.

“Parents,” he agrees. “So, uh, if you’re down, do you want to, y’know, try again?”

I nod immediately, a little embarrassed by how eager I look. “Sure.”

Wilbur awkwardly chews on his lower lip. “Did you… enjoy it? Last time?”

“I did.” I whisper. “Did you?”

He kicks his toe against the plush rug our bed sits on. “More than I should admit,” he murmurs. “I’ve read a lot of books in my years in this castle, so naturally, I’ve read about… that. If my parents knew I found those books, they’d be horrified.”

Surprisingly, I hear myself giggle. “Why would they be horrified about you reading about how to give them grandchildren?”

“Because those books don’t exactly see it as something for having babies. They see it as something to bring you closer to your partner, something that feels good.”

We’re both silent for a few moments.

“So, since you want to do it again…” Wilbur continues. “I know how to make it better for you. Do you still want to?”

I find myself nodding before the words even leave his mouth, reaching down to pull off my top. I’m left just in my bra and skirt, Wilbur’s eyes running all over my exposed skin.

“Can I take your bra off?” He whispers, cupping my breasts through the fabric. Even the hint of his touch makes my stomach tighten, and I nod.

His hand reaches around to my back, struggling with the clasp for a good few seconds before it pops open. Eyes wider than dinner plates, Wilbur rubs a thumb over my nipple until I groan.

“That’s good, right?” He asks anxiously.

“It’s good,” I reply, shimmying my skirt and tights down my thighs. “Do you want me to lie down, or-“

Wilbur nods, pulling off his shirt and reaching for the zipper on his pants. Just the motion of unzipping his pants makes the apex of my thighs throb.

When I look up again from taking off the rest of my clothes, he’s fully naked, chest heaving. I’d never seen him like this, and it’s not unwelcome.

“Tell me if this hurts, ok?” Wilbur whispers, tracing up my thigh and fumbling around a little before finding a spot that makes me gasp. His long fingers circle around and rub the little nub, the pleasure so intense my legs go weak.

“Oh my,” I manage to gasp out, that lovely tightening in my core getting stronger. “Please… don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, speeding up his touches and looking slightly smug at my blissed-out expression.

My hand grasps at his wrist so I can rub against his fingers, the ever-tightening spiral threatening to snap…

…And it snaps.

I close my eyes tight as I let out a long, low moan, hips bucking up against Wilbur’s hand as I ride it out, floating up in the clouds again.

“Safe to say that felt good?” Wilbur’s voice brings me back down to earth, and I’m disappointed when he pulls his hand back. “It’s going to get even better, I promise.”

While I’m still wondering how on earth he managed to do that to me with just his fingers, I feel him pushing himself inside me, everything so much more sensitive this time, and it’s wonderful. We groan in unison, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Can I move now?” Wilbur asks.

“Please,” I reply, wrapping my legs around his waist to steady myself. This lets him push in even deeper, putting pressure on the spot he’d been touching earlier.

Wilbur’s a lot less gentle this time, and a lot more vocal. A lot. Our hips snap together, and I let myself move with him instead of laying still.

“So good,” he murmurs in my ear, breath hitching. “So good, sweetheart.”

I wasn’t expecting another moment on cloud 9 for the second time in one night, but when the familiar feeling builds up again, I practically feel like I’m floating. It’s different than earlier, deeper and more intense, but just as welcome.

The second high is just as intense as the first, my back arching as I ride it out. Wilbur’s not far behind me, sighing as I feel my bare stomach suddenly wet.

“Sorry, I kind of…” he trails off awkwardly, grabbing his shirt off the mattress and wiping up the mess. “This is awkward.”

“You’re good,” I murmur sleepily, absolutely exhausted from the night’s activities.

Surprisingly, Wilbur cleans both of us up, climbing into bed and pulling me into his chest to cuddle.

“This ok?” He asks, and I sleepily nod.

He drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, wondering why exactly my arranged husband could make me feel things like this.

