#I'm sad and I'm angry and I'm lost and alone and I don't think I can be positive about this anymore

[running-in-the-dark]

like I just can't seem to make myself fit into the world no matter how hard I try, so why keep trying when there is no point

[transgenderfivepebbles]

clawing at the walls

[maidragoste]

Something wrong with me

Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys comforts his wife after she tells him her worries.

I hope you have a good read. If you like it, don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog. These three things serve to motivate the writer to continue writing 🥰💖

My inbox is open if you want to make any requests or share any headcanon.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Something had happened. Jacaerys had no idea what she was but she knew something had happened because today you seemed distracted all day and during dinner, you barely spoke and you didn't eat much either so your husband was worried. First, he waited to see if you would tell him what the reason for your distress was, but now that you were both alone and in the shelter of his bed, your head on his chest and his arms hugging you, even so, you still didn't seem to dare to tell him so. He decided to ask you directly.

“Today I noticed you were distracted, my lady,” he said as he caressed your waist with one of his hands. “Do you want to tell me what is worrying you? That might make you feel better” he asked softly making you look at him.

“I'm bleeding,” you noticed the panic in your husband's eyes so you hurried to clarify. I mean my moon blood” You felt his body relax again.

Jacaerys thought about getting up and asking the maester to bring you some tea to alleviate any discomfort you had but when he was about to ask you to please move so he was going to look for the maester you surprised him by talking again.

���Are you disappointed?” You asked, abandoning the warmth of his chest to get a good look at his reaction, not wanting to miss any small-expression or movement. But your husband didn't look angry or sad but rather he seemed confused.

“Why would I be disappointed?” he asked, feeling lost. You hadn't done anything to make him or his family feel bad nor had you broken your marriage vows so he didn't understand how you could have let him down.

“Because I'm not pregnant!” you responded with obvious frustration and eyes full of unshed tears. You looked away and sat down feeling ashamed of yourself, for having lost your temper and especially for not fulfilling your duties. “And there's obviously something wrong with me,” you said, finally saying out loud what you had been thinking all day since you saw your red-stained clothes.

You hid your face in your hands, not wanting the prince to see that you were starting to cry. Barely a few seconds passed when Jacaerys was in front of you, gently removing your hands from your face. He felt pain in his heart when he saw your beautiful eyes full of sadness and tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Hey, don't talk about yourself like that. There is nothing wrong with you, my sweet wife. Your value is above the children you can give me” he said while carefully wiping away the tears. “You are more important than that, you are the one who gives me love and joy every day” he gently takes your face before kissing you on your forehead, his lips soon land on the tip of your nose and then on your cheeks, he begins to spread kisses all over your face until finally the tears stop and a smile forms on your lips and Jace finally kisses you like a husband should kiss a wife. You feel like you are melting from the sweetness of his kiss and from all the love he transmits to you. You feel so lucky to be his wife. He is so kind, sweet, and attentive to you. And you just want to make him as happy as he makes you feel every day. That's why you're so angry and disappointed in yourself for having your moon blood again.

Somehow Jacaerys must feel that your thoughts are turning dark again because he stops kissing you to calm your fears.

“Now, my sweet wife, I don't want to invalidate your concerns but we have only been married for a few moons so I think it is normal that you are not pregnant yet,” he said as he caressed your cheek. You still didn't seem to be completely calm so he hastened to add. "But if in a few moons, you are still not pregnant and you are still worried about it, we can go talk to my mother or the maester. I'm sure they will be willing to help us."

Jacaerys hoped that the two of you wouldn't have to have that uncomfortable conversation with the maester but for you, he was willing to do anything. He just wanted you to stop worrying.

“To be honest, it doesn't bother me that it's just the two of us for now. “I would like to have you a little more to myself,” he declared shamelessly, making you laugh before rushing you to kiss him again.

Taglist: @chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @yn-jackson @pictureofcaroline

hotd masterlist

[palskippah]

Hi! Nimona told him to do a thumbs up (also I hope you get the reference image because I couldn't find it ajkdsad)

There's some mpreg headcanons and drawings under the cut! :D

By the way the limit of images is 30 so I had to make some longer images with comics to save space and put more drawings 😭

-Also, small continuation from the previous drawing:

(I wrote baby album but maybe it should be those albums that people keep of the pregnancy process ajskd)

-When Ballister first started showing, he was a bit insecure about it, but Ambrosius helped with that, in the romantic sense of worshipping and whatever, but also like this:

Translation (did my best to see how to translate it sorry sdjksd it works better in spanish)

1 Ballister: I think it's too soon to be getting fat- Ambrosius: You know what else is getting fat? 2 Ambrosius: Who said that

-Ballister goes through the denial of needing new clothes, so imagine him still wearing the stuff he usually wears and Nimona coming from behind and picking at the clothes by his shoulder and going in a high-pitched voice, as if the shirt was talking - I'm tired, boss while Ballister swats her away and say, leave me alone, it still fits me >:(

(it doesn't)

>Also Ballister absolutely refusing to wear maternity clothes, the only one he got he was like, wearing it and looking very unimpressed, and Ambrosius' like, you don't like it? :( and Ballister says, No. It's ugly as fuck >:(

>So, he just gets bigger shirts and stretch-ier pants and that's it. Also he gets an oversized hoodie and he says that's gonna be his best friend the rest of the pregnancy, and both Nimona and Ambrosius gasp offendedly at that.

So-

Ambrosius (turning to look at Nimona): What the- hey, I am his best friend. Nimona: Course not! You lost that privilege with what happened that one time (she means the movie events, more than five years ago) Ballister: Ambrosius' my best friend, Nimona. Ambrosius: HAH >:D Nimona: Aw :( Ballister: Because you're my sidekick :) Nimona: :D Ambrosius: Hey, what now- that sounds better than best friend :(

-Ballister during most of the pregnancy is like, woo baby :) but at the very last months he's at least half of the time pissed off, tired and done with being pregnant.

(my incredible math skills in the next point)

>70% of that time he's mad at Ambrosius (who made him pregnant), 20% mad at Nimona (who consciously (and sometimes unconsciously) gets on his nerves) and the remaining 10 he's pissed off at Baby (and he gets sad about that one, because he's just a baby, so he redirects it at Ambrosius instead 😔)

>Ambrosius does his best to be of help but usually there's nothing he can do aside from being there (and sometimes getting out of Ballister's sight, if he's really angry- in the sense of 'I don't even want to see you now')

>Most of the time Ballister just cools off.

-Also Ambrosius giving him massages, sometimes randomly on his shoulders or his feet, and sometimes something more elaborated, like Ballister laying down and him using body oil, setting the ambient and all to massage his back (and Ballister almost always falls asleep in those).

>Sometimes tho he just does a 'chop chop chop' at his shoulders (it doesn't do anything besides amusing Ballister and keeping him company)

>Also Nimona said that of course he'd just randomly start chopping Ballister while Ballister does nothing about it, so Ambrosius starts chopping her instead

(made these two drawings with like three weeks of difference ajdkad)

(N/SFW thingies on the next four points and the next four images)

-Also with that previous point imagine Ballister waking up all angry, and Ambrosius just not knowing what he can do for him to stop being mad, but it turns out that Ballister had just woken up horny and pent-up.

>And once he realizes, he's like Ambrosius... (with intentions of getting some), and Ambrosius is like 🧍? because a second ago Ballister wasn't even looking at him.

-Also with this, Ballister is just very much hornier now (after the first trimester which was the worst) and Ambrosius doesn't mind at all - except when his jaw gets sore or he's running late for work because they lost track of time and also other situations ajsdks but usually he's delighted.

>(In the drawing Ballister just crossed one leg over the other once he heard Ambrosius coming in, because he can't maintain the position too long without getting uncomfortable sdjksj)

-Whenever Ballister is like >:c and looking in Ambrosius' direction, he immediately assumes that his husband is angry at him.

>Y'know when you look intensely at someone so they feel your gaze and look at you back? Ballister here is trying to apply that, but it doesn't work bc of the previous point askdad

-I had written sometime (I think) about them blaming Baby on literally anything that has more or less to do with him. If Ballister's crying, if he forgets stuff, if Nimona coddles Ballister too much and pisses him off, if Ambrosius wastes all the cleaning product in two weeks because he had been cleaning too much (he's nesting and realizes that sometime later), if Nimona and Ballister eat the weirdest stuff that at least he wouldn't eat in normal circumstances- and a long etc.

-During Ballister's pregnancy, Nimona works the most she had ever worked in her existence (in the biscuit factory):

-Both Nimona and Ambrosius are the most supportive c: yippie. Supportive husband/best friend and supportive sidekick/friend/sibling/etc

>An example would be of Ballister being tired, and if the time allows, the other two will immediately suggest a nap.

>Their collective naps usually last hours and they wake up disoriented, sweaty, with drool and the sheets marked on their faces.

>Also they wake up almost always stacked, Nimona always under the other two.

Translation

Nimona and Ballister: (snoring) Ambrosius: Fuck- what year is it? (tries to lift himself up)

-Also Nimona is the self-assigned pregnancy pillow, and at first Ballister had refused to let her do that, but as a sidekick she took it upon herself to make sure that her boss was comfy and could sleep well - and Ballister reminded her that that's not what sidekicks are for. She said, fuck off I'll do it anyways >:c

>Anyways he sleeps great with her help and earns himself a huge told you so from Nimona.

