#I HAVE A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS PART NOT GONNA LIE

[krytus]

a week ago i was ready to give up on kings blood and today i just finished outlining each new chapter of the restructuring/rewrite im doing 😌.....

[luveline]

oooh what about a lil blurb about bombshell r and spencer where it's the first time in their relationship that one of them is super sick and the other has to take care of them?? if you're feeling up for it ofc!! love u jade <333

ty for requesting<3<3 fem, 1k

“I’m sicker than a sick dog. I’m half cough.” 

Spencer frowns at his phone where it lays on speaker at the breakfast table. “You are? What kind of cough?” 

“It’s awful, I can’t tell you. You’ll stop loving me.” 

Spencer smiles even though he wants to grimace. He told you he loved you a few days ago, and you hadn’t said it back, but you certainly hadn’t stopped liking him. You’re more obsessed with him than before, he’d argue. It’s a great feeling, almost as good as an I love you in return would’ve been. 

(He doesn’t blame you for not saying it. You’ve been officially dating for less than a month. He shouldn’t have said it, only he’d been lying in your bed about to go to sleep with your hand in his and he’d never felt anything like it, not home but safe, not home but comfortable, and so so wanted.) 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Spencer says.

“I’m gonna order some soup I think. What are you gonna do today?” Your voice is thick like you can’t breathe through your nose, but still yours.

“I’m gonna put my shoes on and come see you, I guess.” 

“Yeah?”

It’s a no brainier. “What soup do you want, Y/N?” 

He says your name like a compliment. You laugh down the line, which turns into a cough, and a pained moan. “Any kind of soup, babe. You’re really gonna come and see me?” 

“Someone has to take care of you. Ideally me.” 

“Too right.” 

When Spencer gets to your apartment thirty rushed minutes later, you’re already worse. He knocks on your door and you answer with a hand covering your face, your breath audibly shallow. “I forgot that being sick makes you ugly.” 

Spencer takes your wrist in his hand kindly. “Nothing can make you ugly. Come on, let me see.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I!” 

You aren’t pretty, you’re stunning. You’re gorgeous. You’ve been the most beautiful woman Spencer’s ever seen since the moment he saw you, not just because of your looks, of which you take great care, but because of your heart, how kind you’d been to him and continue to be. Your confident personality has never once made you cruel. He couldn’t say the same for most people, so you could have snot running down your lips and a zit the size of Quantico on your forehead and he’d still think you were the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. 

“Come on,” he says again, “I know you’re still beautiful.” 

You let him pull your hand down, unveiling your puffy eyes and chapped nose. “I don’t know how I got sick so fast.” 

The tote bag he’d brought with him slips into his elbow and pulls down his sweater sleeve as he grabs your shoulder. “You said you looked ugly.” 

“I do!” 

“All you do is lie.” He gives you a small smile. Am I doing this flirting thing right? 

“I wanna kiss you so bad.”

Your audible heartbreak is convincing. “I’ll still kiss you.” His desperation is even more evident than yours. “I’d love to kiss you.” Even if it’s usually you who kisses him. 

You close your eyes and lean in for a kiss at the same time. Just one kiss, firm for a millisecond, no parting lips or tongue to be seen but just as good a kiss as any other. Spencer must’ve had about thirty of them now, yet a kiss from you never feels real. 

“I’ll look after you if you get sick,” you promise, pulling away. 

He was counting on it. He hates germs, hates being sick, but he loves you. Whatever happens is out of his hands. 

You seem a little unsteady on your feet, now Spencer’s looking at you. You’re wearing loose white pyjamas with blue flowers, and on your feet you have a pair of shoes somewhere between slippers and boots, brown fabric with fluffy white insides he’s seen you sporting on the jet from time to time when you’re at your most achingly tired. 

You look adorable and tipping. He eases out of his shoes, sliding the bag of tinned soup, crackers and about seventy dollars worth of cold medicine onto the sideboard so he can put his hand under your arm. 

“Let’s go back to bed,” he says, wrapping you in a supportive hug. 

“Forward,” you tease. 

You shouldn’t. Spencer thinks about intimacy with you and goes insanely pink everytime, though you’re far from new to one another. He especially doesn’t wanna think about it as you cross your room and flop down into bed with a tired sigh. “Come lay down?” 

“I’m wearing jeans.” 

“Did you sit down on the subway?” 

“No, I drove here.” 

“Come on, Spence. Your germs are fine.” You smile at the ceiling as he sits down at the top of your bed. “You drove here? You hate driving.” 

“It was quickest.” 

You drop your head into his lap. Your breathing is laboured. 

“You okay?” he asks you. 

“Just missed you.” 

“I brought you some stuff. Vapour rub and decongestant spray, painkillers, vitamins, everything.” He leans down as he wraps his arms over your front, a promise to look after you. “Try to take a deep breath, angel,” he advises sympathetically. “You sound really out of breath.” 

“Too much standing up.” 

“Standing up can be good for you when you’re sick. It stops you from getting idle diseases and bed sores, and walking is even better for you if you can manage it, it helps unclog your sinuses.” He finishes his fact, and he looks down at you all poorly in his lap, remembering very quickly how lucky he is to have found someone who listens. You didn’t interrupt. You wouldn’t have even thought about it, he’s sure. “But no more standing up or walking around. I’m gonna get you anything you need. You’ll be better in no time.” 

You give him your own grateful smile. “Thank you.” You scrunch up your nose. 

“Are you gonna sneeze? I got balsam tissues.” The damage to your nose has already been done. “Do you have any chapstick? We’ll rub some on your nose to stop it from getting any drier.” 

Your wrinkled nose worsens. “Thank you for coming to look after me,” you say weakly. 

He wants to say you’re his best friend in the whole world, but you’re more than that now. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly, ducking down to plant a kiss near your eyebrow. “I always want to look after you. This is just the first time you’ve let me.” 

You smile contentedly, your voice falling to a whisper. “Will you tell me you love me again?” 

Spencer doesn’t think he’s in any position to deny you. “I love you,” he says truthfully. “Thank you for letting me come over.” 

You turn your face into his arm. “Thank you for wanting to, handsome.” 

[retroaria]

⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

[kpoptarotastrology009]

SYNASTRY OBSERVATIONS PART-1-

Moon Opposite Mars: When your Moon opposite their Mars, get ready for some serious sparks. Emotional outbursts? Hell yeah. Passionate fights? Alright bet. But the make-up game? Pure fire. This mix is all about those raw, unfiltered feels – the highs, the lows, and everything in between.but before entering the relationship make sure that the love is here because if you go for this relationship based on passion and intensity it may go wrong and be dangerous so make sure to be wise enough to know what are you in Exactly to not end up being abused or bullied or violated and this is specially for the moon person, yeah the passion is there but make sure this passion don't turn sour ok ?

Venus Opposite Mars: When your Venus is opposite their Mars, it’s a classic case of opposites attract. There’s a magnetic pull that’s hard to resist – the kind of attraction that’s intense and all-consuming. But it also leads to some epic clashes. It’s all about balancing that love-hate dynamic, where the passion is real, but so are the conflicts. You might have explosive arguments followed by passionate reconciliations, making this connection as volatile as it is thrilling. And I. Some situation this can be one sided love and it's always the venus person that love the mars person more😭

Moon-Saturn aspects : now hear me out, this synastry aspect always have the same situation: the Saturn person will never feel the moon person emotions like NEVER , let me tell you , it's like the Saturn person feels they can't keep up with the moon person sensitivity, they will see the moon as too sensitive for no reason at some point , in the beginning of the relationship everything is okay but as soon as the moon person become comfortable and open up about their emotions and sensitivity , the Saturn person is out , they just can't do it it's so hard for them to do that specially if you guys don't have compatible moon signs ( even if you have compatible moon signs it's still tuff) but with incompatible moon signs , congratulations you're cooked buddy ain't gonna lie about it , the Saturn person will never love the moon person in 100% way , in every relationship with this aspect they will never love the other person as the moon person expect them to be because theey will always feel like their love should be limited and their emotions should be limited for the moon person , it may last long but the relationship will be soo cold from Saturn side and too sad from the moon side but the thing is that the moon person's emotion is fixed on the Saturn person and they don't wanna leave them at any cost even if the relationship may hurt them and kill them , they don't wanna leave it they would prefer to be dead and never leave the relationship , and broo that's hella toxic , I find this aspect someway or form worst than pluto-moon aspects I said what I said ..

North node conjunct mars : When your North Node conjunct someone else's Mars, it's like you’ve got this dynamic energy propelling you forward. Mars is all about action, drive, and getting things done, while the North Node represents your life’s purpose and the path you’re meant to follow.Imagine having a partner who’s always encouraging you to chase your dreams and take risks. They light a fire under you, pushing you to step out of your comfort zone and go after what you really want. It’s like having someone who believes in you more than you believe in yourself sometimes.This connection can be super motivating. If you’ve been feeling stuck or unsure about your direction, their Mars energy can give you that extra kick to start moving. It’s like having a personal cheerleader who’s also ready to kick your butt into gear if you’re slacking.But it’s not just about them pushing you , you also inspire them to channel their energy into something meaningful. It’s a two-way street where you both help each other grow and evolve. Your goals might become more aligned, and you find yourselves working together towards common aspirations.There can be a bit of a challenge too, because Mars can be aggressive and impatient. Sometimes, their way of motivating you might feel a bit too intense or pushy. It's like when a trainer pushes you harder than you’re ready for, which can be overwhelming. But if you can handle the intensity, it leads to significant growth.In relationships, this aspect adds a lot of passion and drive. It’s like you’re both on a mission, whether it’s building a life together, working on projects, or simply pushing each other to be the best versions of yourselves. There’s a sense of purpose and urgency in your connection, making things feel exciting and forward-moving.So, having your North Node conjunct someone’s Mars is like finding that perfect balance between motivation and support, pushing you to achieve greatness together.