~

Life keeps dragging along. Wilbur seems more distant and secretive, hiding envelopes in his pillowcase and burning letters before anyone else can see them. My mother-in-law keeps insisting I join her for tea every afternoon, which essentially means being extremely nosy and overbearing for an hour or two, drilling me on everything from how I carry myself in public to her ever-lack of grandchildren. My dresses keep disappearing after I hand them to the staff to wash, Wilbur blaming it on his mother.

One evening, I walk into our bedroom to see Wilbur in his warmest coat, a suitcase open on the bed, and two envelopes sitting next to it on the bedspread.

“I’m getting you out,” Wilbur says, smiling at me with indifferent eyes. “I’ve packed you some casual dresses and shoes, stuff nobody will notice missing. There’s money in that envelope, and a letter to my friend. He lives over the border on a farm, and he’ll find a place for you.”

I expect to feel a wash of relief, getting my life back, but no. All I feel is a tugging at my heart, a pang of sadness.

“You’ve got 10 minutes. Grab anything else you need, and I’ll take you as far as the border,” Wilbur continues, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll sneak downstairs and wrap up some food for you.”

While he’s gone, I quickly glance around, slipping the books on my nightstand into the suitcase. Wilbur’s done a good job packing my things, leaving behind the gaudy dresses and tasteless jewlery, slipping in my most-worn dresses and comfiest shoes. I change out of my nightgown and slippers, packing them and slipping on a warm dress, boots, and my heaviest coat. Fat snowflakes were falling from the sky, a chilling wind rattling the windows of the castle. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“Here,” Wilbur whispers, making me jump and turn around. “I couldn’t get much, but there’s some bread and apples. It’s better than nothing.”

He closes the suitcase, grabbing the woolen cap off his head and pulling it over mine. “Wrap this around your shoulders,” he tells me, handing me the thick blanket off our bed. “If we leave now, you’ll be out of the country by daybreak.”

I do as he tells me, nestling into the blanket as he wraps a heavy scarf around my face. “Grab your suitcase, and we’re leaving.”

I watch, dumbfounded, as Wilbur pulls open the window and leaps onto the steep shingled roof. “I’ll help you,” he promises, taking my suitcase and my hand so I can climb out. I lean up to shut the window.

There’s no going back now.

~

We walk all night in the frigid, unrelenting wind. My face, hands, and feet are numb, and I can’t recall ever being this cold before.

His friend hasn’t arrived at the meeting spot yet, so we settle into the shelter of a massive holly bush to try and rest our weary legs. Wilbur takes off his coat, placing it over my lap, and wraps me in his arms. Finally, I let myself cry, the hot, salty tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re ok,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on me. “Once you leave the country and forget about the past months, you’ll be ok. Your life is just beginning.”

All I can do is nod, continuing to sob into his chest. I couldn’t even begin to verbalise that the tears weren’t for our country or my old life, they were for him.

The time we spend in the shelter of the holly bush feels like an eternity. Just as the sun gives hints at appearing over the horizon, we hear the bumping of a cart, the snorting of a horse, and I know it’s time to go.

Wilbur loads my suitcase onto the cart, settling me down in the scratchy hay and nestling blankets around me. “I’ll be back,” he whispers.

I hear him and his friend exchanging a few words, the envelope being handed over, and Wilbur’s footsteps coming back towards me. To say goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Wilbur, ok?” I say, trying to hold back the tears running down my cheeks. “What wil your parents say?”

“That doesn’t matter. Please, forgive me,” he begs. “Forget everything we did, forget the past months. I’m giving you your life back.”

He wipes away the endless flood of tears, kisses me on the cheek, and steps off the wagon. His jacket is still over my lap, and I press my face into it, his familiar smell washing over me.

The reins snap, the horse and cart rattling down the cobbled road, heading away. Away from my home, away from the castle, and away from Wilbur. Ahead? Whatever lay over the border. I had food in my suitcase and more money than I’d seen in my life. I’d find a way.

My eyes close, Wilbur’s face swimming over my closed lids, and I force the image away.

~

“Wait!”

I snap my head up as the cart rattles to a halt.

