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shitsndgiggs · 3 months ago

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Hii

so you said your half danish and im alsooo

so could I request fluff where reader takes pau to Denmark and shows him the culture the food and teaches him danish?

take your time<3

A/N: ANOTHER DANE?! Wooohooo!. Hope you like it

VELKOMMEN TIL DANMARK - PAU CUBARSÍ

Showing Pau Denmark

Pau Cubarsí x danish! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It had been a while since Pau and I had a proper getaway, and with a little time off from football, I decided it was the perfect chance to take him to Denmark.

I couldn’t wait to show him my homeland, its culture, and, of course, teach him a bit of Danish.

I knew he’d struggle with the language — after all, people joke that Danish sounds like someone speaking with a potato in their throat. But the thought of hearing Pau trying to pronounce it made me giddy.

The first morning in Copenhagen, Pau and I walked through the cobbled streets of Nyhavn, the colorful buildings lining the canal making it feel like we were walking through a postcard.

Pau was holding my hand, his eyes wide as he took everything in. “This place is so pretty,” he said, glancing at the row of boats bobbing gently in the water.

I smiled, proud to share this part of my world with him. “Wait until you try the food,” I teased. “Danish pastries are nothing like the ones in Spain.”

He grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

We found a cozy café with outdoor seating, and I insisted on ordering in Danish. Pau watched me with a curious expression, his head tilted as he tried to follow the conversation between me and the waiter.

“Can you say something to me in Danish?” he asked once the waiter left.

I thought for a moment, then grinned. “Okay, try this: ‘Jeg elsker dig.’”

Pau squinted at me. “Uh, what does that mean?”

“You’ll find out if you can say it right.”

He raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge. “Okay… yay el…sker dig?” he attempted, butchering the words so badly I couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, no, no,” I said between giggles. “It’s ‘Jeg elsker dig.’” I repeated it slowly, exaggerating the pronunciation.

Pau’s face twisted in concentration as he tried again. “Yai… elska… dig?”

I burst out laughing. “Close enough! It means ‘I love you.’”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Well, then… Jeg elsker dig,” he said, this time with more confidence — though still sounding pretty off.

“Not bad, pretty boy, not bad.” I teased, patting his cheek.

After breakfast, we explored more of the city — the Little Mermaid statue, Amalienborg Palace, and of course, the famous Tivoli Gardens.

Pau was amazed by the history and charm of it all, though he kept attempting random Danish words and phrases, and each time he got them hilariously wrong.

In the evening, we headed to my parents’ house for dinner. My mom had made traditional Danish frikadeller, flødekartofller, with brunsviger for dessert. Pau was excited to try everything, but the moment he tasted the frikadeller, his eyes widened.

“This… is so good,” he said, shoving another bite into his mouth.

“I told you,” I said smugly, watching him devour the food.

My family couldn’t resist teaching him more Danish words throughout dinner, though Pau’s attempts had all of us in fits of laughter.

At one point, my dad tried to get him to say “rødgrød med fløde” — a classic Danish tongue twister — and the results were nothing short of comedic gold.

“Rr…rö…rød…what?” Pau’s face twisted as he tried to make sense of the sounds.

“Rødgrød med fløde,” my dad repeated, grinning.

Pau threw his hands up in defeat. “You’re all making this up! No way that’s a real word!”

We all laughed, but Pau was a great sport, his cheeks turning a little pink from the constant butchering of Danish. “You’ll get there,” I reassured him, squeezing his hand under the table. “Or… you know, just stick to Spanish.”

Later that night, after a long day of exploring and laughing, Pau and I strolled through the quiet streets of my childhood neighborhood.

The cool evening breeze carried the scent of the sea, and Pau wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer.

“You know, even if I can’t speak Danish properly,” he said, his voice soft, “I love everything you’ve shown me today. Your home, your culture, your family… it’s beautiful.”

I smiled up at him. “And you’re doing great, amor. Just… maybe leave ‘rødgrød med fløde’ out of your vocabulary for now.”