>I had written a thingy where just when she woke up she was like good morning boss :D while Ballister also said good morning and she hugged him while pushing Ambrosius away, even out of bed. I can't remember where I left it but once I find it, I'll see if it's good for posting pipipi Also Ballister and Ambrosius are corny husbands

>Also here I drew my vague idea of a bear bc I was too lazy to look for Nimona bear references sowwy

-Nimona sometimes shapeshifts into Ballister to make fun of him.

(This one joke gets lost in translation which is a shame but I'm gonna share the comic anyways sdjs)

>(She's messing around about names, doing a play in words using Gloreth's name while Ballister is already warning her to stop)

>Nimona urges them to get a name soon because Baby is almost born, and they're like yeah chill we're on it - and they're both sitting on the sofa, with Ballister's legs over Ambrosius' lap, while Ballister goes through their list on his tablet and Ambrosius focuses on giving him a massage on his feet.

They're like-

Ballister: So, Cyril? Ambrosius: No, my horse at the Institute was called that. Ballister: Right, then not that one... What about Casper? Ambrosius: Hmm... no. Ballister: Why not? Ambrosius: I don't know, I just don't really like it. Do you? Ballister: Eh, it's alright, I guess. I don't think Baby looks like a Casper, though Nimona: You don't even know how he looks yet! Ballister: You shut up, kid >:v Ballister: So, what about…

And they're making nearly to none progress but yeah sjdsd

>Also imagine Nimona (as Ballister) imitating what he does now that he's pregnant but x10 times more.

Translations

1 AUGHH- MY BACK 2 FUCKING AMBROSIUS! 3 Ambrosito? Can you get me a sweet treat? 🥺 4 I'M HUGE WAAA

>And while Ballister is like wtf I don't act like that, he turns to Ambrosius like, do I act like that? 😥 And Ambrosius, who was laughing to himself, goes, well... not so intensely, which is good enough for Ballister.

>But Nimona points out to what Ballister is eating with a mocking smile (and it is weird to be mocked by a version of himself that has a pink strand on his hair, but whatever), and he's like ? what? and realizes that he did ask for a sweet treat almost like Nimona depicted he does, because he did pull the big sparkly eyes and he did call Ambrosius Ambrosito while at it.

>Then he's wondering if he really complains about his back like that (he does, but as Ambrosius said, he isn't so intense about it, usually just holding his lower back and throwing his head back as he winces. Normal)

>(the yelling insults at Ambrosius is definitely not true. But he does throw daggers at him with his eyes when he's angry, he has to admit to himself)

>Now, about crying because he feels huge- yes. Very much true, but he doesn't wail. Just sobs and cries a river like the sensible, serious adult he is.

-Also that thing of knights don't cry and whatever. This one knight does cry, and he cries a lot (at least while he's pregnant).

>He cried once because he dreamt that Nimona was a little spider and even though he warned Ambrosius to be careful, he accidentally crushed her and he woke up not only incredibly sad but also upset with Ambrosius, even though he was aware that it was silly to get mad with him over a dream.

>Nimona was like boss :( while hugging him, and Ambrosius had to scoot a bit away because Ballister didn't even want to look at him as he wept. Ambrosius said a lot of reassuring words of I'm sorry, I think I didn't see her :( while Ballister was like, but I warned you so many times :'[

>Then he was like, I promise you, I'd never hurt Nimona. And Nimona herself said, yeah boss, I'd crush him first, don't you worry about it :) and Ballister said, but I couldn't protect you :''[ while hugging her harder.

>And both Nimona and Ambrosius are (internally) like, ohh, so that's what it's about.

>Anyways, just a bunch of hugging and comforting gets him to feel a little less sad and also Nimona saying, but you're great at protecting me now :D so, there's all that sdjksd

-Sometimes Ballister just breaks down over seemingly the most trivial stuff too (which is usually just the last straw over a bunch of other stuff going on)

Translation

1 Ambrosius: Balli? What happened? D: Ballister (with one eyeline going up and the other going down): Ambrosito, my eyeline's crooked* *the straw that broke the camel's back (his hair isn't cooperating) (his back hurts) (done) (clothes feel uncomfortable) (the baby won't stay still) 2 Ambrosius (doing Ballister's eyeline): Stay very still, love (focused) 3 (they're in front of the mirror) Ballister (laughing his ass off): BUT HOW DID YOU MAKE IT EVEN MORE CROOKED?! Ambrosius (embarrassed): Aw Ballister (holding his belly): Ow, Baby, don't kick me, sorry, sorry! I'll stay still now-

>(Y'know when a pregnant person laughs the baby inside gets all shaken skdsd I find it funny, so imagine Baby being like ??!! because Ballister keeps laughing too hard and shaking him all around and his kicks are like him going, stay the fuck still D:<) (Ballister's still weepy but now he's crying with laughter, which is better than him crying from being overwhelmed)

-Also Ballister's very scared of giving birth but he's very good at pretending that Baby will simply materialize in his arms rather than him having to push him out.

(Drawings based over this)

Translation

1 Ballister happy because his baby is almost born 2 (Remembers that he has to give birth to him)

-The day that he was in labor and all, imagine the water just breaking and stuff and Nimona being like 'okay everyone DON'T PANIC' while panicking and also Ballister's panicking too (Ambrosius' at work and when he's told he also panics and arrives at the hospital in record time still wearing his armor. The power of first-time father panic)

(But someone gotta be not panicking in the situation, so Ambrosius calms the fuck down and becomes the calming presence that Ballister can rely on c: also Nimona calms down too and goes back to being herself and is very good at distracting Ballister while he goes through contractions and the hours before pushing.)

>Also y'know how in TV sometimes someone else imitates the pregnant person's breathing exercises by going huff huff huff quickly ajsdkjd

>Also Ballister going Nimona what about the bags and also don't carry me there?! and her going shit right and ignoring the second half, then returning for the bags and grabbing them, all while holding Ballister like a doll (a doll with a little doll inside SJDS pregnant barbie)

En español pensaba que fuera = AYÚDENLO, SE LE SALE LA WAWA - NIMONA DEJA DE HACER SHOW

-Wrote a lil something about Baby's birth and Ballister going through kinda a rollercoaster of emotions because at the very beginning of the pushing stage he almost had a panic attack, but then everyone in the room helped him calm down, and when he thought everything was going great, the doctor offered Ambrosius to receive their baby, and of course his husband was very excited about it and said yes, getting dressed up in the medical gown, the facemask, the gloves and all that.

(Initially everything after that was supposed to go swiftly, but I thought, no, what if Ambrosius faints like some dads do? and after watching a TikTok of a woman whose partner did faint and they had to pause her birth to hold him up because he was like over 6 feet tall, I was like hell yeah that's it)

>When Ambrosius finally got between Ballister's legs to look, his blood pressure went the fuck down. And since he's pretty tall and the nurse that tried to catch him was pretty short, the other one had to join in and then the doctor too to avoid him slamming on the ground. The thing was that Ambrosius was clearly fighting very hard against unconsciousness, giving the three people holding him false hope about him finally holding his own weight, making them almost drop him multiple times.

>Sensibly, the situation was kinda scary, because the three people assisting his baby's birth were busy trying to hold his husband from fainting. Said husband was clearly fighting with everything he got to keep himself conscious, and Ballister could very much feel his baby crowning.

>But seeing three short people trying to hold Ambrosius up and yelping when they almost dropped him several times, and remembering that Ambrosius had been so excited about it but hadn't been able to even stand the view, and feeling pretty nervous because his main emotional support couldn't even keep himself awake-, made him crack up.

>So, he's laughing out loud and going every once in a while, owfuck- because it still hurts like a bitch, while the other three keep going, YOU'LL DROP HIM. BE CAREFUL, SIR?? SIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME? and Ambrosius' like, yea- (faints again)

>(they're well aware that they gotta deliver the baby, so they're doing their best to hurry Ambrosius to get out of the way)

>The whole thing had made Ballister's body feel weak from the laughter, and he had to try and calm down to have strength again and push the baby out.

>As you'd guess, Ambrosius didn't receive their baby, and had to sit down and eat something sweet to not faint again, but he managed to stay on his feet well enough to cut the umbilical cord yippie.

>So anyways, Baby out, wrapped and all that, Ballister kept laughing more quietly about it and saying that they should mark the date in the calendar to celebrate Ambrosius fainting over almost delivering their baby. And Ambrosius' like hmm, I don't know Balli, maybe we could use this date for our son's birthday, don't you think? and Ballister's like OH RIGHT and now started laughing at himself.

I keep thinking of new stuff that contradicts what I already have posted, sowwy

>Imagine Ambrosius practically begging Ballister to not tell Nimona, while the other says she'd love to know but also is aware that she'd never let Ambrosius live it down, so he agrees on not telling her. Both eventually tell both Nimona and Baby when the latter is older and inquired about his birth, and indeed, Nimona loved the anecdote, and never let Ambrosius live it down, since then.

-Ideas about Nimona infiltrating the room in the form of a nurse after Baby is born and blowing up her cover when she commented on the baby's nose being just like Gol- Mr. Goldenheart's. And also, his hair being black like Bo- Mr. Goldenheart's.