“Please, wait!”

It was Wilbur’s voice.

Dumbfounded, I watch as he comes running up the road, not slowing down until he reaches the cart, practically leaping into the hay and wrapping his arms around me.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobs. “Please let me come with you. I’ll leave my country, leave my chance at the throne, whatever it takes to stay with you. I love you.” His face is pressed against mine, slick with both our tears.

“Don’t leave me again,” I manage to say through my tears. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will,” Wilbur promises. “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

The cart continues to make its way down the road, every step taking us closer to our new life. Our new home.

~

Wilbur and I’s new life is everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Once we made it across the border, we moved into a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods on a couple acres of farmland. Wilbur ended up sneaking my most valuable jewels into the bottom of my suitcase, which we promptly sold to afford some things for our house.

Coming from a life of luxury, being waited on hand and foot, to living on our own in a one-room cottage was a shock, to say the least. Wilbur really stepped up, teaching himself to cook and clean so the housework wouldn’t all fall on me. With the money from the jewelry, we bought a bed, kitchen table, two chairs, and some linens. It was all we had, and all we needed.

I taught myself to farm fruit and vegetables, as well as bake bread and make jams out of our harvests. Wilbur bought a cow, thinking we could get a decent amount of meat from her, but got too attached and ended up naming her Daisy.

“It’s a real farm now,” he said proudly, stroking Daisy’s forehead. “But doesn’t she look a little lonely?”

The next addition to our farm was a chicken coop, laying us plenty of eggs for breakfast. At Wilbur’s suggestion, I bought some flour and sugar, and used some of the butter I made from Daisy’s milk and eggs from the coop to start baking bread and cakes.

I went to the market every week, selling my homemade bread, cakes, and jam, which brought in a significant amount of money. For now, our family was complete…

…Until Wilbur showed up one morning with a skinny stray dog, looking very proud of himself.

“She can guard the farm for us,” he announced, scratching her behind the ears. “She can eat scraps, too.”

Princess, as she came to be known, did not end up guarding the farm or eating scraps. She slept in Wilbur and I’s bed each night, licking the pan clean from dinner or chowing down on scrambled eggs that Wilbur made for her.

“This certainly beats the castle,” I murmured to Wilbur one night as we lay in bed, Princess fast asleep between us as the fireplace crackles.

He leans in to kiss my forehead. “It does. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

#princesswrites #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur x you #princebur #wilbur angst #wilbur soot smut #bursona smut #wilbur smut #dsmp smut #mcyt angst #wilbur mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut #princessfics

[forgeofthenine]

Also another one for Rolan, since some people seem to have a mod that replaces Gale with Rolan or something? I've only seen screenshots... Anyway, how does Rolan's magic play into his romantic life? Is he also into super weird astral projection threesomes? Does he summon pianos to play music in the background? Does he entangle his partner? Questions upon questions

I think I've come across that mod while modding my own game! I considered figuring out how to use it to kiss Dammon and then decided not to, maybe I should reconsider? Either way, I hope you enjoy the headcannons even if half of them are SFW, I actually used my new mechanical keyboard to write them instead of my phone (this fancy keyboard makes me so excited lmao)

NSFW under the cut

CW: Double penetration, Voyeurism, clone sex, bondage

Everyday magic with Rolan

SFW

Rolan LOVES some mundane magic, any opportunity is a good time to practise his magic

Your houseplants are looking a little sad? Don’t worry, he’ll use a spell to summon some water for them

You don’t have enough hands to multitask cooking a fancy dinner? He’s ready to help and doesn’t even need to stand

You hate cleaning the much too high up windows in Ramaziths Tower? Rolan has that handled too, don’t worry about it

He’s always looking for new ways to reinvent spells and impress those around him and that extends to his domestic duties as well

Sometimes, if he’s feeling a little cheesy, he’ll summon a gentle gust of wind to knock you off balance just enough for him to swoop in all romantically and be your prince charming

You’ll also generally find him perusing his library with an assortment of books and quills floating near him, or being moved off to the side when he doesn’t have need of them anymore