Pau chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Deal. But I think I’ll keep saying ‘Jeg elsker dig’ — even if it sounds terrible.”

I laughed, my heart swelling with warmth. “It doesn’t sound terrible. It sounds perfect coming from you.”

As we walked hand in hand through the Danish night, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the perfect trip.

Pau might never master Danish, but he didn’t need to — the way he embraced every moment, every laugh, and every bite of Danish food was more than enough.

And hearing him try, despite the language challenges, just made me fall for him even more.

#football imagine #football x reader #pau cubarsi x reader #pau cubarsi

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lovedrunkheadcanons · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

The clock struck five in the morning. Contaminated test tubes and beakers were wet in the sink. A bright green bar nearing 65% completion was loading on a large computer screen surrounded by monitors. Shoko was busy in her lab, observing a single drop of blood, splotched between two thin slides under a beaming microscope. She hadn't left work since yesterday. You’d think after all these years hunkered down in the school’s basement like an obsessive recluse, she’d be used to the loneliness. She could already hear poor Ghost yowling for his breakfast, but there was no room for pause. The blood sample results from the New National Theater had finally come back, but Shoko was only interested in one.

The jujutsu doctor’s lips drew together in concentration, suspending the tail end of a depleted cigarette. Screw resolutions. This was far more important than her respiratory health. Her findings so far were not as she’d hoped. The red blood cell count was starkly lesser than last week. She reckoned about a third of them had vitiated in that timeframe, even with the aid of reverse curse technique, but how? How? The discovery troubled her. She would start from scratch again if need be. After all, there was still more testing to be done.

Exhausted, Shoko wiped the beads of sweat off her brow and smothered her depleted cigarette in the ashtray. The computer monitors increased to 66%. She just prayed her hypothesis did not hold the truth.

Nanami Kento removed the strainer of brewed oolong leaves from the Royal Copenhagen he had sitting on a tray; a teapot and two cups with matching saucers, Blue Fluted Full Lace. They were heirlooms once owned by his late great uncle, who subsequently died of a stroke three years ago; another Henriksen lost. He had no wife or children and his mother didn’t want them, despite their value, so she bequeathed the china over to him. Not that he ever had a reason to use it. The full set of plates and fine tableware cost more than his apartment lease. He mostly kept the novelties for decoration. And perhaps nostalgia.

But not today.

Today he had a guest.

Nanami closed the lid on his uncle’s Copenhagen teapot and lifted the tray to walk back inside the living room of his small, one-bedroom sized apartment. It wasn’t the grandest place in the world, nor the cheapest. He could afford a much bigger unit if he wished, yet the space was well accommodated. It was furnished with all the essentials befitting of a bachelor; functional kitchen appliances, a washing machine and dryer, a brand new air conditioning system, and modern furniture. He had picked the farthest unit down the hall, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the loud elevator cranking up and down the many floors. It allowed him some peace and quiet in this bustling, wayward city known as Tokyo, granted, if you ignored the endless stream of ambulance sirens, blaring jumbotrons, and cries for help.

The part-time Jujutsu sorcerer entered his living room and acknowledged his guest sitting on the sofa.

“I apologize for bringing you out here like I did. I’m usually not this spontaneous.”

Nanami set the tray down along the coffee table and handed his guest a teacup. Hannah smiled at her host warmly and took the blue and white china from his hand. The porcelain clashed with the pink roses on her dress.

“Not at all, it’s perfectly alright,” she assured him. “I hear you’ve been busy with work, so this is me intruding on your time.” She looked down at the coffee table. “Anyway, I hope you like the rødgrød. Satoru mentioned you were Danish, so...”

Nanami sat down on the leather armchair, opposite her, and glanced at the small portable crockpot she had brought atop the table. Rødgrød med fløde was as much part of the Danish diet as cheeseburgers and fries were to the American. People preferred eating the berry porridge with custard or poured over freshly baked bread. Everyone loved it. Nanami hadn’t tasted the dessert since he was a young boy visiting his grandparents on holiday. Hannah had used raspberries and cherries for hers; exactly how his mormor used to make it. The tarter, the better.