>At the beginning when they had been admiring their baby, Ambrosius had said, he got your hair D': pipipi (he cried the second Baby got placed in his arms, got a drawing of that but I don't like how it came out wah, Ambrosius' wearing a facemask and being all tear-eyed pipipi) and Ballister had said, he got your nose :D but Ambrosius had said no? that's just a baby's nose, how can you even tell. But after Nimona commented on it, Ballister's saying told you so, it's your nose, while Ambrosius' like, Mr. Goldenheart could be either of us (both smiling amusedly because Nimona's too silly and they clearly know it's her, but she's all idk who's Nimona?)

-Also, I don't know how to make that work with the idea that when she got kicked out to the hall for the pushing bit, she went to steal some flowers and balloons with 'it's a boy!' on them for Ballister. But anyways, I'll write that bit too.

-Also this is Goldenheart with their baby, and I drew it a while back but realized that I don't like it anymore, so I'll do a redrawing someday sdjksd

>Imagine that Ambrosius was in the hospital bed with Baby while Ballister was getting ready so they could leave to their home, and Nimona said pictures timeee and then took that pic, with Ballister pointing at Baby and being all :D Also, Ambrosius looked pretty good and all, and Ballister was all unshaven face, kinda messy hair, the hospital band with his name still wrapped on his wrist as he pointed at Baby, and yet there were some people online that were like ??! Ambrosius Goldenloin Goldenheart was pregnant??

>And the people that knew even if a little bit about the Goldenheart's life, and also because they still went out and whatever, were like ? no? didn't you see Ballister like, a week ago? (Where he was very obviously pregnant and Ambrosius clearly wasn't sdjkdj)

>Every once in a while, Nimona would remember about this and repost it again, even after Baby is much older.

And that's it! If you read till here, bless you ajsdkadj

I've got more stuff about mpreg, both written and drawn, so I hope to make another post like this sometime, they're very fun to make :D

[pablitogavii]

Protecting her

Life with Pablo Gavi, the boy everyone adores, and I hate with all my passion not for any particular reason. I actually tried making peace with him the moment I stepped foot into his house at the beginning of my exchange program.

I tried to be nice, to even become his friend but he would always push me away and find some reason to fight me. Even Aurora and his parents tried to make us like each other but it didn't work so I just deiced to stay out his way..somehow that didn't stop him to sabotage me every step of the way all the freaking time!

leo: look at what your brother did to me! boy is a delinquent! I can't do this anymore Y/n..I'm sorry.

There was a picture attached of my soon to become boyfriend with bruised eye and busted lip. Did Pablo really did this just so Leo dumps me knowing it would spite me!?

I heard stumbling and rushed towards the front door to comfort Pablo about this. I was done staying on the sidelines and letting him do whatever he pleased just because I am guest at this house..this is MY life he was messing with for his own amusement!

"Why did you do it!? Tell me he said something to provoke you? Tell me you weren't just trying to spite me by doing this Pablo.." I said but he completely ignored me, like I was invisible, unimportant and that drove me mad.

"No! You're going to start listening to me! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO LEO!!??" I said pushing him against the wall with all my strenght which was not possible unless he let me do it.

"Hm..or what if I don't listen chiqui? What will you do to me precious..huh??" he pushed back and I needed up glued on the wall in the matter of seconds. I gulped..he was so close..and I was no longer angry at him..I was tired of this whole "hate" thing.

"I'm tired of this Pablo..just leave me alone!" I said trying to push him but he wouldn't budge looking down at my face like he was lost in thought. I would give up everything ot know what he was thinking right now.

"P..please.." I was close to tears yet again being dumped not to mention that all my "friends" here only hang out with me thinking they will get to meet my new "brother"..I just wanted to be left alone by everyone especially Pablo Gavi who made this whole trip horrible!

"Fine.." he moved and i walked away not knowing that something in him broke seeing me so sad in front of him knowing he was the reason for it.

I was crying rather loudly knowing his parents and Aurora are not here and Pablo probably didn't even care about it. I was very wrong since he was glued to my door listening to each sound until finally opening the door and walking closer to the bed.

"Stop crying.." he said and I realized that he was indeed there watching me, probably in amusement.

"Leave me alone asshole!" I yelled feeling the bed move as he laid behind me making my whole body contract especially when his strong arms wrapped around my body..what was this nervousness and why did it feel so good to be held by him!?

"Please stop crying...if you like Leo that much I'll stay away.." he said while his hands were tracing invisible shapes on my bare skin making shivers moving down my spine and make me breathless. I truly didn't care that deeply for Leo..I almost cared more how it was angering Pablo..how I finally gotten some type of reaction out of him. I slowly moved turning around in his embrace to face him.

"It's not about Leo..it's about you..why can't you just stop hating me!?" I spoke my hand moving to his face caressing it gently and he let me do it for a few moments closing his eyes looking like he was enjoying it..maybe Pablo felt something for me..maybe I did for him too..maybe that's this tension between us..maybe it's love?

"Because you're annoying!" he pulled away and that gentle caring Pablo vanished in a matter of a second and he was back to being hateful asshole..he only wanted to feel in control and I gave him the chance..like an idiot..thinking he was genuine.

Quickly, he was out of my room returning to his crying himself to sleep..he was a coward to speak about his emotions..because I am not permanent..I will leave him soon and he couldn't afford to get attached.

Weeks went by and I couldn't sleep without imaging those strong arms wrapped around me. Leo asked me to try again but I rejected him..I couldn't stop thinking about my "gentle" Pablo wondering if that was his true nature..I wanted to get to him again..to feel that way again..to understand him.

"Are you ready hermanita?" Aurora said and I met her outside as she was my ride to the stadium for El Classico. I rarely went to his games thinking he would hate me there, but today I wore his jersey and went with the rest of his friends with pride. I wanted him to look me in the ye and tell me hates me if he does so much!

y.n.bebe

Rora and me at #ElClassico ❤️❤️

comentarios:

gvirafans: with Gavi jersey👀

aurorapaezg: hermanitaa💗

belengavira: pretty girls ❤️❤️

pablogavi: ❤️

I saw his comment..he probably did it because people would talk if he didn't..but a heart..it felt special..and made me even more determined to get close to him again.

During the game, Gavi was comeptlely focused as always wanting to win against the biggest enemy. Barca was better but it was frustrating that no ball would finally enter the goal..and time was running out till end of first half.

"I saw that new hermanita of yours..hmm..the things I'd do to her body" Vini provoked and Gavi lost it kicking the ball into the audience and walking towards him while everyone pushed him backwards and referee showed him a red card.

"Say that again hijo de puta!? Let me hear you say it again!" Pablo was not stopping until Xavi himself pulled him away from the pitch giving him a whole lecture about being more mature player.

"It was a good game hermano" Aurora said when we met with Pablo since Barça still ended up winning. Pablo was still heated and seeing me there wasn't helping.

"It's all her fault!" he said pointing at me in front of everyone and I looked away sadly..he was trying to hate me so I give up but I'm not giving up that easily because i know what I felt that night is real!

"Leave her alone! She did nothing wrong!" Aurora tried defending me but I was done being silent walking towards him bravely.

"Let's leave them alone.." Pablo's guy friends said and everyone left as the two of us stood there across from each other not saying a single word. Two can play this stupid game Gavi!

"What did I do to you huh!? Why don't you admit that you don't actually hate me Pablo?? I know you don't.." I said touching his sweaty jersey but he pulled away quickly like he was scared..

"Don't touch me!" he yelled expecting me to turn away and run but I moved closer again.

"Why? What are you sacred of when I touch you huh?"I said once again touching his chest and this time he didn't move staring at my lips longingly.

"Chiqui don't.." he whispered when I moved closer feeling my cheeks blush at the new nickname he chose..the feeling was back and I didn't want to lose it.

"Why?" I asked touching his face and again he closed his eyes as his hands wrapped around my waist pulling me even closer as our chests touched.

"B..because I won't be able to hold myself back" he whispered as we both opened around eyes looking into each other.

"P..Pablo.." I said breathlessly moving even closer but then Leo's familiar voice interrupted our little moment and Pablo pulled away angrily.

"Please let's talk Y/n..about us" Leo said and I internally cursed seeing Pablo's disappointed look as he just walked away without a word..freaking great!

"Is she coming?" Aurora asked

"She has another ride" Pablo said annoyingly reminding himself why he put up a wall..last thing he needed is to get hurt by a girl right now.

"No! I don't!" I said rushing after them after telling Leo I was done with him and sitting in the backseat next to Pablo whose jaw was clenching and he was clearly angry.

"He understood that it's over.." I whispered to Pablo but he was unfazed..once again like he didn't care. Here we go again!

"I don't care!" he whispered back before going on his phone as I sighed loudly besides him.

That night I couldn't sleep..I couldn't have him mad at me anymore..I did maybe the stupidest thing in the world walking to his room in the middle of the night. Luckily he was awake..

"P..Pablo.." I said and he turned around sitting in his bed with a surprised look on his face.

"Go away!" he said but I moved closer standing in front of him.

"I'm not going anywhere..I know why you hit Leo, he told me what he said to his friend and that you heard him" I said and Pablo looked up with raised eyebrows.

"He said you're alone and he can get with you in a week..and I showed him you're NOT alone" Pablo said and I smiled nodding my head and touching his hair as he looked up at me.

"And Vini?" I asked moving my hand down to his face while he looked at me finally putting down his guard and being vulnerable once again.

"Don't talk to me about that disgusting hijo de puta!" he said angrily and I knew he must have said something about me on the pitch..something that didn't sit right with Pablo and he needed to protect me..something you don't do for a person you "hate".