Mind your head if he doesn’t know you’re there, the room is essentially filled with projectiles

Rolan is also a master at summoning things over to his desk as he works so he never has to get himself up

That is, until you insist on dragging him away for a break

NSFW

If you don’t think Rolan uses his magic during sex then you don’t know this man

He loves some good vanilla love making, and it’s usually his go to, but using his magic simply adds some spice to things

Rolan is fully willing to make a magic clone of himself for the sole purpose of fucking you, whether he’s off to the side simply watching or getting in on the action himself he’s happy either way

He’s surprisingly into spitroasting you with his clone, especially when he gets to tease you as you’re moaning around said clone

Another thing he’s into is double penetration, there’s nothing Rolan loves more than seeing you spread out and taking two of his cocks

That’s not the extent of how he can use his talents in the bedroom however, far from it

Having magic abilities also makes bondage much, much easier luckily for Rolan

He could work it out ‘the normal way’ if he wanted, but this wizard would rather just skip to the good part

Silk ropes or thorned vines, Rolan just loves to see you bound and at his mercy, writhing with every touch of his skilled fingers 

You’ll be feeling the fleeting touches of fingertips over sensitive spots for what seems to be hours (but is truly mere minutes) before he finally pulls you against him and has his way with you

Rolans not usually one for manhandling, rathering sweet kisses and declarations of love while taking care of your needs in bed, but using his magic in these ways lights a particular fire in him

Hopefully you’re able to hang on for the ride

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader #rolan x reader smut

[sailortongue]

Special Agent Doctor

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

summary: a nice day out with your boyfriend gets interrupted

Today could not get more perfect. Your boyfriend had recently gotten home from a case and had been given a few days off to recuperate. You’d spent your morning cuddled together on the couch, each nursing your daily cup of coffee as you watched TV together. When lunch rolled around, neither of you felt like cooking and it was a beautiful day, so Spencer suggested walking to the local diner and then perhaps stopping by the book shop since you would be in the area.

So off you went, walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, basking in each other's company. As expected, lunch was delicious, and with full bellies you both headed to the bookstore you frequented. It was a quaint shop owned by a sweet woman named Mrs. Sherry who has come to know both you and Spencer by name. But alas, you should have known that no day could possibly be so perfect.

Spencer had wandered off to explore the biography section, leaving you to browse alone. You were attempting to grab a book just a bit too high on the shelf for you to reach when you felt someone press up behind you and pull the book from the shelf for you. With the book now in hand, you turned to thank who you thought was Spencer and were shocked to find your ex boyfriend. Your smile instantly dropped off your face and you thanked him curtly before trying to sidestep him to go find Spencer.

“No, wait!” he exclaimed, lightly gripping your elbow to prevent you from leaving. He cleared his throat awkwardly, not knowing what to say but also not wanting you to walk away. “Uh, you look good,” he starts. “How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“That's good, that's good. Listen, I’m free this Saturday. We should catch up.”

You were quick to decline his request, wanting nothing to do with the man who had cheated on you.

“Oh, come on, babe, I know you miss me,” he said with a grin, eyes raking up and down your figure. “I sure miss you.”

“Miss you? She doesn't so much as think of you.” came an irritated voice from a few feet behind you. Spencer had initially sought you out to show you a book he thought you’d be interested in, but instead found you cornered by some random man he’d never seen before. But it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on, especially after hearing the snippet of conversation that he did.

“Who the fuck are you? Mind your business.” Said your ex to Spencer aggressively before directing his attention back to you. “Do you know this guy?” he asked, jerking his thumb towards Spencer.

This time, when you felt someone behind you you knew for sure it was Spencer. He’d wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest protectively.

“As a matter of fact I do. He’s my boyfriend.”

Spencer shot the man a smug grin, arms still secure around you.

Your ex laughed derisively as he looked at you in disbelief. “Boyfriend? This toothpick?”

Before you could defend him yourself, Spencer spoke up. “Is that so hard to believe?”