Well, there were those waves of nostalgia hitting him again. He’d sample a bite later.

Satoru had dropped his wife off at his place that afternoon and hurried to go “run some errands.” Whatever that meant. Nanami had no choice but to leave the office. As ever, the Six Eyed moron liked to make things difficult and keep his whereabouts elusive, in addition to getting his lineage wrong.

“A quarter Danish,” Nanami clarified, loosening the lavender silk tie around his neck. He hadn’t been allotted time to change out of his business attire. “My grandfather was born and raised in Denmark, however my grandmother is Swedish.”

Hannah looked positively delighted.

“Ah, a Swede and a Dane,” she exclaimed. It would explain his blond hair. “That’s quite a match. The closest I got to living in Denmark was Germany. Did your grandparents ever alternate between countries?”

“For a time,” the quarter Dane replied. “But my grandmother has lived alone in Aarhus since my grandfather’s passing. I still get Christmas cards from her every year. She’ll be ninety-one this October.”

Unable to stop herself, Hannah heard the word “Christmas” and blurted the next question out loud without thinking.

“Oh. So you’re Christian?”

She could see the tug pull on the corner of his lips, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, and instantly regretted it. He was so cool, you’d think he hadn’t reacted at all. The quarter Dane shook his head. “Mom had me baptized in the Lutheran church as a baby to appease my grandfather, but the buck stopped there. She wasn’t very religious and I myself hold no beliefs.”

Hannah felt her cheeks burn hotter than the tea she was sipping, flushed with embarrassment. Her shoulders sagged. Of course he wasn’t Christian. What a foolish thing to expect? She felt awkward.

“I see,” she said rather sheepishly. “Please, forgive me. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Nanami nodded understandingly. He thought it wasn’t dumb of her to ask, but with introductions out of the way, they had official matters to attend to.

“Satoru said you had some information about a possible Sukuna finger.”

Hannah nervously tucked a strand of long auburn hair behind her ear, lowering the expensive Copenhagen in her lap.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing her tea and straightening her bad posture. “I think I know where one is.”

Nanami leaned back against the armchair and crossed his legs, hands folded patiently in his lap. His eyes never wavered.

“I’m listening.”

Hannah coughed. “Well, you see,” she began, trying to decide where to start. “I think nothing of them at first. My dreams - er visions - are often quite,” she searched for the adjective, “sporadic, if you know what I mean. But lately I’ve been having a recurring dream.”

“A recurring dream.” Nanami quirked a pencil thin, blond eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s a dead giveaway?”

Hannah let slip a dry laugh. “You’d be correct. In my experience, whenever a dream is recurring, it’s usually indicative of a vision.”

“What has the vision shown you?”

“It’s hard to describe,” she continued, squinting her eyes as though aiming for a moving target that refused to stay still. “I don’t know why, but it always begins with me…drowning. I’m ever so slowly sinking towards the bottom.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to imagine the nightmare in her mind. “It’s very dark and murky, so I can’t see anything. I’m terrified out of my wits. I try to kick and swim my way back up to the surface, except someone, or rather something, has me by the ankles and won’t let go. I fight and struggle to free myself, but I can’t. It isn’t until my lungs give out that I finally look down and…” she stopped for a second.

“Go on,” Nanami coaxed gently, waiting in silence. He wasn’t going to force her to talk, if she didn’t want to.

“Eyes,” the seer said, own eyes flitting open. She took a much needed breath from the horrid memory. “Four glowing, scarlet eyes staring at me from the black. That’s it. That’s all I see. Then the vision pivots.”

“Pivots?”

Hannah took a sip of oolong before humming in agreement. “I’m shown a film reel of things. Places, I think. I can’t remember what they are, but there is one feature that stands out from all the rest.”