"Don't get angry.." I said and he nodded feeling more sad than angry while his hands snaked around my waist and he pulled me in kissing my stomach over my dress and I breathed heavily.

"I can't stop hating you chiqui.."he spoke into my stomach and I sighed raising his chin up and moving to sit on his lap.

"Why Pablo?" he said moving his hair back and he leaned into my touch as his face went into my neck and he started kissing my skin passionately.

"Because you're leaving me so soon..and I don't want to lose someone I love so much.."he finally said what's been on his mind for awhile and I felt my heart banging against my chest.

"So you decided to hate me? Why didn't you just ask me to stay with you??" I said with a smile and he was surprised to hear me say those words looking up into my eyes hopefully.

"And would you stay for me chiqui?" he said while I held his face and his hands tightly held onto my waist.

"Hmm it depends.." I said smirking moving in and he gulped once again looking at my lips longingly and I smiled.

"On what chiqui??"he smirked and I blushed to scared to tell him what I wanted right now..I just wanted him to finally kiss me.

"Hm..let me guess then" he held my face pulling me in and kissing my lips hungrily making me breathless but never happier. Then he pulled away..and I wanted to cry..I was so tired of these games and I just wanted to be with him!

"Please don't push me away again..please" i latched onto his shoulder and he smiled kissing the top of my forehead before pulling me in bed with him letting me lay my head on his strong chest.

"I'm never letting you go again precious.." he said as I looked up kissing him again as we continued to make out pulling onto each others clothes int he heat of the moment...

[psychostxr]

𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢 | emotions

PAIRING. jordan li x gn! reader

WORD COUNT. 0.7k

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of death, marie bashing (i'm sorry)

NOTES. i have also hopped on the jordan li train, and my god, i've never had a character chokehold me so tightly

Since Marie Moreau joined Godolkin University, everything has gone downhill. After the death of your friend Luke and the murder of your favorite professor, your life has gone through a ball of shit. You didn't want to blame Marie. The poor girl got caught up in Luke's drama — drama you didn't even know existed — she's just as traumatized as you are.

That's what you would've said before news spread around school that Marie and Andre were the ones that stopped Luke, not Jordan. Your partner who actually fought Luke while Marie ran at the first sign of danger. The thought of Marie frustrates you to no end, but you have other things to worry about, such as Jordan locking themself in their room since classes ended.

For as long as you've known Jordan, they've always been competitive. They climbed up the school's student ranks at Godolkin, beating almost anyone and everyone who tried to get in their way. They were one stop away from being first-ranked. But because of Marie and Andre's 'courageous act' of stopping Luke, they've been pushed up the ladder, while Jordan has to settle for fifth. It hurts to see Jordan so angry at the world and themself.

You knock gently on Jordan's door, hearing the muffled sounds of what you presume to be Marie's interview with Hailey Miller. The room goes quiet, and you wait a few moments for Jordan to open the door. But they don't.

"I know you're in there, Jordan." You turn the doorknob, rattling the door in your unsuccessful attempt to get in. You sigh and lean your head against the door. "Please open up, baby. I'm worried about you."

There's a moment of silence until the door cracks open. You take a step back, seeing Jordan's somber expression.

"Hey," you say, smiling softly. "Can I come in?"

Jordan hesitantly returns your smile. "Sure."

They open the door wider, allowing you to enter their dimly lit room. Their room is nothing from the usual, with clothes strewn over their couch and textbooks scattered on their desk. You pull your bag off your back, setting it down on Jordan's bed to retrieve your laptop and the takeout you bought from Vought A Burger.

"I was thinking we could maybe watch Property Brothers and have dinner together?" you suggest. "Or any other show if you want?"

Jordan shakes their head, their lips quirking upwards. "That sounds really nice, actually."

You pass Jordan the takeout, unsure if they've eaten anything since having lunch with you earlier today. You quickly set up the laptop on the coffee table before sitting on Jordan's bed.

Leaning against the headboard, you open your arms wide. "Come here."

Jordan doesn't hesitate, settling themselves in your waiting embrace. Their arms wrap around your torso, pulling them closer until their head finds a comfortable spot nestled against your stomach.

Feeling the weight of Jordan's emotions, you hold your partner close, your arms enveloping Jordan's shoulders. You softly kiss the crown of Jordan's head, your lips brushing against their ink-black hair.

"I'm sorry you're having a shitty day," you whisper, threading your fingers through their silky strands. "It's not fair."

"It's not your fault," Jordan says, sighing. "Shit happens."

"This school is shit," you explain, your anger spiking. "You've worked your fucking ass off to become second-ranked at Godolkin, but because of Marie and our asshole of a principal, you've lost your spot."

Jordan lifts their head to look at you. "It sounds like you're more upset than me."

"I'm sorry, it's just..." You shake your head before staring lovingly at Jordan. "I love you so much, Jordan. So much that I feel everything you feel. When you feel angry, I feel angry. When you're sad, I'm sad. So when you go through these obstacles in life, you aren't alone. I will always be there for you, baby."

Jordan crumbles at your words, and a small smile plays on their lips. They lift themself and lean towards you. Their lips press against yours gently before pulling away, leaving you no time to savour the kiss.

"I'm lucky to have you," they admit.

As you grin, you pull Jordan closer into another kiss. But this time, you can feel the intense emotions radiating off them, and you soak in the passion and love from Jordan's kiss. The rest of the night is spent in each other's arms, binge-watching Property Brothers and devouring greasy takeout.

© psychostxr — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[blu3n]

By: @blu3n

Anon : blue hi 👋, could you make a short story where Jason and the reader argue?, at the birthday party, I want some angst and fluff at the end, I hope you understand kisses.

YES YES YES YES, THANK YOU!!! 🪼

edited.

Bad luck ๋ ࣭ ⭑ Jason todd x female reader

Synopsis: angst, cute at the end, this one is sad ๋ ࣭ ⭑ you and jason argue, I've never actually done one of those

— edit: @blu3n.

The rain fell heavily on Gotham, as if the city was mourning the return of a lost son. Jason Todd, now known as the Red Hood, walked through the dark streets, the echoes of his old life still echoing in his mind. He had been through so much; betrayal, pain, and a violent rebirth at the hands of the Joker.

The last few months have been tough, Penguin giving him trouble, malice, Cat Woman and the Batfamily on his tail all the time. Bandits and missions stressing him out.

His weapons failing in the middle of combat, it seemed like bad luck was with him in those last few days. To make the headache worse, his 4-year anniversary was coming up.

He was never one to celebrate or care about stupid holidays, birthdays or important dates, but if it was important to you, he celebrated. But fuck. Today you were annoying.

Exactly the day he barely managed to capture the Riddler. It felt like they had thrown years of bad luck at him, he didn't believe that shit, but now he was starting to think so.

He was working out, lifting arm weights (sorry, I don't know what it's called) while training his biceps, his mind was racing with the events of the day, Dick pissing him off for being harsh with one of the evil henchmen, leaving the guy almost paraplegic.

focused in his mind, he didn't hear your footsteps, when you approached him, you could tell he was focused, but you didn't seem to notice how angry he looked.

"What do you think? Pink or red?" Her cheerful voice made him feel bad for being grumpy for the party he had tonight. Looking at you and your dresses, he sighs, barely holding back a groan of annoyance when he sees you flaunting the dresses once again, "whatever, fuck" coming out harsher than he intended. He knew it wasn't his fault that everything was going wrong, but he couldn't help but feel angry.

"Oh yeah..." His voice sounded so broken and so short, but you respected him. You knew he did that sometimes, but not on purpose. "I'm gonna...go get changed." All he heard was a low growl before he walked out of the training bag leaving you alone.

It wasn't because he wanted to, sometimes Jason knew he could be an asshole but everything seemed to be going wrong, he didn't want to take it out on you but you didn't seem to see the clear signs that he didn't want to be around.

everything gets worse at the party, the attention was focused on you two all jason wanted least was for the attention to be on him that night just when he wanted to simply disappear and stay at home, but he stayed, he stayed for you, it was important to you so that means he should be there, right?

He was trying, God he swears he was but that, those people were suffocating him. He needed to go out for a smoke.

Once outside, it was cold, the cigarette smoke swayed and disappeared in the wind... everything seemed calmer and more peaceful on this side.

"Jason?" Your voice echoes behind him, making him turn and look at you, "Ah... aren't you coming back?" All you wanted was for him to stay with you that night, to stay just a little while to celebrate your important day. in his mind it was being an incredible night

"If I want to go, I will, stop bothering my ass," he says in a thick, firm voice, already close to exploding if you push him any further.

"Excuse me? Look at the way you talk to me, Jason, I just want to celebrate our night together as a couple-"

"CAN'T YOU REALIZE I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE THIS SHIT!?" Jason was never one to yell at you even if he had reason to do so he would never do so, but today he yelled which scared you just a little bit , he didn't mean to do that.. His anger bubbled, his chest heaved, he wished he hadn't done that.

"ah..." even though you try to say something your voice betrays you leaving only silence bad to fall into this situation.

Jason, when he finally regained his senses, was silent, he took out his anger on the one person he wished he hadn't done it to. "....Y/n" came out as broken as he wanted it to in desperation he said "Y/N, please wait, I- I didn't mean to

Jason in turn was in panic, would you leave him? were you mad? god, did he lose you? no after 4 years would you leave him for this? no god please don't do this to him.