Mars square Pluto : so here we go , Mars square Pluto in synastry is like having a relationship with a lot of fireworks, but not always the good kind. Imagine you're constantly butting heads with your partner, like every little thing turns into a massive argument. One of you might always try to dominate the other, leading to a lot of power struggles. It's like you're both trying to steer the ship, but you keep crashing into each other. There’s always this underlying tension, like walking on eggshells, because you never know when the next big blow-up is coming. You might find yourself in situations where jealousy and possessiveness are off the charts, like one of you is always checking the other's phone or getting paranoid about what they’re doing. The arguments can get really heated, with both sides saying things they don't mean, turning minor issues into major drama. On the flip side, the sexual chemistry is intense, almost too intense... This aspect is a wild ride, full of ups and downs, and it can either push you to grow or completely wear you out.

Neptune square mercury : I was asking myself if should I talk about this aspect or not but let's go for it , this aspect is like trying to chat through a haze, Period . You're always missing each other's point, like saying one thing and your partner hears something completely different. Imagine planning a date, but somehow ending up at different places because one of you misread the message. Conversations feel like you're on different wavelengths, almost like talking to someone who's half-listening or daydreaming. It's like trying to get something important across, but they keep drifting off or interpreting it in a way you didn't mean.This can also lead to some sneaky behavior or little white lies. Maybe you feel like your partner isn’t always straight with you, or details get conveniently left out. Picture saying you're out with friends and them imagining a wild party when you’re just chilling at a cafe. The lines between truth and imagination blur, making trust a bit tricky.You might also find yourself feeling disoriented in discussions, like you can’t pin down what they really mean. It's a lot of "Wait, what did you mean by that?" or "I thought you said something else." It can be frustrating because you're always trying to read between the lines and guess what they’re really thinking.

Uranus square ascendant : this feels like you're both trying to find a balance between staying true to yourselves and being open to new ideas and experiences. The Uranus person might push you to step out of your comfort zone, which can be exhilarating but also a bit unsettling. I'm not saying it's a bad aspect but let's say it's a friendship , you and your friend are always on the lookout for the next adventure, constantly pushing each other to try new things and explore new ideas. The Uranus person may bring a sense of freedom and liberation to the friendship, encouraging the Ascendant person to break free from routine and embrace change BUT this can lead to a dynamic and stimulating friendship, it can also create tension, especially if one person feels like the other is pushing them too far out of their comfort zone. AND if it's a romantic relationship this aspect in any type of relationship add excitement for sure whether it sometimes conjunct the MC ( excitement in you career) or the IC ( excitement in your home environment or in your emotions in general) but this aspect can lead to conflicts maybe a lot of conflicts , especially if one person feels like their need for independence is being stifled by the other. It's like trying to find a balance between being true to yourself and being part of a partnership. If not managed well, this aspect can lead to a relationship that feels chaotic and unstable, with both partners feeling like they're never on solid ground.

[crazilust]

My thoughts on these placements

based on my last lover. PSA: this might be biased. don’t take it TOO seriously, it’s mostly for me to purge this relationship. LETS GOOOOOOO !!

1. Gemini rising

Have you ever felt hella special to someone and then you see them interact with someone else and you’re like “oh. i’m… i’m just another one of their friends.” this is what it feels to be around a gemini rising sometimes. most of the ones I know, are either extremely popular, know alot of people or at the very least just hang out regularly with a bunch of people (might just be colleagues and not necessarily friends but they’re often surrounded). And they have this way of making you feel special, and funny and entertaining but most of the times, they’re the ones controlling the discussion and the flow of it.

when it came to my ex, he knew so many people and every person he was interacting with, he knew a little detail about them, and it made the person care so much about him. Even though he didn’t as much. Somewhat flimsy, it’s hard to know a Gemini rising’ true intentions with you.

2. Sagittarius sun

Sags don’t have the best reputation in my book, and he certainly didn’t help the stereotypes. The thing with Sags sun that I find hard to understand is the constant lie they have between who they truly are and who they want to be. It’s a constant battle of “don’t look too hard into my flaws bc soon enough I’ll be this grandiose super star and therefore you can forget about the awkward nerd you have in front of you.” Most of them are nerds, truly. But they hate it. As opposed to Aquarius sun’s desire to be different and their ability to stand on their two feet even tho they’re being outcast, a Sag sun’s deepest fear is to be seen as the weirdo they are. (that unfortunately they associated with being a loser)

If you’ve never been close with a Sag, you’ll be the first to deny this claim. “What?? The Sag I met was THE life of the party! No weirdo here.” or “The Sag I met was a boss ass btch, she had everything under control and very educated!!”

And that, my friends, is what we call a front. Sure, they can be the life of the party, usually very keen on getting their diplomas, but if you don’t know them, that’s the only part of them you’ll get to see cause it’s the part they deem acceptable.

I’m not even gonna comment on the commitment issues, cause yall… you know it already lmao.

3. Virgo moon

Nobody hates an underdeveloped virgo moon more than they hate themselves. So critical, judgemental and harsh. They notice absolutely everything that you do and instead of going to you and confront you about the issue, they’ll keep it in, and throw it back to your face the minute it’s convenient for them (when they effed up). Very hard to love because they simply can’t accept that you love and accept their own flaws. I remember my ex asking me litteraly all the time “How can you love me if I’m not as pretty as before” (it was in his head, he was just as cute) “How can you love me if I don’t have a job?” (He had lost his job for only 2 months at that point) No matter what I’d say, he couldn’t believe that I loved him wholeheartedly, no matter what.

Sometimes, when I look at a virgo moon, unevolved ofc, all I can see is pain. Virgo is an already hard sign to have imo (sorry!) but in the moon placement, it’s just sad. These natives are so harsh on themselves and accept no help whatsoever. And if you do try, they’ll do everything to push you away and trust me, one thing Virgos do is succeed.

4. Libra Mars

As a scorpio mars, libra mars is not my favorite placement. But as I checked my vedic chart and I do, in fact, have a libra mars, I hate that I understand why they act the way they do.

They care so much about everything being perfect, everyone getting along and most importantly being at peace with the ones they love. The cliches are true for a reason, they dislike conflict and yes, are passive agressive but it’s because they don’t want to lose the people they love with petty drama.

So they don’t say anything, and they accomodate even tho that one thing irritated them and then when you confront them about something, they bring you everything you’ve done wrong for the past six months. That’s the part I hate, ofc, but I also hate that I get it.

I get it. They’re the biggest people pleasers and when they don’t say anything about something that upsets them, they actually think they’re doing it for the greater good. They obviously analyse everything you’re doing wrong, but they don’t mind not saying it cause they’d rather be at peace with you. So how dare you don’t do the same for them?

That’s the mentality. Unfortunately for them, it brings bigger conflict because then you feel betrayed they never said anything to begin with. UGH.

SPEAK YOUR MIND, Libras of any placements actually <3

5. Sagittarius Mercury

If you consider yourself soft, delicate, sensitive, do not date a Sag mercury. These people are ruthless. As friends, I find them hilarious and fun to be around, but as lovers I would never do that to myself again. Just never <3. They are very blunt (which doesn’t mean they won’t lie! We’re talking about a Jupiter ruled sign here yall), but in a way that won’t make you feel good about yourself. They’ll often use humour to attack you and then use it as a shield the moment you call them out on it (i.e : It was just a jokeeeeee!)

Gives very good advice, I’ll give them that. I think sometimes I can have a little bit of tunnel vision and with Sag mercuries, they’re able to tap you on the shoulder and be like “Have you consider this tho?” in the most casual way and you’re like “oh.. no. yes. you’re right”

6. Aquarius Venus

If you love the friends to lovers trope, you’ll just love dating an Aquarius venus because that friendship-like relationship will be the foundation of your dynamic. Everything feels fun, the complicity is at an all time high.

But the commitment.

Now, I’ve read multiple times here that Aquarius venus is actually very committed to the person they love when they like you. Well, I guess I wasn’t his person cause I only felt the commitment phobia.

Anyways, I still loved the dynamic of the relationship, but I can’t lie, it didn’t feel serious at all.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~••~•~•~•~•~•

Well that’s all for me, today. Love yall!!

Remember, these are the big 6 of my ex so it is biased nothing to take too personal but if it applies and resonates, great💛

B.

[trippinsorrows]

10 things + part two

authors note: wasn't expecting so many of you to be interested in this! but, you were, and now here we are! 😅 there will definitely be a final part 3 to this, btw.

words: 3.1k

part one

gif belongs to @romanreigns

warnings: angst, argument between parent and child, things get a tad bit physical....

Nova has always enjoyed and cherished Roman being home. For a lot of reasons. Many of them obvious, like the fact that he’s her husband, the man she loves, the man she wants to be around. Or even just the relief that comes with having another adult in the home to help out with the girls while she works. 

So him having time off work the past few months really has made a difference. For her. For their marriage. And especially for his relationship with their young daughters.

If only the same could be said for his relationship with their firstborn.

Which is exactly what she plans to tackle when he walks back in the room after putting the girls down for bed.

“How many stories did they sucker out of you?”

Roman chuckles at the first question he’s hit with as soon as he returns from bedtime duties. “Only three this time.”

She smiles, watching him close the door and walk over to where she sits on her knees in the middle of the bed. “Park must have worn them out.”

He makes a sound, starting to eye her up and down. Nova knows that look. Knows it far too well. It’s the same look that most likely led to both her pregnancies with their middle and youngest. “Speaking of wearing out…..”