The other man eyed Spencer up and down with a look of scorn. “Yn likes a man that can protect her. You look like a slight breeze could blow you away. Now, me on the other hand,” he gave you a salacious smirk as he gestured to his admittedly chiseled physique.

Spencer frowned with distaste and furrowed his brows. “I can protect her just fine,” he said defensively.

“Says who?” your ex scoffed.

Fed up with the insufferable man, Spencer pulled out the credentials he keeps with him at all times, making sure to introduce himself with both of his titles. “Special agent Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI."

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader

[honnelander]

I CAME AS SOON AS I SAW THE POST

can we get a little snippet of go fish!reader maybe reading Pride and Prejudice aloud to Zoro after he had been struck down by Mihawk, like how Nami did, and Sanji over hearing and just staying by the door to listen to her read or something? i think a little blurb like that would be so cute

AHHH CUUUUTE!! i modified this a bit to have it fit into the overall story's timeline. instead of Zoro being struck down by Mihawk, he's sick and bedridden. thank you for this :))

here's go fish!Sanji listening to you reading:

masterlist

"Ohhh Zoro," you quietly squealed, trying your best to keep your voice down from disturbing a very ill and bedridden Zoro from waking. "Are you ready for this? Oh my god, this is another one of my favorite parts," you gushed, sighing dreamily as you put your very loved and well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on your lap before hurriedly picking it up again to continue reading aloud to your friend in his room.

"I'm in love with you, most ardently," you read, voice quiet enough and full of wistfulness.

As you continued to read the story, your voice going up and down in excitement as you read the scene aloud, Sanji could hear your quiet gushing from the hallway. He was carrying a small tray of food, two bowls of his special homemade chicken soup sitting right in the middle, one for Zoro and another for you since he knew you'd spent all afternoon reading to the sick swordsman and figured you must be hungry by this point as well.

With careful steps, he silently stood right behind the doorway as he listened to your soothing voice bring the words that were printed on the page of your favorite book to life with a small smile on his face. The blonde cook closed his eyes for a minute, letting the sound of your voice wash over him as he admired you without you ever knowing.

He leaned his shoulder on the doorframe right outside of Zoro's room, gently resting the side of his head against it as well, as his mind wandered for a second, getting lost in the story.

Apparently, it was the part in the story where Mr. Darcy was confessing his love to Elizabeth, but as he listened further, he realized that it wasn't the end of the story where they both confessed their feelings mutually, it was more in the beginning where Mr. Darcy's sentiments were one-sided and Sanji couldn't help but feel a sort of kinship with the fictional man.

While the situation he was in with you wasn't as dramatic as Jane Austen's creation (if there even was a 'situation', he thought dejectedly), the feelings he had for you were certainly real and very complicated.

Was he in love with you? He wasn't entirely sure, but he did like you, much more than a friend should. He had feelings that he only had for you, and no one else. Sure, he's come to love the rest of the crew and Nami too, but none of them could make him feel the things that he only seemed to experience with you.

Suddenly, he wondered how he would confess these sentiments to you one day. Would he pull a Mr. Darcy and just walk into your room one night, spilling out his heart's desires for you in a single breath because if he didn't, he might not have the courage to tell you otherwise? Telling you the thoughts that consistently plagued his mind, trying to sort them out aloud in front of you because they were driving him mad like poor Mr. Darcy? Or would he plan something out and take his time? Wait until he understood what he felt because he 'wanted to get it right'?

Sanji didn't know, it was too soon to tell... but what he did know was that if he stood out there loitering any longer, the soup would get cold and the chef in him would rather die than serve you something like that.

Coincidently, it seemed like the chapter had just ended, you letting out a lighthearted sigh as you softly commented to Zoro, "Ok Zoro, now wasn't that chapter just... extraordinary?"

"It certainly was, Missus," Sanji commented cheekily, suppressing a smile as best he could as he walked into the room.

"Oh! Sanji!" you gasped as your hand quickly covered your racing heart. "Jeez, you scared me." You watched as Sanji placed the tray of soups onto the nightstand. "Sorry. I, uh, didn't realize I was reading so loudly I attracted an audience," you said, your cheeks heating up slightly at the thought that Sanji had been listening to you for who knows how long.