Jason, you in the distance, almost felt his chest stop beating, he didn't want to do this, "I'm sorry", he covered his face with his hand to keep from letting out angry tears, everything was going wrong. Jason saw her reaction and almost felt his chest stop beating, he didn't want to do this, "I'm sorry" he covers his face with his hand to keep from letting out angry tears, everything was going wrong. "Don't walk away from me" he says with a broken voice, even knowing that you weren't there, he would give you some time, but not so much, for you to see how bad he was (in your mind). his mind).

You, in turn, were sitting at one of the tables in the distance, watching everyone laughing and smiling, even though it was your day... maybe you really were annoying to the point of pressuring Jason... maybe you weren't good for him? What were you thinking? He loves you... doesn't he?.

"Y/n-" the tone of his voice made you look where it came from, seeing Jason standing in front of you, his eyes red and his brow furrowed. "babe?"

"Shhh, "It's okay" you say looking at him wiping your eyes from the tear stains as you hear him say that he didn't mean to say what he said, and you had already forgiven him after all it wasn't his fault.

"...i love you, i love you, i love you" he says softly just for you to hear, directing your face into the curve of his neck.

That brought a genuine smile out of you, you quickly pull him up, hugging him fully before whispering in his ear, "I love you too, congratulations to us"

both of their chests pressed against each other as their heartbeats beat together.

—

THANKS FOR ASKING!!!

🪼 - I love writing about him

[taylormarieee]

Close Friends Luke Castellan

Summary: After that night you try your best to avoid Luke, but he wasn't going away that easily...

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Confessions, slight angst, Wingman Annabeth, Sexual tension, More sexual tension!!!, Reader avoiding Luke, Clarisse makes a comeback, Clarisse and reader become close friends, sadly a cliffhanger...

It's been a whole 2 days and you have been trying your absolute best to avoid Luke.

Sitting alone during lunch.

Avoiding him during Capture the Flag.

Avoiding him during certain activities that involve partners. You don't know why you kissed him.

You knew him for a day. A DAY! Who on earth catches feelings for someone in a day.

Maybe it was your moms doing but you just couldn't control the feelings you had for him.

He was so cute and incredibly attractive. Who wouldn't want a guy like him.

He's funny, charming, confident, nice, caring, and incredibly handsome.

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn't notice him coming up to you.

3:35pm

"Hey. Can we talk?" He asks you. You look up at him and as our about to make an excuse he shakes his head. "I don't wanna hear a bullshit excuse."

Your eyes widened. You notice he has a serious expression. Not one of happiness and charm like he usually does.

Were you hurting him? Hurting his feelings? You stay silent and he sits down.

"What did I do. You don't talk to me anymore. You don't sit with us anymore. You don't hang with me anymore. Why? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you in anyway? Were supposed to be friends. You don't even talk to Percy or Grover or Annabeth anymore! What the hell is the problem?!" He says upsetly.

He was pissed. More than pissed, he was furious but he tried his hardest not to show it and yell at you out of anger.

"I-I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong and neither did the rest of them." You say glancing over to them as they watch from the other table.

"I just can't be around you anymore..." You whisper lowly hoping he wouldn't here but of course he did.

"W-what?" He asks, fae slowly morphing from angry to sad in a second.

Before you could even explain why your mouth just shut again and he looked at you waiting for a response. Silently pleading for one.

But you didn't say anything. You just sat there and stared at your food. He was tired of your games now.

It's either you had feelings for him like he has for you or you didn't want to be with him at all.

"Fine. Don't even tell me. If you didn't want to be friends, you should have said that. Can't believe this." He scoffs and aggressively gets up. Leaving you there.

You try to silently cry as you watch him leave. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover watch as he storms off and watch you just sit there with tears leaving your eyes.

They were all confused but didn't even go to comfort you, and they had every right not to...

4:30pm

You were practicing with a bow and arrow when you see Annabeth out of the corner of your eye.

"Hey. Nice shots." She compliments. You smile at her and she returns it.

"T-Thanks." You say quietly. She frowns and looks at you. "I know what happened. You kissed Luke." She says nonchalantly.

Your eyes widen. "He told you!?" You ask so embarrassed. She chuckles and shakes her head.

"He told Percy. He was so giddy and happy when he told percy and then Percy told me." She responds

Hearing that made your heart drop. He was happy? "You really hurt him ya know. He was crying and i've never seen Luke cry. He's tough, but something...Something about you did made him fly to the moon. Made him smile wider than before." She says.

"He's my family. I don't like when he's sad. Please make amends with him." She says before walking away.

You stand there and think about what she said before walking away to your cabin.

9:25pm

You were on your way to the dinner when Clarisse came up to you. Her arms up in a surrendering manner.

"Not here to fight. Here to talk." She says with a smile on her face. "O-Ok."

You guys walk in silence towards the banquet hall and Your eyes catch Luke and Percy staring at you before looking away and talking.

You furrowed your bros wondering what they were saying. You sit down with Clarisse and she smiles.

"I wanted to be friends. I respect what you did, standing up for yourself. So ca we be friends, start over?" She asks staring at you.

You stare back and smile, "Yea, sure!" You respond with a smile. "Can you wait right here, I need to go talk to someone."

"Ugh I was actually gonna go back to my brothers and sisters. There waiting on me." She says.

"Ok. Peace out Clarisse." You say walking away towards Percy and Luke.

"Luke. C-Can we talk? I'm so sorry and I didn't mean to hurt you. Annabeth told me about everything and I really thought about it and I'm sorry. After kissing you I just overthink it and I didnt know how you felt nor w-why I kiss-" Your ranting to him and your interrupted by him wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you.

"I didn't tell her anything." Annabeth appears. Secretly standing there the whole time thanks to her hat her mother gave her.

You chuckle and look at him when he breaks the hug. "Your adorable pretty girl you know that?" He says with a smile on his face.

"I'm sorry for what I said. Shouldn't have snapped on you like that. I was just so mad because I thought you didn't like me back." He says

"Friends?" You ask.

"Friends. Close friends." He says with a wink on his face. You giggle and sit with them for the rest of the night until it's time to go to bed.

10:57pm

Luke was walking you to your cabin. "I love you Luke. I mean granted it's only been 3 days since i've known you, I just adapted a crush on you." You confess.

"I've loved you the moment we made eye contact." He says chuckling at how corny that is.

"I guess it was love at first sight." You say chuklong with him.

"God that's so corny..."

"But true. I am the daughter of Aphrodite after all." You say laughing. He smiles at your laugh. He could listen to it on repeat all day.

You guys finally reach the cabin and he stops in front of you. "Welp this is my stop." You say.

"This is your stop M'lady." He says with a smirk as he bows. You giggle and playfully hit his arm.

"Get up you goofball." You tell him, "Before we get caught."

"But that's what's so fun about it." He says smirking at you. You two just stand there staring at each other.

"Well, uh I'm gonna go." You say smiling before walking up the steps to your cabin.

"Hey wait!" He yells before running up to you. He grabs your waist and kisses you.

You kiss him back passionately and gently grab his curls. He pushes you softly against the door of the cabin eagerly grabbing your soft hips and your waist.

"See you tomorrow pretty girl." He says smirking before walking away.

"Wait! What does this make us?"

"Very Close friends." He says with a wink.

"But Luke I don-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" Chiron yells out.

Oh no... You two were in deep shit...

Taglist: @angelicdanvers @rhydianissuperior @csifandom @prettyinsatiable @reader-bookling123 @istillremberthefirstfallofsnow @lizziesfirstwife @glorywielder101 @kneehe-nehar7

A/N: Huge thank you to all of you for reading and leaving comments! I really appreciate it! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I will be posting the next chapter tommorrow! Huge thank you to @angelicdanvers again because without her I wouldn't have even been inspired to do this!

[httpskuzuu]

Fault

i wrote this while watching apocalipsisminecraft :D

Anyway, I'm not very good at writing dialogues, so I hope it's okay

Yandere!Dazai x Reader

English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes

summary: you deal with the silent treatment after an argument.

tw: angst¿, toxic relationship, manipulation

The silence is simply punishing, it always was. Your body was intact, balled up on your bed, but your mind wasn't as lucky. The silent treatment was a problem, one that hurt more than you'd like to admit, but your still-wet cheeks gave you away.

It hurt you that Dazai ignored you. You had tried to distract yourself in a thousand ways these days: you went out with your friends (the few you had left), spent the days away from home, concentrated on your hobbies. Nothing seemed to work, it's as if Dazai had planted a seed in your psyche that keeps growing and growing, every day his silence was getting worse.

You can't win an argument because this is what happens, talking or complaining about Osamu's toxic behavior would only ensure you that wordless jail. You had every right to complain! Because of him you lost many friends, he distanced you from them in a way that made you only realize it when it was too late, after you had already cut the total bond with them and they didn't want to see you again.

You don't blame them either, if a friend had a toxic boyfriend and ignored you for him all day, not letting help them, you would be angry too. They have been very patient because they know the details of your life with Dazai well, but everyone has limits.

Now you are alone, even Dazai doesn't seem to love you.

You try to hold back your tears at that thought, but it is impossible, you can only cover your mouth with your hand to hide your sobs. That's one of the things you had tried to avoid, if Dazai really loved you he wouldn't do this to you.

He knows of your suffering and yet he continues to treat you as if you were a ghost, you can't help but doubt his feelings for you. You think that maybe you are just a sadistic desire of his, that he only wants to pretend to love you and then leave you abandoned like a toy. Yes, you are just that, his toy.