She rolls her eyes when he reaches for her chin, lifting her head. “We need to talk.”

“Not gonna lie, not really in the mood for talking. Not with this little piece you got on….” He gestures to the thin sleep dress that shows off her breast and hardened nipples that are stretched against the cotton. 

“Too bad.” She ignores him, patting the spot beside her. “Come on.”

The scowl on his face is comical, similar to any of the kids when they’ve just been told something they don’t want to hear. “It better be important.”

“It is,” she promises. One of the most important things in his life. 

Roman looks at her, gaze shifting into something suspicious. “You pregnant?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, Roman, I’m not pregnant.” Nova taps her upper forearm. “Remember? We made sure that doesn’t happen again. At least not without being planned.” He looks both relieved and torn. Relatable. Neither of them necessarily want any more children, but they also wouldn’t be upset if it happened. “Besides, we need to focus on the ones we have. Starting with Junior.”

And instantly, she knows she’s lost his interest. “Not this again—”

“Yes, this again.” She stresses, borderline irritated that he’s irritated that she wants to discuss his abysmal relationship with their firstborn. “He’s your son, Roman. You need to fix your relationship with him.”

“Nova, we both know that boy doesn't want anything to do with me.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

He runs his hands through his hair, expressing 100% disagreement. “He acts like he hates me or something.”

Though it’s said with surface level irritation, Nova knows her husband well. Has known him since they were teenagers, so it’s relatively easy for her to see through his facade. His statement holds a lot of hurt.

A lot of pain.

“He doesn’t, baby,” she comforts, reaching to push back some of his hair. He has it down, free and wavy just how she prefers it. “He’s just—-he……he feels like he can’t talk to you.”

Roman is quick to object. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“No, he doesn’t want to talk to you if you’re not going to listen to him, and you don’t sometimes, Roman.”

Nova loves her husband as much as she’s certain he loves her, but he can be hard headed and stubborn. Borderline arrogant, especially when he believes he’s right. A hard person to deal with. At times, at least.

She watches the way Roman’s shoulders relax a bit as he lets down some of his walls, admitting, “I just don’t want him to make the same mistakes I did.”

Nova moves and hugs him from behind, chin on his shoulder. “I get that, babe, but he’s going to make mistakes, regardless, because he’s a kid. That’s how they learn.”

“But, why should I just sit here and watch my son go down the same road I did if I can avoid it?”

And herein lies the main issue from what Nova has been able to see. The vastly different stances the two men in her life have regarding one of their futures. RJ wants to enter the NFL draft next year, wants to get started on his career now rather than later. Believes that’s the best route for him. Roman, however, wants his son to finish school and then declare for the draft. 

To avoid having the tough experiences Roman had in not getting drafted and being added and cut from team to team, putting the family in financial difficulties because of inconsistent income. Roman couldn’t even provide for his family at that time, a devastating feeling for anyone, let alone a man.

RJ, clearly, is in a different boat. Regardless, with no college degree, Roman didn’t have much to lean back on. He doesn’t want that for his son.

If only Junior saw it that way.  

“Because you can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.” She sighs, sharing her own thoughts. “I don’t disagree with you, Roman. I think he should stay and finish school and then enter the draft too, but I can’t make that decision for him, and neither can you.”

“So we just let him make bad decisions? Is that what you’re saying?” She closes her eyes. Here they go. “Fuck that. I know you like to be his friend, but you’re not, Nova. You’re his mother, and you need to act like it.”

“Excuse me?” She moves away, removing her arms from around him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t like confrontation, so you avoid it by any means, even if it means upholding his bad behavior.”

Nova doesn’t really get angry or let things affect her much. Unless it comes to her family. To her kids. And Roman happens to be picking at that soft spot. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make it seem like I’m a bad mother for supporting our son.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not everything needs to be supported.”

“And not everything needs to be judged either.” She shakes her head, climbing off the bed. “This is the shit I’m talking about. It’s like I can’t even talk to you anymore.” Nova heads for their bathroom, already over this conversation. She loves Roman, but sometimes, she can’t stand him.

And this is gradually turning into one of those times. 

Roman is hot on her heels, standing in the doorway as she starts to pull out her skincare items. “See, you’re proving my point. You’re walking away.”

She turns to him, explaining boldly. “I’m walking away because I don’t want to argue with you. I’m tired of that, and you should be too, which is why I’m trying to get you to make peace with your only son.”

Of course, he continues playing the victim, going along with his swan song. “Why should I have to do it? Why should I have to apologize for looking out for him? For being his father?”

“He doesn’t see it that way, Roman. He sees it as you being controlling.”

“No, he just doesn’t want anyone telling him what to do.”

Nova scoffs, grabbing her face cream, twisting off the cap. “Wonder where he gets that from.”

She doesn’t have to be looking at him to know he’s scowling. “He’s not a little boy anymore. You need to stop fucking babying him all the time.”

At that, her head snaps in his direction. “Excuse me?” Again, poking the bear. “I don’t baby him. I make myself available for him emotionally. Lord knows, you don’t.”

“He doesn’t want me—”

Nova slams the jar down on the counter, turning to him. “What does he want, Roman? Huh?” She places one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. “When’s the last time you even asked him?”

He looks away, jaw clenched, and she knows she’s got him. Knows that he has no retort for that. Not a good one, at least. 

“You know what, I’m done asking you to do shit.” She steps toward him, all of the weight and stress of this situation evident in both her expression and voice. “I’m telling you to make things right with our son.”

Nova takes his hands in hers. “I love you, but I love our children more.” She swallows, emotion betraying her, eyes watering. “And if it ever came to it where it’s between them and you….I choose them every time.”

—--------

“We need to talk.”

Nova is barely back in the kitchen after getting the girls down for bed when the smile is easily wiped off her previously happy face. She glances over at her husband and then her son, both standing on separate sides of the kitchen island. She can tell RJ was about to head out, clearly uninterested in staying beyond his attendance for Sunday family dinner.

A part of her wants to cut in, wants to suggest that maybe they do this another time. Maybe over lunch between the two of them. Someplace where they’re less likely to have an epic blowout.

But, it’s too late.

RJ visibly tenses at Roman’s statement. An obvious reaction given the fact that rarely do good things follow those four infamous words. 

“About?” 

“You still planning to enter the draft?”

RJ shrugs. “Yeah.”

Roman is quiet for a second, stroking his beard. “You know that’s stupid, right?”

Nova closes her eyes. Such a great start. “Roman.”

RJ, however, just smiles and crosses his arms. “Of course, you think it’s stupid. Not like anyone else can have a good idea if it didn’t come from you.”

Roman ignores that, instead suggesting, “you need to finish school first. Get your degree.”

“Why?” RJ’s nose is turned up in disgust. “We all know I’m locked in to be a first round pick.”

“That’s what you think. It’s not guaranteed.” Roman objects, advising, “don’t get too cocky.”

At that, RJ looks like he wants to laugh. “You’re telling me that?” He scoffs. “You’re the last one to talk.”

“Junior.” Nova scolds, now standing almost directly next to Roman. “I think what your dad is trying to say—”

“How much longer you think I’m gonna keep putting up with your disrespectful ass mouth, huh?” Roman cuts her off, and Nova finds herself reaching over to grab his hand. His tone alone tells her his anger is spiking, and that’s never a good thing. Especially right now. “Keep it up.”

And the situation is only made worse when Junior starts to laugh. Nova closes her eyes. This is not what she meant when she told Roman to make things right.

He’s doing the exact opposite. 

Roman’s nose is flared, his voice tight as he he asks, “what’s so fucking funny?”

“You.” RJ doesn’t hesitate to answer, hands flat on the granite as he leans over the island. “How all of a sudden you wanna be my dad. How you all of a sudden wanna act like you care about me. Act like you care about my future. Act like you didn’t miss almost, if not all, of my games when I was growing up.”

Nova’s stomach is starting to twist and knot. “RJ—”

But, he only continues. Pain and anger meshing and forming into a dangerous combination. “Mama was there. Every game. You weren’t.” Nova glances over at Roman and sees the same mix of feelings from their son in him. “You weren’t there for me then, so you don’t get to be there for me now.” 

Closing her eyes, she does her best to quickly try to figure out what’s the best thing to say. To try to defuse this situation that’s clearly much deeper than she could have ever realized. 

But, Roman is faster. “You act like I was this piece of shit dad who was never around at all.” And just like with her son, she sees and hears it with the senior of the two. Anger and hurt. And pride. “I had to work to provide for you and your mother. You don’t get to throw that shit in my face when you’re older and use it to play the victim.”

Neither. Neither of them clearly know how to communicate without slinging mud. Without sharing how they feel minus the petty jabs and cheap shots. 

RJ only scoffs, seemingly unbothered. “Whatever.”

Roman leans his head back and rolls his shoulder. “RJ, I’m telling you right now, you leave school early and shit doesn’t work out, I’m cutting you off.”

Nova would have loved to have seen her son’s reaction to that, but she’s too busy looking at her husband with all the shock instead. They never discussed that. And she’s pissed off that he would even bring it up without even consulting her about it.

“Roman, you’re being—”

He ignores her, continuing to direct his warning to their son. “You wanna act grown. You can deal with whatever those consequences are.”

RJ shakes his head, Nova finally looking over at him. She can see it. So much hurt. “So what, I don’t do what you want, and I don’t get to be your son anymore?”

Roman snaps, raising his voice. “You don’t want to be my son now, so what fucking difference does it make?” 