"'Sorry'?" Sanji repeated, a slight frown on his face momentarily as looked down at the tray, glancing at you over his shoulder. "There's nothing to be sorry for, my love." Once the tray was secured on the nightstand, he fully turned to face you, his hands in his pockets as he put on his most charming smile. "Now," he started smoothly, "I'm starting to think that maybe I should get sick so you can come and read to me in bed all day."

Sanji's smile only grew as he watched your face become even more flushed at his words.

You laughed slightly, eyes darting away from his as you asked, "Don't you mean when you're bedridden?"

There was a long pause, the silence becoming deafening at your question. You could feel the tension in the room become thicker the longer that Sanji stayed quiet. Your hands started to feel slightly clammy as your heart rate picked up.

You swallowed. "You know, instead of 'in bed'... since you'd be sick and everything?" you asked finally, as you mustered up the courage to look back up at Sanji from your chair.

At his expression, your heart skipped a beat. Sanji was still looking at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief (and sincerity?) and another emotion you didn't understand, a soft smile on his face. You couldn't help but feel like Sanji knew what he said and that he had said it on purpose.

His crooked smile only deepened. "Sure," he agreed simply. "When I'm sick and ill, and completely bedridden." He blinked, inhaling a small breath as he looked down at his shoes for a moment before looking back up at you, a small questioning look in his eyes as he quietly asked, "And you'd do that? Come and read to me all day?"

"Of course," you answered without hesitation, frowning slightly at Sanji believing that you wouldn't do for even a moment. "I would do anything to help you feel better, Sanji."

Now, between the two of you, it was pretty obvious that Sanji was the smooth-talking flirt, with you never really outrightly flirting with him in the conventional sense, but wow, you might as well be labeled the biggest flirt in his mind because your kind, thoughtful words and gestures never failed to make his heart flutter and knees go weak.

And the way you would look at him, time and time again, whenever you would gently reassure him that yes, you did indeed care about him and that you never truly forgot him... it was enough for him to feel his heart nearly explode.

There it was again, your kind, thoughtful, and beautiful expression on full display for him as you looked up at him through your lashes.

And just like that, Sanji's fears were completely washed away.

He let out a slight laugh, turning his face to the side, his blonde bangs facing you to try and hide the very faint blush on his cheeks. "Aw, you're too kind to me, Missus." He looked back at you, his rosy glow fading slightly, however, his smile was still bright. "Thank you."

At seeing Sanji happy, you were happy. You returned his smile and with a slight teasing tone you said, "But I'll only read to you if you promise to read to me when I'm in bed, sick and completely bedridden."

The blonde chef laughed lightly again, partly because of your now little inside joke, but because the thought that you even had to ask him if he 'would ever do that for you' was completely absurd. Of course he would. He would've been reading to you from the moment you were awake and not feeling well, all the way until you were sleeping, and even then he would continue to recite the pages of the book you loved aloud while you slept, so your dreams and subconscious mind were filled with the sound of his voice well into the night.

Sanji would do anything for you. And you never even needed to ask.

But he didn't tell you all that, not wanting to freak you out with his intense train of thought, so he simply said, with a small smile and twinkle in his eye, "Consider it done."

From Sanji's right, the sound of bedsheets rustling caught both of your attention.

Zoro groaned, gingerly opening his eyes as he pulled his blanket closer to himself. "Ugh... waiter? What are you doing here?"

Sanji looked down at him, a hint of concern on his pretty features as he replied, "Ah, Mosshead, you're awake. I, uh, thought I'd do a little room service and bring some soup for you and y/n."

At hearing your name, Zoro opened his eyes again. "Y/n?" He slowly turned his head towards you. "What are you-" he started to ask but when he saw the book on your lap he groaned and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. "Oh don't tell me- you've been reading that garbage to me while I was sleeping this whole time?"

But you weren't offended by his question. Instead, you laughed. "If you mean masterpiece then, yes. You're right. I had just gotten to the good part too!"