There's not much to complain about either, you're aware of your situation and yet here you are, by his side. It's not that you wouldn't have tried to leave him, you did once, but he came back to beg your forgiveness and you simply couldn't refuse. You become weak with just one look from him.

And that cycle was always repeating itself. Whenever there was a fight big enough to overshadow your love for Osamu, he was the one who apologized. You wished it was like that this time too, but it's not.

Know what, fuck it, who needs friends anyway? You need Dazai, it hurts not being together with him. It eats you up inside with anger and shame for letting yourself fall for his manipulation, but what else are you going to do? You're not going to keep crying in bed until you fall asleep.

You head towards the living room where you know for sure that Dazai is, watching TV. He doesn't even turn to look at you even though you are sure he heard your footsteps.

“Osamu.” Saying his name is a mixture of pain and love that infiltrates your brain. Sometimes you wish you had never met him, but you think better of it when you remember that he is the only one who loves you. Who else could love you with your attitude?

He still does not respond and a look of sadness invades you, you try to remove it, but it comes back each time. Finally you give up, Dazai already knows how weak and useless you are and knows well your character, so you allow yourself to cry.

You don't hesitate to lie on his body and hug him while you try to form a sentence, any sentence, but only incoherent sobs come out.

You don't see Osamu's reaction, you just wish he was as affected as you are. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the crown of your head lovingly. You missed him so much, you don't even know how you managed to survive these days without his love and touch. “What is it, Belladonna?”

You press your face against his chest as shame clutches tightly at your throat. He mocks you even your current state and that is like a stab in the heart, you feel the pain in every detail.

“You hate me, you hate me.” Stifled meaningless sobs come out of your mouth, but still Osamu manages to hear them.

“And why would you say such a stupid thing?”

“You were ignoring me! If you really loved me you wouldn't do that.”

“So now I'm the bad guy.” His tone of voice changes to a more distant one and his hug loses strength. In response you can only hug him tighter, afraid that, if you loosen his arms a little, he will leave you alone again. “You didn't try to talk to me either.”

You raise your gaze, an indignant one, which is accompanied by furrowed eyebrows. You want to look annoyed, but you just look pathetic.

“That's because you always do the same thing! We fight and you stop talking to me!” Pain trickles through your words, but Dazai doesn't seem to care enough to comfort you. “What am I going to humiliate myself for when I know you're going to ignore me?”

"Oh, poor little Belladonna, always the victim of the story." His condescending voice makes you feel like an idiot, you come to think that you really are. "Didn't you ever think I just needed space? Come on, you're so clingy and I was just trying to protect you from getting hurt.”

Seeing your puzzled expression, he can only laugh.

“Well of course you haven't thought about it. That cute little head of yours is good for nothing but victimization.”

“I- I'm sorry, I didn't know you felt this way...” Your voice trembles and his words linger in your mind. Maybe it's all your fault after all, you've never tried to put yourself in the opposite shoes and that makes you feel like the biggest useless.

The award for the worst partner in the world should be given to you, you think.

Dazai has no reaction at first, looking at you with those cold eyes, but they soften after a few seconds. He can't resist you after all.

Osamu's warm arms squeeze you again, you almost cry with joy thanks to how nice it feels to be held like that.

"It's okay, my sweet." Osamu ends up whispering near your ear, which sends a pleasurable shiver throughout your body. “Let me show you how much I love you now.”

and if I make a second part nsfw? 👀

[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. 

[thelordfool]

HELP ME PLEASE!!!!!

Long story short: I'm unemployed and will not, unlike what I originally thought, qualify for unemployment benefits.

Please read the readmore for additional context on why I'm unemployed. This post is basically a continuation/update/redo of this post. I'm suffering a sickness with no medicine the past week, applied for almost 100 jobs the last two weeks, am disabled/queer/nonbinary/tired of ebegging. I'm also in the negatives in my bank account because my car payment came out, so I need to get that covered.

pp/vm/ca

$250/$1151.51

i need at least $511.51 of this by the first. please spread if you're financially unable to help, every person this reaches helps! here's the breakdown of the costs: $640 - car payment + late fees $380 - rent $131.51 - negative amount in bank currently

Oh hey thanks for stopping by to read this annoying tale of woe and being angry at capitalism. Prepare for wall of text.

I once had two jobs. The first job, at a chain restaurant, was a bit of a clique-y experience where I was working my damndest to be the best bartender they ever had. I still have all the cocktails memorized. However, I continually faced discrimination in the form of severe misgendering, no matter how often I corrected them. I was also set up for failure. Usually, when someone gets hired for a position, there's some amount of training to be done, no matter how experienced they are, right? I was going in nearly entirely inexperienced into the role. I knew how to make cocktails, sure, and was and still am very good with people and selling. But I was trained for two days. Two. Then, on my first night alone (a Friday), I was watched by one of the bigwigs at corporate who saw every little flub and failure. This caused a demotion-ish. I was demoted to barback but was allowed the same privileges. Until their next visit. That upset the hell out of me - I was well trained by that point and could do it all, with one hand tied behind my back. I digress. It was about 2 months following my demotion when i finally walked out. A new bartender had been hired and she thought I was being a total creep by looking at a ticket that had just come in. She stormed off to report me to the manager who, even after hearing my side where I had asked her if there was anything on the ticket that I could grab, said that I "needed to communicate better," and "you should be learning from her," and "you're a grown man, you should know better." I don't think I need to explain why that was so upsetting.

But I didn't report them, because I just wanted to be done with it. I was also working another bartending job, and everythign was literally perfect other than the hours, honestly. I loved the product the distillery made, I loved the people I worked with, and most of all: I had my own regulars. Last month, they hired a new hospitality director, who announced there would be some restructuring, including getting rid of servers while also making a full dinner menu to serve alongside drinks. I said nothing of it, despite my disagreements, and she assured us all that no one would lose their jobs, but just moved into different roles. We all kinda grumbled about it, and I told her that under no circumstances would I work back of house. Easy peasy. Till it wasn't, and I came home to a voicemail while on break with my partner that I'd been let go due to the restructuring. So much for no one losing their jobs, right? I hadn't been the only victim of this. I have my suspicions as to why the new hospitality director did these things, but I've no energy to throw around conspiracies. All I know is that I was shafted by both of these places and I'm tired of being broke. I'm applying, still going to fight, and... sigh.

tl;dr (why did you click the readmore?): i left a job due to discrimination and lost another due to company restructuring and i'm tired and sad and aaaaa.

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

Tension on track | L.N.

Lando Norris x friend!reader, slight Carlos x reader

Summary: When Lando scores a bad race you’re left to wonder whether it was just a bad day or your bad influence…

Warnings: angst, angry Lando:(, fluff.

Word count: ~1.7K

Lando stomped into his garage, seething with anger after a disappointing race. You followed him in, concerned for his well-being and wanting to offer support. You had always been there for him, but today, he was in no mood for your company.

"Y/n, can't you just give me some space for once? You're so damn clingy," Lando snapped, his frustration evident in his voice.

You, taken aback by his outburst, stammered, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay, Lando."

Lando's anger flared even brighter. "You're always here, distracting me, annoying everyone with your constant presence. You're not helping, Y/n, you're making everything worse!"

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you tried to keep your composure. "Lando, I'm sorry if I've been a bother. I just thought-"

Lando cut her off, his voice getting louder, "You thought what, that you could just waltz in here and be a part of my life all the time? You're not the only person who cares about me, and I can handle my own problems!"

Your voice quivered as you attempted to defend yourself. "I didn't mean to be a burden, Lando. I just care about you."

Lando, his face red with anger, stepped closer to you and shouted, "Well, I don't want your care! I don't want you here, no one does!"

You were scared now, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out and touch his arm. "Lando, please, just calm down. I'll go if you want me to, but I'm your friend, and I'll always be here for you when you need me."

Lando's anger hadn't subsided, and he shoved your hand away. "No, Y/n. I don't need you. I don't want you around. Just leave me alone!" He turned his back on you, unwilling to meet your gaze.

Heartbroken and rejected, you slowly made your way out of the garage, your sobs echoing in the dimly lit space. You left, feeling hurt and abandoned, while Lando remained consumed by his anger and disappointment in the now quiet room.

You, still wiping away tears, stumbled out of the garage and nearly collided with Carlos, one of the other racers. Concern immediately etched across his face as he saw your distressed state.

"Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?" Carlos asked gently, his voice filled with worry.

You sniffled and tried to put on a brave face. "I'm alright, Carlos. Just a bad day, you know..."

Carlos wasn't convinced, but he respected your privacy. "If you say so... But you don't have to be alone right now. How about I give you a ride back to the hotel?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding, voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you, Carlos."

You two walked to his car, and during the ride, Carlos noticed that you looked lost in your thoughts, eyes distant on the horizon. As you arrived at the hotel, he could tell you didn't want to go to your shared room with Lando, and he guessed there might be a connection between your distress and Lando's post-race outburst.

Carlos suggested, "Hey, Y/n, why don't you come up to my room for a bit? I‘m thinking of making some dinner, it might cheer you up." He was putting on his sweetest smile only to convince you.

You hesitated again, but the idea of avoiding the tense atmosphere with Lando for a while was tempting. "Alright, thanks, Carlos."

Carlos's room was warm and inviting. He served you a plate of delicious pasta and tried his best to make you smile. He cracked jokes, shared stories from the track, and even put on some childish show to lighten the mood. But despite his efforts, you couldn't hide your sadness.