“Roman!” She can’t believe he would say that, can’t believe he could ever fix his mouth to express such a thing to his own flesh and blood. It turns her stomach a little bit. Truly. “Don’t say—”

“It’s alright, mama. That’s who he is. It’s who he’s always been.” The betrayal is seeping through as RJ directs his comment toward her instead of Roman who only continues to look with that same combination of heavy emotions. “I don’t even know why you're still with him” Nova is already at a loss for words at how bad this has gotten, but nothing could have prepared her for what he says next. “Should have left his ass the minute you found out he cheated on you.”

Silence.

Nova’s gaze switches to Roman who seems just as taken back as she feels. How RJ is aware of this, she has no idea. Nor does she know just how much he knows about what really occurred and the complexity of the situation. But, that’s neither here nor there. Because she’s got a whole other issue to handle that’s created with Roman’s next statement. 

“Get the hell out of my house.”

Her eyes snap shut again. 

Shit.

She reaches for his arm. “Roman….”

“No!” He snaps. At her. At RJ. At the situation as a whole that’s reached a higher level of disaster than she could have ever anticipated. “He thinks he knows every fucking thing. Wants to be a man. So let him be a fucking man!”

This is not what their son needs. Far from it. “Roman!”

“Naw, he’s right, mama! I don’t need him!” Her attention switches to her son, who much like his father, is doing a damn good job hiding his hurt at this entire thing. Hiding the open, gaping emotional wound. “I can take care of myself!”

“So do it!” Roman continues, completely honed in on his emotions instead of the logic Nova is trying to desperately instill and impart on them both right now. “Get your own fucking car! Pay your own fucking tuition!” 

“I will!” He yells back. “Acting like this your house when everybody knows mama was the one taking care of your broke ass and everything else until your career kicked off!”

“RJ! That is enough.” All of this has gone too far. “I know you’re upset, but he’s still your fath—”

“He’s nothing to me!” Nova feels like she’s in some sort of simulated reality. One where every single one of her worst fears comes to life and haunts her. Or, maybe that would be more enjoyable than this. “He’s just a narcissistic ass—”

Nova has never had fast reflexes. Ever. Two left feet, poor hand eye coordination. The whole nine yards, but there’s nothing slow about the way in which she jumps in front of Roman who starts to lunge toward their son with nothing good in mind.

Nothing good at all.

“No!” She shouts, hands on his chest, knowing that it’s certainly not her strength restraining him. It’s the fact that he clearly doesn’t want to hurt her. “Roman, no! Please!”

“Let him go! Let him do it!”

“RJ! Shut up now!” Nova snaps, directing some of her own simmering anger to her son. She feels for him, sees the hurt hiding behind the anger, but enough is enough. He’s out of line. 

“Why?” He continues. And Nova is really starting to wonder if he took something, because this is not the son she knows. The child she raised. She never taught or allowed him to be this disrespectful. “You know I’m right! Even uncle Jey said it! Dad is a bit—”

Nova is barely able to process what’s happening until she’s stumbling to the side, Roman having bypassed her. She’s only able to see the moment he shoves RJ who stumbles and falls back, just not on the ground. 

No. A single, small cry pierces the air and causes all three of them to pause, even if for the briefest second.

“Mommy!” Arabella’s cry of pain is slightly muffled under RJ’s heavy body as he quickly moves to roll off his little sister whose face is turned up in pain, her arms reaching out for a source of comfort.

Roman looks devastated. RJ is mortified, and Nova can only rush over to her daughter, quickly lifting and holding her, gently cradling her head as Bella cries into her.

“Mom, I’m sor—”

“No!” Nova snaps. Enough. She’s just had enough. “Both of you get the hell out of my house!”

Roman swallows and steps forward, eyes focused on Bella’s little body as she sobs into Nova’s neck. “Bella—”

“I said I want you out!” She reaffirms, stepping toward her son whose anger has melted away into a stirring pot of guilt. “You come back when you find your goddamn brain.” Angling her body toward her husband, to the man she’s spent so much of her formative years and life with, feeling for the first time in a long time, nothing but disgust. “And you?” Nova is almost certain she feels the moment her heart breaks as she says those infamous words. “Don’t come back at all.”

[locketsvault]

「 CUDDLING WITH BSD MEN PT 2/4 」

pairings: chuuya x reader ፥ akutagawa x reader ፥ oda x reader

tags: gender neutral reader, no agab mentioned, first person, fluff, cuddling/phyiscal affection

warnings: talks of canon illness in akutagawa, not proof read

other parts: ada ᨒ port mafia ᨒ doa + the guild ᨒ the hunting dogs

a/n: fyi for chuuya I have not read stormbringer so forgive me. oda is also short because I didn’t really know what to say for him. no gender or sex mentioned, no pronouns either!

// chuuya nakahara ⌇˚.༄

⮑ Is there such thing as classy cuddles? Because he gives classy cuddles.

⮑ The word I’d use for him in a relationship is classy, I can’t help it. But I do mean classy in a good way. Physical affection with him started off small, and he allowed you to pace when you were ready for more. I also see him as someone who always has an arm around you, either over your shoulders or on your waist.

⮑ He keeps pda to a minimum, he won’t cuddle you in public, especially in front his co workers. He’s an executive and he takes it serious. I also don’t think he’d want to show you as his weakness, he wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

⮑ Cuddling with Chuuya is oddly nice. Oddly because he seems rough on the outside. He is very rarely little spoon during cuddle sessions, he feels insecure. But he makes up for it, he’s a great big spoon. He’s a warm, very very warm. I can actually picture you in between his legs cuddling him while he has a wine glass in his hand. Now a many things could happen, one of you is talking, or you’re watching something. Either way, it works well with him.

⮑ The downside is he isn’t home much for cuddles. He’s either away for jobs or at work. So unless you’re willing to sit in his lap while he does paperwork, you don’t get your cuddles.

⮑ 7/10, very good cuddles …when you get them.

// ryunosuke akutagawa ⌇˚.༄

⮑ I just want to know how you managed to touch him in the first place.

⮑ Everyone always says he is touch adverse, which I completely agree, but then people usually say that when it comes down to it he hates it and stuff like that. I have to disagree. I think he’s terrified of it yes, he grew up without any form of physical love, but I do think deep down he yearns for it. He craves it and, when he finally gives in, his entire meticulously built wall completely shatters. Which is how I wonder, how’d you manage it?

⮑ I won’t lie, I believe behind closed doors once he’s comfortable with cuddling or touch and he’s quite clingy. You just feel so warm and well— safe. I can promise you though, it will only be behind closed doors. Do not try to be physically affectionate in public, especially in front of his coworkers. At least not for a very long time.

⮑ I like to imagine that after a time, with lots of reassurance about his ability, he will pull you into cuddles with rashomon. Which, I feel like he’d be bad about verbally asking for affection so he’d do that instead. It’s easier on his illness to use his ability.

⮑ Speaking of his illness sadly, it can make cuddling tough. One moment you could be resting in his arms and the next he’s having a nasty coughing fit. There’s been times when he’s be insecure about his illness and not want to be touched anymore.

⮑ 4/10, I love my baby but his illness + his traumas it’s hard for him to be physically affectionate.

// oda sakunosuke ⌇˚.༄

⮑ He takes care of orphans therefore I am a firm believer he knows how to cuddle.

⮑ I mean it too, he takes care of kids physically and emotionally, he’s got dad hugs. If anyone is gonna hold you and it make you feel safe and taken care of, it’s him. And he knows it too. And he has a six sense for when you need cuddling. And sometimes you end up in a cuddle pile with the kids. I don’t make the rules.

⮑ Oda is 50/50 with pda, he doesn’t mind it, especially if it’s something you love. But it does worry him, like Chuuya, he’s afraid of showing you as a weakness and you getting hurt or killed. But if it’s safe, he usually sticks to holding your hand or holding your waist. I can see him holding you close with your heads rested in each others shoulders while at a public theater.

⮑ Private cuddles are common and comfortable. Oh and he’s always the big spoon. He’s always holding you, I don’t really see him as the type to be held.

⮑ 9/10 you can feel all the care in his arms.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

[httpvomitello]

Hey hi can you do TMNT headcanons for when they find out you hate pizza?? But you’ve been pushing through because you’re down bad for them 🥲

Oh nooo! The taste of betrayal 😭 poor babies... Anyways, I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Leo is surprisingly oblivious to your pizza disdain at first, especially since you’re always a good sport about it

You’ve been eating it with him during every hangout, and he’s convinced you’re totally on board with the pizza life.

One day, while watching a movie, you casually mention that you’re not the biggest fan of pizza, and Leo’s brain short-circuits. He pauses mid-bite, staring at you in disbelief. “Wait… you hate pizza? And you’ve been eating it just for me?”

After learning you’ve been enduring pizza for him, Leo teases you relentlessly, but in that smug, charming way

"So, how many more slices were you gonna choke down before telling me, huh?” He’ll flash that confident grin, knowing he has the upper hand.

Leo would absolutely make it a point to surprise you with food from your favorite restaurant one day, playing it off cool, like it was no big deal

“Thought we’d switch it up tonight. No pizza. Just you, me, and your favorite dish.”

When the team inevitably orders pizza again, Leo will dramatically shield you from the sight, covering your eyes with his hands

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to suffer anymore. You’re safe now.” You’ll both end up laughing, but it becomes a running joke.

Donnie’s the type to notice something is off long before you confess

When he finally finds out, probably through an offhand comment from you, he looks at you with wide eyes, then immediately questions his observational skills

“Wait. You’ve been eating pizza this entire time… and dislike it? That’s borderline masochism.”

He’ll probably do some deep dive research on food preferences and intolerance, just in case you weren’t telling him the whole truth

To make up for it, Donnie starts coding a highly sophisticated "Perfect Pizza Finder" algorithm. It takes your tastes into account and suggests custom pizza recipes that are more suited to you

“With this, you’ll never hate pizza again!”