Zoro shifted in his bunk, getting comfortable. "Well, by all means, keep going," he deadpanned. In a more sincere tone he said, "I haven't slept this good in a while." But then, with a ghost of a smile, he added, "Your book is so boring it puts me right to sleep."

"Hey, a win is a win," you laughed joyfully. You looked up at Sanji for a second, wanting to share your little moment of happiness of Zoro wanting to continue reading with him.

But Sanji was already looking at you, eyebrows raised in surprise and a disbelieving closed-lipped smile on his face. His smile only grew at seeing the happiness you radiated, his eyes scanning over your face. "Well, in that case," he started as he made his way towards the door. "Let me excuse myself then. I wouldn't want to get in the way of your storytime, Mr. Mosshead."

As Sanji left the room and stepped out into the hall, he could hear you giggle at his 'Mr. Darcy' joke while Zoro grumbled, a sweet sense of satisfaction coming over him.

But before he went back to the kitchen to start on tonight's dinner prep, he loitered outside of Zoro's room again, leaning against the doorframe like he did moments earlier, out of view, so could listen to you read once more for a bit, a small, wistful smile on his face.

taglist: @smolracoon25 @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @abracarabbit @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @mischiefmanaged71 @asianfrustration13 @shuujin @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @browneyedhufflepuff @stevenknightmarc @deserticwren @detectivelucy07 @yarnnerdally @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @miloonmetis @fa1rybubbl3z @feelinmatcha @ivonarfsh @facelessfionna @rosemaplefairy90 @littlefishswimmer @vinskyspuff @truebluesanji @antrenna @raythecomputerart @ohsilk @galaxy-pirates @christinaatyourservice92 @svnwcn @olliesoxenfree @taro-gabi @daydreamer-in-training @uncomfortableshoelace @yuriwk @buggy0827 @laviiv @notasgard @sallydelys @genlovesdcb

#sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #opla!sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x you #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #go fish! au #black leg sanji x reader #black leg sanji x you #one peice live action

[yuikomoriemo]

So I'm making a headcanon list-

Pls don't judge

DIABOLIK LOVERS HEADCANONS (MORE WILL BE ADDED)

Since ayato plays basketball as a hobby reiji always scolds him to go for a shower-

Kanato has tea parties with his wax figures,teddy and sometimes forces ayato and laito to be there and dress them up.

Subarus called the police once on reiji(for being irritating)and actually got him arrested- boy- grounded a week-

Ayato likes playing with yuis hair but won't admit it.

Kou has once been accused of homophobia and Queerbaiting but- he retaliated by kissing subaru infront of his possible fans.

Subaru only plays roblox to bully brats offline

Reiji had NO CLUE how to use a Samsung,iPhone,galaxy, NONE AND IT TOOK SHU AND SUBARU MONTHS TO TEACH HIM/ they regretted it because REIJI....HAS A FACEBOOK PAGE

(reijis posts would be about his interest in chemistry which is adorable BUT....HE POSTS CRINGY PHOTOS OF HIMSELF AND ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION POST HIM PRANKING SHU-)

Yui always makes cookies for the family but as for kanato and ayato.....STALE COOKIES

Cordelia loves watching RuPauls drag race

I think laito is secretly a tik tok sensation

Kanato expects reiji to cook him chocolate cake and sometimes yuma BUT THAT RESULTS IN KANATO CRYING IN A CORNER

The only social media subaru has (apart from MYSPACE) IS TWITTER

Kou sometimes feeds on his fans during concerts for effect (such as his song DEVILS SPIRE)

Shu plays minecraft with yui

Ruki is secretly reading Fifty Shades Of Grey-

Azusa does things to annoy his brothers on purpose so that he'd get hit-

Beatrix always made shu do the little lad dance if he wanted to go out.

Cordelia made kanato do the little lad dance if he wanted candy-

Whenever reiji goes shopping he MUST take kanato even though kanato always wants something but never ever gets it and throws a tantrum.