Carlos, sat down beside you and said softly, "Y/n, you can talk to me. I can see something's bothering you. Is it about Lando? You know, you don't have to go through this alone."

You sighed and looked up at him, tears welling up once more. "It's just that... Lando was really upset with me after the race. He said some hurtful things. I... I just don't know what I did wrong..." A few tears escaped your tired eyes.

Carlos put his arm around your shoulders and offered a reassuring smile. "Y/n, sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're angry. I'm sure Lando didn't mean to hurt you. Give him some time, and things will get better. Until then, I'm here for you, okay?"

You managed a weak smile through your tears, appreciating Carlos's kindness and understanding. "Thank you, Carlos. You're a great friend."

Carlos patted your back and continued your conversation, determined to keep you company and offer support until you felt better, hoping to bring a smile back to your  face.

As the night progressed, Carlos poured a glass of wine for you, hoping it might help you open up and relax. You sat on the sofa, facing each other, wine glasses now empty and forgotten on the coffee table. You began to speak, voice quivering as you recounted the events of the race earlier in the day.

"I could see it in Lando's eyes, Carlos. He was being so hard on himself, with his comments and everything. All I wanted was to hug all that pain and frustration out of him, but then he just... he blew up on me," you said, your voice breaking as tears welled up once again.

Carlos wiped away your tears with his big, surprisingly soft hands, holding you close to him. "Do I annoy you?" you asked the spaniard, your voice filled with doubt.

Carlos shook his head and kissed the top of your head. "Never, sweetheart. What makes you think that?"

You buried your face in Carlos's shoulder, sobs subsiding as you leaned into his comforting brotherly embrace. "It's just something that Lando said... and I thought it might be true..."

Carlos continued to caress your head, his voice filled with warmth, "Forget everything he said, Y/n. He's an idiot."

You let out a small, relieved laugh and looked up at Carlos. "Thank you, Carlos. You're like a comforting golden retriever."

Carlos chuckled, his heartwarming presence bringing a sense of calm to the room. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now, let's finish this wine and forget about all the drama. You‘re here to have a good time."

The next day, you and Carlos arrived at the paddock together, and there was still some time before practice. Carlos noticed you looking a bit out of place, and his instinct was to bring a smile to your face. He dashed up to you and playfully hoisted you onto his back, starting to run around the garages. Laughter filled the air as the paddock members enjoyed the cheerful sight.

Suddenly, Lando appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and the atmosphere tensed as Carlos noticed your expression changing from joy to discomfort. Lando's question hit the room like a cold breeze, "What the hell are you doing?"

Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in, replied, "Nothing, just waiting for practice to start."

Lando, his throat feeling scratchy after his outburst yesterday, harshly retorted, "I didn't ask you, I asked her."

Carlos couldn't stand the tone, and he stepped closer to Lando, his voice stern and firm. "Whether you talk to me or her, you better put some respect in that tone, understand? I don't care if you don't want to grow up, go ahead and stay a little kid if that's what you want. But never talk to me or Y/n like that ever again."

Lando's eyes filled with tears as Carlos's words hit him hard. He turned away from the older driver and left the Ferrari garage, mumbling a small, "I'm sorry, Carlos."

The tension in the air slowly dissipated as Lando left and as happy as you were for Carlos‘s protection, you could not get your friend‘s broken eyes out of your mind...

You had been watching Lando's dismal performance during practice, and your heart ached as you couldn't bear to see him beat himself up any longer. You decided to confront him, following him to his room. As you walked in, the déjà vu from the previous night was eerie, but you gathered your courage and stepped inside.

Lando was on the floor, a towel covering his face, and his soft cries escaped through the fabric. The sound of your voice calling him startled him, and he hastily discarded the towel, sitting up straighter.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" Lando stammered, hurriedly wiping at his tears, leaving red marks on his face. Before he could do more harm to himself, you knelt next to him, caught his hands in your grip and gently wiped away his tears with the sleeve of your McLaren hoodie.

"Tell me what's wrong, Lando. Please, you know I only want to help," you implored, avoiding his gaze as his eyes burned through you.

"I'm so sorry," Lando exhaled and lowered his head before more tears threatened to escape.

You pushed gently, determined to get to the root of his pain. "Why, Lando?"

Lando's voice trembled as he spoke, "For being an absolute loser, for embarrassing you, and then for telling you all those horrible things. You must know I don't think you're annoying or clingy, and I absolutely love having you here and so do the others. But I just feel like I'm disappointing you with my races, and I don't want you to be known as the friend of a loser..."

Tears cascaded down Lando's cheeks, and your heart broke for him. You shifted closer and wrapped your arms around him, offering comfort and understanding.

"Lando, you're not a loser, and you're definitely not disappointing me. You're an incredible driver, and I believe in you. We all have bad days, but that doesn't change how I feel about you as a friend. You can always lean on me, okay?"

Lando clung to you, his sobs gradually subsiding as he found solace in your comforting presence. You held him tightly, assuring him that you weren't going anywhere and that you‘d always be there to support him through the ups and downs of your friendship and racing career.

[sharpth1ng]

Ive already posted this in my server, so you may see it twice, but In case you don't see it there im posting it here too.

Im assuming most of you have seen the news about the us election. Honestly im feeling nothing less than devastated, and i would assume Americans are feeling ten times worse. Im so fucking sorry to you all, and I know that doesn't help at all. I feel angry, hopeless, and sad as fuck, and i dont know how to comfort anyone or advocate for the hope i think we deserve.

What I can do is remind you all who you come from.

Women, queer people, disabled people, indigenous people, black people, new immigrants- anyone who experiences marginalization- we have been through this before. Many times. So many lives have been unjustly lost and our rights have been trampled on over and over, and we shouldnt have to be dealing with any of that still in 2024. It feels insane that im even having to write this post right now.

But even with that crushing history, repeating itself over and over, we haven't been silenced. If anything we've gotten louder. We've been having mainstream conversations about oppression and liberation in the past few years that were completely undiscussed when I was a kid. The vocal support for trans people alone, even with the rise of transphobia, is unprecedented.

None of this is meant to tell you that it's alright, or that it's not that bad, because it is that bad. But what I'm telling you is that its been this bad before, only this time we're louder than we ever have been before and we'll be louder still next time. There are more of us than there ever have been before, and if they couldn't take us all out when there were fewer of us they wont manage it this time.

There were drag shows happening in gay bars when it was still illegal to be gay at all. There were Natives preserving language and knowledge out of residential schools, and black people inventing whole new types of art and resistance while they were still being actively enslaved, and those are just a few examples. The point is that we dont stop, we never have. We will keep making art, finding love, and joy, being fucking loud and fighting for each other.

It's ok to hurt, to be angry and scared. Let yourself feel all of those things because its the only rational response to this.

But don't let it shut you down. Your history is one of resilience, survival, and compassion. We're so much more than the oppression we face and we always have been.

Reach out to the people you love and tell them you fucking love them. Make plans to see them. Gather with your community and organize to support each other, find ways to protect each other, and above all else don't stop looking for joy. Don't stop making art. Don't stop showing compassion.

Solidarity is the most important thing we have right now, so don't give up on it.

I don't know how to close this message really, but i want to repeat I'm not telling you to have hope, I'm not telling you it's not so bad. What I am telling you is that you're stronger than you think. You come from strength, you come from people who faced odd that seemed insurmountable so that you could be here today.

If they couldn't take us out before they wont succeed now. We're only going to get louder, angrier and stronger. And when the tide swings back in the other direction, like it always has in the past, they better be fucking grateful that most of us will be fighting for equality instead of revenge.

[serpenlupus]

On D-16, and how his refusal to grieve led him to becoming Megatron.

I have a longer post on the works about Orion Pax and his relationship to D-16/Megatron on the recent Transformers One movie, but I wanna say this real quick about D-16 because I feel like there's a lot of people completely misinterpreting him and his actions. And a girl has thoughts.

No, he is not in the right, his actions in the movie climax were wrong even if his feelings were justified. Orion was doing the right thing by trying to stop D-16 from murdering Sentinel on the spot. Not just because without the damning evidence, it would have been a random murdering the hero leader of a whole society, and it would have thrown it into chaos, or because Sentinel is defenseless at that moment, but also because killing Sentinel is not going to make D-16 feel better. And Orion knew this.

The movie itself confirms it, after Sentinel is dead Megatron doesn't stop, and lashes out against the city itself and anyone that's inside it. The reason is that D-16 is clinging to his anger, desperately so, because if he stops feeling angry then he has to face the loss of the entire life he has lived, the regret of all the choices he didn't make because of his societal cage, and abandon all the hopes and plans he had made for the future. He has also lost the sense of security he had when he existed within a structured life, it's why he expreses anger at Orion for uncovering the truth about the Prime's deaths, even though that was an indisputable good thing. That vulnerability is terrifying. So instead of letting himself feel that sadness, that fear, and properly processing it all, D-16 holds onto his anger and lets it motivate him forward into the movie.

When he shoots Orion, albeit by accident, he again doesn't let himself properly process the shorrow of having killed his best friend, so to avoid the pain, he latches onto the anger again, blaming Orion instead of realising were that fury is leading him.

And when he kills Sentinel, and there's no relief, the past hasn't changed, the years he lost haven't come back, and Orion is dead, Megatron once again clings to his anger and lashes out against the entire city, against any remnants of Sentinel, even if that hurts innocent bots. Because it's easier, safer, to feel that anger, than letting the grief overcome him if he lets himself think about it.