When the two of you eat together from then on, Donnie will insist on creating the menu himself

"This time, it’ll be something your taste buds actually enjoy." And he’ll use all his high-tech gadgets to make sure it’s perfect every time.

He’ll go above and beyond to make sure you’re not suffering anymore, all while teasing you for your initial sacrifice.

Mikey is devastated when he finds out you don’t like pizza

You’ve been his pizza buddy for so long that it’s practically a core part of your relationship in his eyes

So when you finally break the news, he’s dramatically heartbroken: “You’ve been living a lie?!”

At first, he thinks you’re joking, but when you assure him that you really don’t like pizza, he looks at you with genuine confusion

“But… why didn’t you say something?!”

You confess that you’ve been eating it for him because you like him, and he melts on the spot

Mikey is beyond flattered and immediately starts brainstorming pizza alternatives just for you

“What about pizza rolls? Pizza with, like, no sauce? Dessert pizza? There’s gotta be some pizza variation that’ll win you over!”

Even though pizza is still his #1 love, Mikey’s happy to switch it up for your sake. He’ll start planning more food adventures that cater to your taste, often suggesting new foods to try together and making sure you never have to force down a slice again.

When Raph finds out, he’s shocked you didn’t say anything earlier, but he also feels kinda guilty

“Why didn’t you tell me, dumbass? You didn’t have to force yourself to eat that greasy stuff for me.”

After that, he becomes super protective of your food choices

He’s not about to let you suffer through pizza again if he can help it

“From now on, we eat what you like, got it?”

Raph’s way of making it up to you is offering to cook up something himself

He might not be the best cook, but he tries hard, and it’s kind of adorable watching him fumble with a spatula in the kitchen

Whenever his brothers tease you about it, Raph is quick to shut them down. “They did it for me, so back off.”

He’s secretly proud that you were willing to push through for him, and he might even feel in love even more.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hiiii <3 i absolutely adore your works, I have been SEARCHING for someone who appreciates the sub!hotd boys

I saw that you recently wrote this for Jace, but I've been thinking so so hard about taking care of sub!Aemond when he's not feeling good/sick, the way he would absolutely install all of his trust into his beloved, and completely melt away in their arms! Especially if he has a stomach bug or something like that.

We know how he feels about people in his space, so he definitely doesn't want the maesters or servants near him, so all of his care is basically through his lover 😵‍💫😭

I love this idea! I also think it's very funny how much we all love torturing these characters.

There's nothing NSFW in this answer but the vibes are definitely sub!aemond and also I do make reference to what happened at the brothel when he was 13 so I'm gonna hide it behind a cut just in case.

Firstly, Aemond trust is very VERY hard to get. You are the only person he actually trusts. Sure there are some others he trusts to certain extents, but you are the only one with his full trust. A big part about why you have that level of trust is because of how you protect him and his vulnerabilities? You will never ever let anyone else see him in a vulnerable position. Plenty of people have tried to get you to reveal things about Aemond to them and of course you always tell them to get lost and then tell Aemond about it later. There are no secrets between the two of you, ever.

(And I really do mean ever, not even white lies, not even a lie that sets up a surprise for him, nothing. In fact you go out of your way to always ensure he knows what's going on with you and letting him tell you what's happening with him. It's this constant, open communication that really solidifies the relationship for Aemond. You become his safe space, and he becomes yours)

So when Aemond gets sick, his first reaction is absolutely to find you and ask for support. In fact, he probably doesn't been realise it? He just feels bad and before he knows what's going on he's wondering around the keep trying to find you.

It's because he always feels better when he's in the same space as you? He just feels so much more secure when he's with you, when he knows he has someone who is 100% on his side and have his back.

You know something is wrong the moment you spot him because he doesn't actually come to you and join the conversation you're having, instead he just stands there watching you. He looks even paler than normal. You quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and go to him.

The first thing you do is ask what's wrong and he actually doesn't answer the first time. There are too many people around and he doesn't want anyone else hearing that he's not feeling well. So you take him to your shared chambers and only then does he confess about how bad he feels. You try to convince him to call a maester, but needless to say that doesn't work.

You arent too surprised with that refusal, considering how reserved he is and how much he hates seeming weak in front of others. You're just glad he's come to you. You don't even consider calling a maester anyway. It doesn't matter how sick he is, you won't break his trust like that. He came to you for help.

You help him get undressed and then help him into a wam bath to get him feeling a little better. Only once he's in the bath do you ask if you can remove his eye patch, and part of you think he'll say no because of how clearly vulnerable he is. But he nods and asks you to do it for him. You, of course, gently taking it off him and then help him wash himself. Aemond absolutely ADORES when you wash his hair, so when you make the offer to do that he agrees immediately.

Once he's nice and clean, you help him onto the bed. The moment he's changed into more comfortable clothes he's pulling you into bed with him and turning into your arms. You let him rest against your chest and run your hands through his hair, untangling it with your fingers.

He just lays there for a while, eventually he starts shivering and you pull away to ask what's wrong. That's when you feel his forehead and realise he has a fever. Again you suggest calling a maester and again he refuses, choosing instead to dive back into your chest and cling to you as he shivers.

You wait a little while longer and ask again when you realise he's not getting any better. You then offer to call the maesters but ensure they don't touch him. That's an option he considers, and eventually he agrees. `

You go to fetch the maester on duty, and you give them a very stern talking to because allowing them into the bedroom, making them promise they won't touch Aemond.

Aemond is sitting in the bed when you return, and he immediately holds his hand out to you. You come and sit on the side of bed, taking his hand and then telling the Maester what's going on. The maester tries to say he needs to feel Aemond's forehead, but you stop him mid sentence. Aemond doesn't even need to tell the maester no, you've already stopped him. You can feel how aemond's grip on your hand relaxes when you prevent the maester from touching him.

The maester prescribes some medication and to keep a cool towel on his forehead. You administer his medication and put a damp towel over his forehead as instructed. Aemond doesn't even bother listening to what the Maester said because he knows you would have listened closely and would ensure he follows all instructions.

When aemond is sick is the only time he will actually be openly needy with you. When you try to leave the room he actually whines and begs you to come back. And he's so hostile to anyone else who tries to enter the room, because he mostly just feels so vulnerable and he can't stand the thought of others seeing him that way. You basically have to guard his door for him to be able to relax enough to actually sleep.

Oh and if he made you sick as a result, he'll look after you and lord help anyone who tries to get him to move away from your bedside.

[luvkyu]

my love, i still ( mark lee ) part two

mark x male reader

mark is a mess, but he'd never say that out loud.

content : 2.4k words, angst, idol!mark x manager!reader, ex-relationship, some riize, mk is v sweet but the ending will make u guys hate me i fear

part one

"what the hell.." y/n mumbled to himself.

"get it out, get it out!!" anton shouted annoyedly.

"i'm trying!" wonbin screamed back.

y/n watched the scene in front of him. he'd just arrived at riize's dorm to find that somehow wonbin and sohee had gotten anton's foot stuck in their sofa, though wonbin denied any fault in the situation.

"how do you even get a foot stuck in a sofa?" y/n asked tiredly.

"we were trying to prank him, but it just- y'know what, nevermind," sohee gave up on explaining. anton looked down at him with a death glare.

"i don't even know what happened," anton added.

wonbin held the cushions back while sohee tried to maneuver his groupmate's foot out of the sofa springs.

"i feel like i should be helping but i'm having a good time just watching," y/n snickered.

"hyung!" anton whined.

"alright, alright," y/n gave in. just as he was about to help, sohee finally pulled anton's foot out.

"i'm just glad you're wearing socks," wonbin grumbled.

anton rolled his eyes and stomped off to his room.

"anyways, hi y/n!!" wonbin enthused, he and sohee rushing to hug their manager.

"nah, get away from me you troublemakers."

"i told you, sohee did it, not me!!" wonbin defended.

y/n rolled his eyes and hugged the two of them anyways.

"okay, here's your lunch. your schedules are clear for the rest of the day so make sure to rest enough. tomorrow's gonna be a much longer day," y/n said as he set their bags of food on the table. "sohee, can you go get the others?"

sohee quickly nodded and skipped off to retrieve the rest of his members for lunch.

y/n sat down by wonbin and pulled out his phone. he smiled upon seeing a message from mark.

mark :

hey :) we still on for coffee tonight?

y/n :

yes :) sys !!

mark :

okay cool 🤍

y/n sighed and set his phone down. by now, the rest of the group had filtered out into the common room for their food. y/n looked up to see shotaro giving him a smug stare.

"what..?" y/n asked.

"who's got you smiling at your phone like that?" shotaro teased.

"oooh! manager hyung has a girlfriend!" wonbin cheered.

y/n's nose scrunched up in disgust, "girlfriend??"

wonbin's grin faltered, looking between y/n and shotaro - who busted into a fit of laughter that filled their dorm instantly.

"i'm gay, bin," y/n clarified.

wonbin's eyes widened. he quickly covered his mouth to hide his fallen jaw.

"oh, i'm sorry!! you have a boyfriend then!"

y/n chuckled. "no, nothing like that."

"tsk. what a lie," shotaro insisted.

y/n sighed and shook his head. "you guys are so nosy. i'm gonna head out now for some errands. i'll be back late, but call me if you need anything."

"boooo," shotaro pouted.

"remember we need to leave at seven in the morning tomorrow. be ready to go, please," y/n added.

the boys muttered responses as their manager finally departed from their dorm.

"is it true he and mark dated?" eunseok asked.

"i dunno for sure," shotaro answered.

"wait, what??" wonbin was very confused. he almost felt left out. "there's a y/n and mark theory??"