Karl heinz listens to abba-

Subaru and yuma are hardcore Marliyn manson fans-

Come on- Laitos been to a gay bar at least more than twice lol

Reiji goes to AA meetings (he's a wine/vodka mom-)

Yui had a goth phase at one point and hates to admit it.

Azusa likes to sing when he's alone (The masochism tango-)

Kanatos favourite music artist is Melianie Martenz

Ayato will NEVER ADMIT IT BUT....he had a Justin Bieber phase

Reiji watches full house

Kou and laitos favourite show is Desperate Housewives (laitos reason- let's just say the letters M i l and f) (kous reason- DRAMA)

Subaru made yui watch Moral Orel (ITS A GOOD SHOW BUT- VERY...VERY...DARK)

Yui once asked kanato to wear a dress she bought just out of curiosity

Ayato makes homophobic jokes- (I like dark humour bit that guy would take it to far-))

Subaru paints his nails black

Kanato 100% has BPD

I think yui attempted to murder the sakamakis once in her life-

Kou makes his brothers practice his dances for an upcoming concert.

Yui is a cat person (as in she prefers cats as pets)

Some related to my lgbtq headcanons reiji would've been 100% homophobic in the past

Karlheinz has an onlyfans- (IM SORRY-)

Kanato forces ayato to dress up

Yumas "sugar cubes" are actually just weed mixed with sugar-

Reiji always does the triplets homework assignments

Ayato has tried numerous occasions to make takoyaki for yui since she always makes it.

Azusas music taste is heavy metal-

Laito loves rose bubble baths

Every weekend reiji makes the triplets go out and takes their phones to snoop but immediately gives them back SCARED OF THE THINGS HE SAW (subaru and shu pay their own phone bill- maybe the triplets should do the same-)

Laito loves McDonald's chicken nuggets

Reiji laughs at the idea of gentle parenting (CLAY PUPPINGTON I TELL YA-)

If cordelia was alive she'd totally be the heartthrob on vogue magazine-

When christa is in a good state of mind subaru takes her out to a cafe just to chat.

Reiji always says fiction is rubbish BUT THE NEXT MINUTE HES WATCHING HOWLS MOVING CASTLE WITH YUI-

Beatrix used to make reiji read silly books despite his intellect such of "history of walnuts"

Cordelia whenever she wasn't a heartless bitch to her kids she'd read them bedtime stories from brothers grimm-

If reiji was a dad he'd TRY HIS BEST TO TREAT THEM BOTH THE SAME-

Subaru likes to bring stray cats in his room if they wander in the mansion (Let's see how long that lasts with clean freak reiji-)

Reiji sometimes ONLY SOMETIMES...covers shu up in a blanket when he's sleeping on the couch

Sakamaki Anime

Shu: Kiss him not me

Reiji: Howls moving castle

Laito: ....HELLSING ULTIMATE for the wrong reasons-

Kanato: Junji Ito collection

Ayato:NARUTO

Subaru: YURI ON ICE

Kou follows Harry styles on insta to get fashion tips of his posts for upcoming concerts-

Yui cut subarus hair one time ...PHHHHHHHH....IT DIDNT GO WELL...

Karl used to make the triplets play jenga for 2 hours straight just to entertain himself with their arguments.

Yuma once gave yui his SUGAR CUBES....she wanted more it felt better than being bitten 4752226775444 times A DAY

OK SO...The wedding night- cordelia totally got drunk on purpose and slapped her bridemaids for staring at Karl and then sobbed when Karl yelled at her-

Laito once bought edible-(stuff I can't say but you can guess-) AND FORGOT ABOUT IT ONE TIME ONLY TO HAVE REIJI SMACK THE SHIT OUT OFF HIM WHEN HE FOUND IT

Ayato and subaru sometimes team up to annoy laito

Ok- this one might be offensive so I apologise in advance, on many occasions reiji would be absolutely pissed after having a jehova witness at the mansion door

Beatrix tried cordelias wine and they both ended up actually getting along for once

@yuma-mukami-garden-god @notdiabolika @diabolikpersonals

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