(No Megs, you could kill eveyone in the planet and wouldn't feel any better, please stop ;_;)

Don't misunderstand me, anger is a necessary emotion, it's as natural as any other, anger will motivate you to fight for yourself, however there's a danger to letting it blind you. Megatron had all the right to feel the way he did (although maybe he took it too personal, Sentinel lied in front of everyone's faces Dee, come on), but, that's ultimately the tragedy of the character in many a continuity; that he let his righteous anger turn into hatred and vitriol. And this led him into a path he couldn't come back from.

Anyway that's my two cents! Feel free to add to this or just tell me I'm wrong XD The movie was amazing and I may be feeling a little pasionate about people intentionally misinterpreting it (that guy on Tiktok that said this was the most shallow interpretation of Megatron? Pissed me off, have you even seen any other Transformers media?).

Also on a last note, I feel like Megatron's thoughts when he started shooting at the city were very close to Dracula's "there are no more innocents" sentiment (from Netflix's Castlevania).

It's understandable that he felt that way because Sentinel couldn't have worked entirely alone plus Airachnid, but that still doesn't make it right that his shots put random civilians in deathly danger.

Have a nice day!

[love-hatred-stuff]

"Doll, don't ignore me, please. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

All he heard from you was some unhappy mumbling. You looked at him with annoyance before you disappeared into the bedroom. Something he wasn't used to at all. Something that made him feel like someone you might hate. His heart wrenched in sadness.

There's nothing in this world he could hate more than you being upset with him. It made him feel lonely and even more angry at himself than you probably were. It was torture.

Bucky continued to sit there at the kitchen island, his face in his palms, devastated. He loved you so dearly, you were his god damn life and now you wouldn't speak a word to him. It felt like a knife was stuck in his ribcage and he couldn't seem to get it out as long as you were so mad at him.

He knew a relationship couldn't always be perfect. But with you it was. Nothing was as easy as loving you every step of the way. Sure there were some ups and downs, but nothing that wasn't fast to be solved.

He sighed in desperation. He didn't know how to make you talk to him again. All he could give you was some space. But it was your choice if you wanted to forgive him or not in the end. He knew that.

So he waited. Smoked more than usual, drank more than usual. On a Tuesday? Didn't matter as long as you wouldn't give him another chance.

He wrote you an apology letter, a love letter, bought your favourite flowers everyday.

He was lost without your love and everyone knew that. It was hard to overlook. You two weren't just lovers, you two were partners, friends, soulmates and everything in between. Bucky cherished the ground you walked on. Because you were always there as his emotional support, you calmed him down, made him feel safe and complete. He needed you.

James often worked from home, so he felt your absence immensely since you were always out until noon. And if you were home and not going anywhere else but work just to avoid him, you were never in the same room as him.

He could call himself lucky to still be able to sleep in the same bed as you. You weren't evil, you wouldn't let him sleep on one of your small leather couches alone, those were great for cuddling and taking a nap but not for a seven hour long rest. Besides, you knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if not beside you.

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Everything went on for about a week. Until everything came crashing down on him.

Bucky couldn't sleep. He just couldn't stop thinking how you were slowly but surely falling out of love with him since the day that he decided to use your trust. And he couldn't help but start crying at this heartbreaking thought. First it were just tears that didn't seem to stop flowing but after a few minutes he couldn't stop letting out those heartwrenching sobs coming out of him. Of course you noticed it and it didn't bring you joy or whatsoever. It made you feel like crying too.

"Bucky? Bucky, please." You sat up immediately.

You shoved all those hurt feelings to the side for a moment and moved towards his side. He turned around slowly and looked at you. You couldn't describe how broken the man in front of you looked.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/n. Please forgive me. I- I need you. I can't breath-" He broke down again.

You brought him to your chest, letting him hug your waist while crying into your shirt. You shushed him, held him against you and gently stroked his hair. Until he slowly stopped sobbing and crying, though he didn't intend to let go of you anytime soon.

"James, I know you're sorry."

He looked up at you. That's the first words you spoke to him in days and you call him James? Tears were gathering in his eyes once again.

"Oh, my love." You touched his cheek and took a good look at him. Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. That sounded much better.

"Bucky." He snaps back into reality, opening his eyes and seeing your gorgeous face, that he missed so much looking at.

"Kiss me, you moron." And he immediately did, more than eager to rest his lips on yours after such a long time.

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A/n: lol, just felt like breaking my heart again

[sulumuns-dootah]

28. 10. Body worship - Lucifer

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⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: If priest kink is a crime, just send me to Abaddon :D

Warnings: Religius themes (Lucifer is wearing a priest robe thingy and they're in a church-like structure), and as always when it comes to me writing for Lucifer: I do not own any Lucifer cards so he might be ooc

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Something you'd never expected is that even in Hell were chapel-like structures. One – and possibly the most grandiose – was attached to the Paradise Lost hospital. You've been a somewhat frequent visitor and yet, you've never even noticed its entrance. You even doubt that some of the hospital staff even know about it. Lucifer must've probably had it created in case his father appeared again.

From what he's told you, nobody's allowed to enter or let alone even look and yet, here you are. Sprawled on the altar with the tall demon exploring all the curves of your body with his hands, like you're some extremely priceless piece of art.

The whole situation feels like some sort of ritual and you're not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. There are about hundreds lit candles scattered around the sanctuary, illuminating the space around you.

Above Lucifer travels a cloud of lavender incense smoke. It's scent helping you relax in such situation. Being this exposed in such a holy-seeming place felt very wrong. But then again, you were lying underneath the first fallen angel himself.

“My, how divine you are. Truly created masterfully.” Lucifer muses as his eyes scan over every feature accentuated by the distorted shadows from the moody lighting.

“L-Luci~” you try to reach out for the demon to ground yourself back to reality. The smoke, low light and soft touches combined make you feel like you're in a dream.

Your hands manage to catch his biceps and without thinking they travel further, to his back. The muscles under your touch seem to tense, but you don't notice until your fingertips feel the much hotter skin around the base of his sensitive wing stumps.

All the wounds from his previous wings have healed almost perfectly, save for those two which he didn't already have the strength to fully rip off. Somehow, the remaining reminder of his past always found a way to keep bleeding despite the attempts of all the medical demons of his country.

“Y/N! N-no...” Lucifer's strong hands tear yours off his back and pin them on both sides of your head to the altar below you. The angry change in his voice tells you all that you need to know, and you're pretty sure that if there might be some blood left on your fingertips.

“Aw, I'm sorry. Are you still sensitive a lot?”

“Y-yes...” his voice is soft again, more sad this time. You can't even imagine the pain he's still in, after all those centuries, “But apparently my pain is mostly psychological. Or so I have been told by Buer.”

This hurts you even more. Him still mourning the disappearance of God and the loss of his brother must be still weighing him down. You wish you could make him feel better in some way. You wihs you could make him feel in some way better...

“Luci? Could you lie down instead of me?” you smooth your hands over his chest, now that he released them again.

“W-what do you mean, child of Adam?” a slight blush creeps onto his cheeks.

“Well, you always envelop me in all this love and attention and I want to finally give some back.” you impatiently sit up and start pulling him down, onto the marble surface.

“I-I..” he's unsure, but obeys and slowly lowers himself on the cold stone.

His body is still fully clothed in a fully black chasuble, adorned with his sigil down the front part, making him look like a Luciferian priest. The inside is lined with a steel blue satin, reminiscent of the likes that Papa Emeritus IV. wears during sermons.

As your hands separate the regal cloth and uncover Lucifer's bare skin, the cold fabric makes your hands tingle in parts where it touches. Just as expected, the fallen angel is fully naked and already half-hard.

Once he's as bare before you as you are, you straddle his hips and inspect his body just like he did minutes prior. His pale skin looks so soft, inviting you to lick, kiss and bite.

Up close, after leaning down to his heaving chest, resting against his elbows due to his painful wings, you're able to smell more of the lavender incense mixed with something that makes you feel immensely proud to be able to give Lucifer something no other demon, angel or human can.

The demon can sense this pride and smiles at you, feeding off of it despite him being the original source of it.

A quiet grunt leaves the man underneath you once your lips finally make contact with the skin of his chest. Your warm lips on his cold body send shock-waves throughout his whole being and make him feel tingly like rarely before. Is this what genuine affection feels like?

Kissing your way down, you arrive to one of his nipples and bite around it a few times before sucking the pink nub into your mouth. Just this bit of stimulation alone has Lucifer squirming underneath you and so you smooth your hands over his stomach to help keep him still.

“Nngh~! Y-Y/N!” he moans out, almost making it sound like a beginning of a prayer.

Making your way down the demon's torso, you try to leave as much bitemarks and hickeys as you can to serve as a reminder of your affection for the next few days to come. Once they fade you'll have to create new ones, but you don't mind that fact one bit.

The more kisses and marks you leave, the more prominent Lucifer's huge boner makes itself known underneath you and you can tell each slight move of your hips to lean further down his body only makes it harder for him to keep his composure.

“C-child o-of Adam... Do you not feel the arousal I feel at your advances?”

“I do, but there's so much more of you I want to adore!”

“Y-you've given me plenty of attention, so please, allow me to return that now as well.”

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Shhh... The prompt for tomorrow is Tentacles ^^