"yeah, but i'd rather not talk too much about it when he's not here."

wonbin frowned at his leader's reply. "i guess that's fair."

"are you and y/n getting back together??" chenle asked excitedly. jeno and renjun stood with him, eyes wide with hope.

mark freezed and in tracks. he was about to leave to meet y/n for their coffee 'date'. he wasn't quite sure what to call it.

"..we're just going for some coffee," mark replied.

".." chenle stared at him. "you didn't answer my question."

mark thought for a second. "oh.. no, i guess..?"

chenle frowned. renjun patted their leader's shoulder from beside him.

"we'll take that as a maybe," he concluded instead. mark rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys to finally leave.

"what's going on?" jisung asked. his brows furrowed at the sight of three of his group members crowded around mark like little gremlins.

"we were asking if mark's getting back together with y/n."

jisung looked at mark and smiled, "of course he is."

"see!!" renjun cheered.

mark would've scoffed and bid his friends goodbye by now, but he was a bit taken back by jisung's sincere reply. the youngest was now comfy on the floor against the couch with his phone in hand, as if his statement was no news to anyone.

jisung felt his leader's eyes on him after a moment. he looked over at mark before lowering his phone.

"what? you are, right?" jisung asked. "..it's y/n. he's it for you. everyone knows that."

mark blinked. he looked back to the other boys, who clearly agreed with jisung.

"i'll see you guys later," mark said with a shake of his head.

jisung's mouth twitched downwards as he stared after mark. he then looked at his groupmates, worried.

"did i upset him..?"

"you didn't upset him. i think he's still figuring out what the fuck he's doing," jeno assured.

"well, he should hurry up," jisung muttered before going back to his phone.

mark stared at his feet as he walked out of the dorm. he knew his friends liked teasing him, but it was like their words were really starting to hit the target.

his watch showed a quarter til ten o'clock, fifteen minutes before he and y/n were supposed to meet at the coffee shop. mark could feel goosebumps on his skin. he hadn't been this nervous in a while.

the coffee shop was a small one; a little hole-in-the-wall of a store. mark found it very cozy and safe, and he was pretty sure y/n would feel the same. he just hoped meeting at the late hour would help them avoid other people for the most part.

once he arrived, he recognized y/n sitting at a table in the corner. the lighting was dim and the smell of coffee beans made the atmosphere even more relaxed.

y/n's eyes fell on mark as he sat across from him in all his glory. y/n felt his heartbeat pick up when he saw that mark was wearing his glasses.

"hi," mark spoke with a cheesy grin.

"hi," y/n smiled. "i haven't seen your glasses in forever."

mark's eyes widened as his hand reached up to adjust the frames sitting on his nose. he chuckled nervously.

"oh, yeah, sorry. i was having a lazy night. i kinda forgot i was even wearing them."

"don't be sorry," y/n smiled again, "i love your glasses."

"really?"

y/n nodded.

"oh.. well, i'll keep that in mind then." a light blush rose on mark's cheeks as he looked down at the table. the whole situation felt a bit weird if he was honest. it felt like they were just meeting for the first time again.

"so how're the guys?" y/n spoke up. although the question was mostly to fill the awkward silence, he was genuinely interested in hearing about the other dream members.

"they're good! jisung is thinking about getting a pet."

"oh cool! does he know what he wants? like what animal?" y/n asked further.

"not yet," mark shook his head. "do you still have your cat?"

"mhm!" y/n replied. mark loved watching the way his eyes lit up. y/n's cat was about the sweetest animal he'd met before, always cuddly and gentle. "she's adjusting to moving back from japan, but i think she's doing okay with it."

"that's good then," mark smiled. "and how's working with riize?"

"it's, um.. interesting!" y/n joked. mark laughed along while nodding.

"no, they're great," y/n continued. "wonbin is very.. baby. and sungchan has this ideology that no one will care if he goes around the dorm barely clothed."

mark burst out laughing at that, causing y/n to laugh along.

"what, does he walk around in his underwear, or..??" mark asked.

y/n nodded. "sometimes not even underwear. sometimes he'll be naked under a robe but he won't pay attention to when it gets loose or moves the wrong way. he's something else.."

mark kept laughing at the image of sungchan strutting around the dorm in just a robe.

"god, that's funny. jaemin taught him well, i guess."

"jaemin is worse," y/n laughed again, making mark's brows raise. "yeah, jaemin does it cause he knows he's hot. sungchan just doesn't care enough to clothe himself."

the two continued laughing at their table. their faces grew red as they clutched their stomachs and sat back in their seats trying to catch a breath.

mark sighed, looking at y/n with a fond smile. "i missed you."

y/n smiled and looked down, "i missed you too, mark."

"..i'm sorry for the way things ended."

y/n's smile faded a bit. he quickly shook his head at the apology.

"don't be. we both handled it as best we could."

"mm," mark hummed. he didn't agree. "but i could've done more. i feel like i let you down back then. i never thought we'd be apart and then when you were gone.. i don't know. the year you were away might have been the worst year of my life."

y/n looked at him, unsure of what to say. mark kept eye contact, refusing to back down like he normally would.

"after you left," mark began again, "there were multiple times when i would go to your old apartment building and just sit outside. like i was waiting for you to come back home. i knew i was kidding myself, but.. somehow it was comforting. like, that was the closest i could possibly get to you, so it was okay."

y/n felt like crying.

"how can you be so sweet and so depressing at the same time?" y/n asked with a small chuckle.

"sorry," mark smiled. "i didn't invite you out to be this sad. we can talk about something else."

"no, it's okay. it's good to talk about that stuff, i don't mind."

mark took a deep breath and nodded.

"so are you living with riize? or do you get your own place?"

"i'm with the boys for now. i don't mind it much, honestly. i like taking care of them."

mark smiled and nodded. he expected as much.

"well, how was japan then? was the work very different?"

y/n thought for a moment. "it was different, yes. definitely took some getting used to. y'know, going from taking care of seven dreamies to just minding my business was odd."

mark nodded, "they'd love to see you. we should all do something sometime."

"yes please."

it was quiet again for a moment. not awkward, just quiet.

"oh, do you want some tea or anything? i think i'll get a drink now."

mark watched y/n get his wallet out while glancing at the menu list that hung by the shop's counter.

"no, i'm okay. thank you."

y/n nodded and opened his wallet, still trying to see the menu so he wouldn't have to stand idly by the register.

a familiar picture caught mark's eye after a second. a polaroid was sticking out of y/n's wallet. it was the polaroid they took together at incheon airport. dream's flight was delayed, so he and y/n walked around for a bit to pass the time. it was pretty empty thanks to the early morning. they found an unoccupied gate and sat alone for a bit, talking and laughing. it was the most fun mark had ever had at an airport.

"you kept it?" mark asked.

"hm?" y/n followed the male's gaze down to the photo. he grinned and took it out. "oh.. of course i did."

mark felt tears prick at his eyes as he held the small polaroid in his hands. they looked so happy it made his heart ache.

mark was handing the photo back to y/n when he felt a chill go down his spine. he spotted someone in the corner of his eye taking pictures. or videos, who knew. it was definitely just a fan, but it was still unsettling. y/n watched mark cross his arms and adjust his mask in silence.

"is something wrong?" y/n asked.

mark didn't reply, only giving a glance to the fan that was holding their phone up at the other side of the shop.

"damn it. let's just go." y/n was quick to return his wallet to his pocket as he and mark got up and hurried out.

"you okay?" y/n checked in. they were now just walking along the street together. mark exhaled and nodded. he pulled his mask down and looked at y/n with a grateful smile.

"i'm fine. thank you."

y/n grinned and nodded back.

it was quiet again for a minute or so. the pair just enjoyed the gentle breeze and the sounds of the nighttime . mark's thoughts started to get the best of him as he glanced over at y/n a couple times.

"can i ask..?" mark trailed off, unsure of himself.

"hm?"

"do you ever, um.. do you think things could, like, be the way they used to be..?"

y/n's breath became a little staggered. "you mean with us?"

mark nodded.

"oh.. mm," y/n didn't know exactly what to say. he would be lying if he said he was over his feelings for mark. but things could get complicated and messy very fast if they weren't careful.

"i don't know.."

mark nodded again. he could feel a lump forming in his throat as he looked away from y/n now.

"that's okay. i don't want to push anything," mark looked up at the moon as he spoke. "you'll always mean a lot to me, y/n. i really do love you."

y/n slipped his hands into his pockets, gazing down at his feet. mark was about to make him cry if he didn't stop soon.

"i think i'll always love you," y/n said quietly. mark finally looked back over at him with a bittersweet smile.

"should we just.. try to move on now? just try to be friends?" mark asked.

"i guess," y/n replied with a small sigh. he wasn't sure what moving on would mean, but he was hoping it was for the better.

they continued to walk together without talking much more, just enjoying each other's company while they could.

[randombush3]

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.” 

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you. 

“What?” says Jenni. 

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.” 

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?” 

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know. 

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home. 

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.” 

“Are you angry at her?” 

“Yes.” 

Alexia thinks about it. 

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.” 

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.” 

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.” 

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.” 

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought. 

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.” 

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.” 

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Well, I'm not angry at her.” 

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her. 

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?” 

“Alexia, bésame.” 

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent. 

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful. 

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing. 

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been. 

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.” 

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose. 

The doorbell rings again. 

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case. 

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you. 

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently. 

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue. 

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?” 

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you. 

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end. 

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough. 

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.” 

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.” 

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side. 

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia. 

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head. 

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.” 

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.” 

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word. 

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.” 

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed. 

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous. 

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.” 

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true. 

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it. 

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona. 

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself. 

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?” 

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.” 

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats. 

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her. 

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.” 

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.” 

“You’re delirious.” 

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.” 

“No lo sé.” 

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.” 

“Claro.” 

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.” 

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal. 

…

You’re married. 

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface. 

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time. 

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone. 

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.” 

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.” 

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel. 

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.” 

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended. 

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.” 

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work. 

“I left Mia with her dad for this.” 

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.” 

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.” 

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.” 

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.” 

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.” 

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?” 

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers. 

“Not what I meant.” 

“I won’t take it back.” 

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.” 

“Does that count?” 

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation. 

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.” 

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?” 

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.” 

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible. 

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers. 

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.” 

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people. 

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.” 

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove. 

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.” 

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?” 

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well. 

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.” 

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.” 

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?” 

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?” 

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. ���You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time. 

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her. 

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic. 

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.” 

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days. 

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning. 

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.” 

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there. 

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.” 

“How’s the album doing?” 

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.” 

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms. 

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio. 

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment. 

But 2020 kind of sucks. 

For the entire world. 

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal. 

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.) 

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat. 

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.” 

…

The routine changes the following year. 

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading. 

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it? 

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.” 

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down. 

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return. 

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again. 

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.” 

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!” 

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.” 

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.” 

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you. 

… 

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football. 

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him. 

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain. 

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.” 

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words. 

“You don’t have to be.” 

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works. 

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth. 

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment. 

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back. 

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else. 

In this way, she is functional. 

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni. 

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed? 

Where does she put the used bandage? 

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo. 

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea 

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her. 

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see. 

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son. 

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.” 

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.” 

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.” 

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you. 

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.” 

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.” 

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.” 

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle. 

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you). 

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish. 

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.” 

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick. 

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’. 

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?” 

… 

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together. 

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman. 

She consults Mapi. 

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows. 

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” 

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation? 

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.” 

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.” 

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right. 

… 

June, July, and August pass with bliss. 

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days. 

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way. 

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.” 

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong. 

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.” 

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her. 

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.” 

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited. 

 You are. 

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back. 

[nayatarot777]

Unpopular opinion:

Pride and ego is NOT a bad thing when you correct it and when you build it healthily. There’s a reason why so many women are willing to act like someone they’re not, let a man tell them who they can and can’t be, etc. Who in tf are you in this world? YOU control the answer to that question. And the longer you don’t know who you are, the longer you’ll be manipulated, moulded, and played into being someone else for someone who doesn’t even love you for you. Your ego is your protector. Hence why it’s a natural part of childhood development, around the ages when you get more social interaction with the outside world. So if you’re walking around without much of an ego, you’re walking around with little to no protection. That’s the equivalent to living in a house without locks. Or leaving your car unlocked at all times. Does that sound smart to you? And could you be surprised when you’re an easy victim for others to invade your space and take from you? No. You couldn’t. So for those of you who lack ego and pride and are always taken advantage of: what tf are you surprised or shocked about? You’re literally allowing yourself to step out into the world unprotected. Despite knowing how dangerous the world can be. You’re not a perpetual victim to life. Life/God doesn’t hate you. You’re just a vulnerable person who has, for some reason, kept yourself vulnerable in a place full of danger. Can you be surprised when people view you as someone who’s easy to take advantage of and use? No. And don’t mistake this for being blamed for other peoples actions. That’s on them. But you definitely can be blamed yourself for your actions (or lack thereof), such as: NOT putting in boundaries, NOT protecting yourself, CHOOSING to keep yourself vulnerable.

With that being said, how can someone “love you, for you” when there is no core “you” to show them? And that’s exactly what your ego is. Who you are as a human being that you show to the world. It’s your strengths that you put on the forefront when you’re manoeuvring through life. It’s also a fraction your authentic self as a human being - hence why people who are not authentic have such fragile egos. They’re easily hurt, right? Easily put down and diminished without much confidence left afterwards. The people who either don’t fight back against injustice towards them, or they do, but they don’t know how to fight back effectively. It’s quite illogical to expect for people to love you for you when you wouldn’t even be able to tell/show someone who you truly are - simply because you don’t even know who you are. Or because you don’t think that who you are is good enough so you’re willing to pretend to be someone that you’re not.

Please understand, ladies, this world will chew you up and spit you out if you ALLOW it to. Define who you are and stick to that, and don’t ever change unless the change is what YOU want. More men do exactly the opposite, and that’s why you can’t tell men shit about themselves. For better or for worse. They know who they are a lot more than we do and they stick to it. The ones who don’t are the ones who are taken advantage of by others - just like many of us.

I could never understand how so many girls and women around me were so willing to ALLOW a man to tell them how they should/shouldn’t dress. Who they can and can’t be friends with. Where they can and can’t go. How they can and can’t act - especially in relationships. It confused me and, I’m not gonna lie, I thought that it was just stupidity on women’s part that played a part in that. But I had to check myself and identify the difference between women that I knew who were like that and women who weren’t - instead of just boiling it down to mass idiocy through my own ignorance. I was raised around a lot of brothers, and a Jamaican family in general. Jamaicans are known for being quite prideful (ngl, in more toxic ways), but my brothers would also never allow me to let other people tell me who I should and shouldn’t be. Thats when I came to the conclusion that the major difference is pride and ego (which is heavily linked to self respect and self esteem). Thats when I realised that it wasn’t stupidity - it was brainwashing and conditioning. And I believe that for centuries, men broke down the egos of women because they know the truth about being egotistical. They know that when you’re egotistical, you’re not going to allow someone else to impose on who you think that you are, for the sake of pleasing them. You’re going to be confident in yourself and not put yourself as a lesser being to someone else, which only leads to you becoming a complete people pleaser or a doormat. Basically the perfect victim for those who want to control and manipulate.

There’s a reason why so many women who have acted like doormats feel so much shame after all is said and done. Thats your ego and pride telling you that you deserved better and you knew it deep down the whole time. That you haven’t acted in a way that you can even be proud of yourself (because of your lack of pride). And that you put up with bs that you should’ve cut off time ago. Think about it.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark  was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly,  whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that’s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle. 

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

[skygemspeaks]

do you guys want to hear about my sanji's siblings love him au?

who am i kidding, of course you do

anyways

ichiji, niji, and yonji run on facts and logic. they're programmed to have loyalty to their family, and sanji is part of that family, even if he can't do everything they can do.

and the way they see it, it just makes more sense for their loyalty to lie with the brother they shared a womb with for nine months over the father that insists on abusing all of them.

it's not sanji's fault that he's weak and has emotions. that's an objective fact. he was born the way he was. it could just as easily have been any of the rest of them that were different.

so sure, they'll follow judge's orders, because they have to, because it's what they were born to do, but they're not gonna take any of the shitty things people do or say about their brother, least of all their father

sora adores her children. because judge hurt them terribly by taking away their free will, but that's none of their fault, and they're trying in the only way they know how. she's patient with them, trying to teach them about morality and the importance of doing the right thing

at their age, they don't really understand it, but they do notice that people are more likely to do what they want with little fuss if they treat them the way their mom says they should

but then their mom dies, and maybe the loss of his wife is what pushes judge over the edge but he lashes out at sanji, because somehow in his mind sanji is the reason for sora's death. if it weren't for the poison she had taken, which had turned sanji into the weakling that he was, sora would still be alive

ichiji and the other two are furious. they hate this empire that their father has built for himself - and that little fact, that they can hate it at all - goes unnoticed by all of the kids

but they do hate it, and with their mother gone there's no reason for them to stay. so they take sanji, and they take reiju, and the five kids escape from the Germa kingdom and never look back

they work whatever odd jobs they can. and then one day they come across zeff - after he had been rescued from the island he was stranded on for months

and this zeff still has both legs and he didn't suffer as much because he didn't have a child to give up all his food for, but he still decides to give up pirating. he lost his entire crew in that storm, and he has no desire to sail the seas without them

so he had set out to fulfill his dream of building a floating restaurant for himself. he's living on an island in the east blue, and he comes across these five children. one of them, sanji, latches onto him as soon as he finds out that he's a chef. slowly, over the months, their relationship develops and grows stronger.

zeff isn't an idiot, he knows there's something wrong with these kids, but he doesn't pay it much mind. he treats them like any other children, with all the kicking and scolding that entails

normally ichiji and the others wouldn't put up with this kind of treatment from anyone, but they see the way sanji and reiju latch onto zeff, the way the two of them follow him like lost puppies and positively preen at any positive attention he gives them, and they decide they'll put up with it.

it's not like the crappy geezer's kicks actually hurt the three of them

so zeff takes reiju and the boys in, even if it means that food will be a little tight until their restaurant gets off the ground.

the 5 of them grow up on the baratie, protecting their home and surrounded by the gruffly affectionate cooks that are drawn to their father's way of life. it's so different from the environment that they had been born into that they don't know what to think. sanji and reiju take to their new life like fish to water, but it takes a little longer for the boys

yonji respects sanji like he respects his other older brothers. he watches sanji, sees the way he loves and hurts and grows. the intensity of the things sanji feels is completely foreign to yonji, but it stirs an unknown feeling in yonji's heart. he doesn't know what it is, but it makes him short-tempered with his brother

by now zeff has been around his kids for a while, and he's more or less figured out what's up. yonji learns from zeff that what he's feeling is jealousy. that he wants something sanji has that he doesn't

which should be impossible.

yonji doesn't feel things.

zeff shrugs and doesn't argue. he just leaves his kid to figure things out on his own.

after that, it happens slowly, so very slowly, but over time, ichiji, niji, and yonji start feeling more and more emotions. their emotions are still pretty dull in comparison to the frightening intensity of what sanji, reiju, and other people feel, but they cherish this new aspect of themselves.

and it turns out that sanji hadn't been the only one affected by their mother's desperate attempt to save her babies. the others had as well. it had just taken a little more work to draw their humanity out of them

by the time don krieg makes the ill-fated decision to attack the baratie, they still don't have the depth of emotion that other humans do. and maybe they never will. but they have enough to know that they will destroy anyone who even thinks of threatening their father's treasure

and they have enough to shed tears when their brother - a piece of their hearts - sets off with the future king of the pirates

it hurts, to have him leave them. and that hurt is something they wouldn't have had to feel if they had remained the way they were as children

but even that hurt is precious to them

because it's a product of how far they've come, and how much they've gained

[derangedanomaly]

Hear me out. BAD SANSES X JESSICA RABBIT READER RAHHHHHH

If. If you're comfortable with it maybe you can make it a lil spicy. if you catch my drift... *wink wink. TEEHEE. And maybe add a little wholesomeness too 🤔

Ooh, now that's an interesting scenario 😏

MASTERLIST

WARNING: Suggestive, Fluffy, Heavy flirting, kinda a Dom!reader, mentions of cannibalism, NSFW parts

BAD SANSES X JESSICA RABBIT READER (kinda NSFW)

NIGHTMARE:

SFW PART

This dude will be ALL OVER YOU. He loves dominant people. (Lmao)

He will be like a closeted simp, actually.

He's going to deny any attraction towards you. Like, no, he wasn't staring at your behind. The hell you mean?

He loves laying his hand on your hip/s. It's just so squishy and nice in his hand- it's like they were meant to be held by him!

He'd give up anything just to hear you sing.

You're pretty powerful, not gonna lie- you can literally command Nightmare anything and he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Won't admit it, but you've got him wrapped around your little finger-

He's probably gonna rub it in Dream's face once you two get together.

NSFW PART

He likes looking at your cleavage a lot. He can't help but start to get a little lot excited every time you bend over to either grab something, or simply just to give him a tease. But he's too much of a "gentleman/asshole" to ever acknowledge it, or admit it. But the tent in his pants tell a different story...

He won't let it be known by anyone, but he THRIVES and DROOLS whenever you dominate him in bed.

Speaking of drooling, you will catch him looking at your ass while drooling a lot... He's so thirsty istg.

Please please PLEASE call him "boss" in bed.. he gets off from that.

KILLER:

SFW PART

"What do you see in that guy?" <- probably Dust. "He makes me laugh."

Killer will literally whistle anytime you walk by.

He's so swayed by you, it's really silly.

Loves your voice, and would do anything just to hear you say his name.

He's the one that whimpers, source; trust me bro.

You are, in his "charming" words: "So sexy that it should be criminal."

He gets REALLY creative once he realizes he has a thing for your voice ... Like- A NEW KINK SUDDENLY DEVELOPS.

Keeps asking you to call him all sorts of things, just so he could hear it in your sultry voice. "Daddy, master, an idiot.." whichever you'll like the best to call him, he'll like it! Just cause it's you who's saying it.

NSFW PART

He likes roleplaying with you, and not only cause you look really gorgeous while playing your role! There's actually a specific roleplay he likes to do with you. You're a victim and he's the criminal/kidnapper.

You thought Nightmare was horny? Nah dude, this man's is THE DEFINITION OF DOWN BAD.

He begs, so so much.

He has a love-hate relationship with pleasure denying... Don't get it twisted now, he loves how much control you have over him, and it has him shaking knowing that he's so bend by your words, but he just HATES how he can't... finish. Oh he wants to so bad..

DUST:

SFW PART

While Killer and Nightmare love dominant people, Dust is actually a switch. He likes himself some Dom mommy, but sometimes, he likes to be the daddy, if you know what I mean ;)

But Dust is probably more respectful towards you than Killer and Nightmare.. what can I say? He proudly respects woman!

Would avoid actually looking at your cleavage and your ass, just so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable in his presence. (Omg, the MURDERER?! More respectful than drunkards at the bars?? That's crazy dude..)

He loves to hear you sing your sweet little tunes. He's so in love with YOUR PERSONALITY.

I definitely think that Dust values personality over looks, so that's pretty much what's going on.

He loves your sassiness, as he's pretty sassy himself, so that's that.

If you really want an honest opinion on something, go to Dust. He's probably the most reliable one here.

NSFW PART

Dust tries his hardest to not let his mind travel to the more suggestive ideas, whenever he sees you, but boy... after you give him the permission to be more bold with you- oh-ho... let's just say... That he's gonna get much- more suggestive. Unless you don't want him to, then he'll immediately stop and apologize.

Loves your thighs, if he could, he would suffocate in-between your thighs, and he'd die a happy man.

He loves when you moan out his name- makes him feel good that he's making you this vocal.

Overall, I feel like he would rather focus on your pleasure than his own, he loves to make you feel good.

HORROR:

SFW PART

Horror never really pays attention to how people look like, what he does pay attention to though, is how certain people smell.. listen, he's not a dog, he can just tell if the people are good to eat, or if he should eat them. It overall gives him a good idea of how the person could taste. Good smell=tasty meat, Bad smell=yucky.

So what do you think he does the first time he sees you? He sniffs you.. and you smell......... really delicious...but this smell actually really confuses Horror, because you don't smell like food to him, but rather as something much more...steamy.

While Dust, Killer and Nightmare are the one that falls first, it's actually the other way around with Horror. You fall first.

You're literally gushing about his strength while he's ripping someone's head off of their body, only with his hands.

Horror is the tallest out of all the Bad Sanses (and Star Sanses), so you look like a flea next to him. Which in turn makes you flustered.

Horror likes your voice too, he could fall asleep to it...oh, how much would he love to hear your screams...

Finds your sassiness cute.

Horror is actually so clueless when he does something suggestive to you... He's not innocent, he just never takes it into account.

NSFW PART

You start to get really hot and bothered by Horror, so you start to get a little risky with him... Teasing him. You do all sorts of things, bend over, press your chest on his belly, suggestively suck a popsicle, and safe to say... It drives him crazy.

He loves biting, so he'll often pepper you with love bites all over you. (Ouch. His teeth are really sharp, so good luck with that.)

He's just so..big. Wait, no, that's an understatement, he's ginormous. You'll have to really prepare yourself if you want to get down in the sheets with him. He WILL break you. (Not on purpose though)

While Killer whimpers, Horror growls.

He loves tasting you. It basically became his favorite meal. (You can choose whether you'd like for him to continue this routine of eating you out, or if you'd like for him to stop. He will stop. Another one that drank the "woman respecting juice".)

[twstreverie]

sun and moon — 🌙 ☀️

sun/moon like s/o (kalim, jamil, rook, malleus) 🫶🏼

this idea kinda just happened, also because “o sol e a lua” is stuck in my head… I might do others with this <3

requests are open!

kalim al-asim

he adores you, to simply put it. he doesn’t mind one bit that you have more of an introverted nature — he balances that out. even if you don’t have the energy to go to one of his dorms feasts and parties he wouldn’t care. kalim is content with just you and him if that’s what you really wanted. he’ll take you on a carpet ride any night!

it’s a little funny to watch, but he’s sometimes you’re voice — since you’re quieter or don’t speak up and talk loud as much. you’ll hear him at least once or twice a day being like “oh they said—!”

the victories and celebrations that go off in his mind during the earlier parts of your relationship like when you started to laugh loudly around him or even when he hears you excitedly sharing something you like to him. he loves it all!

jamil viper

he hates to admit it but you sometimes make him feel so flustered and overwhelmed (in the best way) when it comes to your loud boasting of how much you love him or that instant “hey!!!” he hears the moment you see him. he has to pull down his hood a little sometimes jamil cant fight the warmth spreading on his cheeks. he’ll sigh and try telling you there’s no need for the energy (right in the middle of the school hallways ahaha) but does he actually want you to stop?

jamil tends to just let you ramble a lot, he’s a silent listener, giving once in a while a thought or two. not that he’s ignoring you he just doesn’t have the energy to talk sometimes — he’s content just doing work or even cooking and just listening to you go on.

has caught multiple times both overhearing and being told by others of your praise and talking highly of him — jamil was caught totally off guard when he had heard the first time. however by this point he isn’t surprised at all. I would be lying though if I said there wasn’t a smug grin after hearing.

rook hunt

rook is obsessed with you. sorry but he will be telling you an earful of his swooning and how much he is simply enamored by you. though you have no magic he claims that you’ve bewitched him.

I can just imagine you could just be sitting there reading and eating something during lunch silently. you could be doing basically nothing and look over and see rook with his head on his hand looking at you with heart eyes.

though he does most of the talking at times, he doesn’t mind. but I have to say at first it might’ve been a bit overwhelming with his nature for someone like you. at the same time, he can be very quiet when he wants to be, so you get both haha. he’ll even do stuff like write you letters and poetry (they’ve gotten pretty long), flowers, and from what I believe he is artistic you better believe he paints and draws you. you’re his muse.

malleus draconia

he utterly loves your affection, though he was initially surprised by your boldness but he could only lightly chuckle at you and your behavior. he indulges it anyway, he wants you to do this stuff. sebek definitely had a hard time having to deal with seeing you happily hug and kiss him whenever — even touching his horns! (he could’ve passed OUT)

not gonna lie malleus wants your attention and stuff anyway so like this is perfect for him — that both before your relationship and now that you’re so eager to be with him and such. because trust me, you’re his first and only, he just wants to spend his time with you. he is simply content basking in it, obviously.

he kinda just lets you drag him wherever and do what you want, he’ll follow you. but he would love something more quiet at times to, like during your nightly strolls when he sees you trying to follow and see some pretty creature or even small fairies you see time to time.