Nanami also took a sip of tea. “Like what?”

Hannah placed her teacup on the coffee table and used her fingers to “draw” an invisible picture for him. “A massive red o-torii, floating above a large body of water.”

The quarter Dane’s brow narrowed ever so slightly. He knew what place she was referring to.

“Itsukushima Shrine,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Hannah sighed. “Satoru showed me a picture of it when I told him. It’s the exact same gate. He then mentioned you were working on a secret case and that I should speak to you immediately.”

Well, it’s not so secret anymore, Nanami thought, holding his tongue. Now he understood why Satoru had been so adamant the two of them talk, but hell, what a pain in the ass. The white haired dolt could’ve explained all this on the phone, or typed a quick text, instead of wasting he and his wife’s time. Even though she was a lovely person, both inside and out. Reminded him a bit like Haibara; her kindness and selflessness towards others.

But a tad miffed by this new flux of information, Nanami rose from his leather chair, teacup in hand, and walked over to the large window overlooking Shibuya Crossing, the thousands of city nerdowells commuting below, crammed like sardines.

“In the last four weeks, a total of eighteen people have been reported missing from the shrine,” he said, staring monotonously out the apartment window. “Evidence suggests it’s curse related. I and a few other sorcerers have been called in to investigate the disturbance.”

“Then perhaps this is your lucky break,” Hannah added, hoping to shed some light on the subject.

The quasi-business man continued looking out the apartment, almost like he wasn’t listening (but of course he was). “Itsukushima Shrine is a popular tourist destination in Miyajima. We’ll be fighting heavy crowds if we search during the day. Curse activity tends to worsen at night, but then there’s high and low tide to contest with. Your presence might also be needed. Could get dangerous.” He was listing all the potential roadblocks ahead.

“Can’t we disperse the crowds at least?” was Hannah’s suggestion. “Close the shrine off to tourists?”

Nanami hummed deeply in thought. Things were never that simple. He at last turned away from the window. “You’re sure this is a vision?”

Hannah shrugged. “More sure than not.”

“And you think a Sukuna finger is hiding somewhere at the bottom of Hiroshima Bay?”

The seer frowned. She felt her confidence wane at his scrutiny. “It’s the only lead I have.”

Confined to his thoughts, Nanami walked back towards the coffee table, relinquishing his empty teacup and saucer, and plopped back down in the leather chair, hand in his chin. A disconcerted expression became him, though his eyes were fixed on the Royal Copenhagen. Hannah thought he looked far older than his real age said on paper. He was handsome, she decided, with golden blonde hair and mixed Scandinavian features, but in a battle-hardened, wise kind of way. Forever pensive and stoic, like he had crossed the river Styx and managed to survive the harrowing ordeal, but only just so. Even without the bloody cleaver knife in his hand from that night at the opera, she could tell he wasn’t much for taking days and nights off. Kento Nanami was certainly a man operating under a lot of stress.

“I can’t name anyone on the top of my head with a water curse technique,” he vexed tiredly, observing the porcelain tea set. “A diving team will have to be dispatched. Damn. It’s always a risk when we get non-sorcerers involved.”

“But maybe we won’t have to,” Hannah said, complexion brightening. “Because as it were, I know someone who might be able to help us. That is, if we can persuade her.”

Nanami’s hand fell to his lap, eyes raised. “Her?”

Hannah rested her teacup on the coffee table and hurriedly rummaged through her dress pocket for a folded piece of paper. She offered it to him.

“Her.”

Feeling pessimistic, Nanami took the paper and slowly opened it. His eyes landed on the contact’s name above, and thus the part-time jujutsu sorcerer’s face tensed into a shrewd scowl. He exhaled loudly through his nose.

A bowl of that rødgrød didn’t seem like such a bad fix all of a sudden.

Neither did some brandy.

Chapter Contents

#gojo takes a wife #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo x oc #satoru gojo #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #satoru x oc #romance #gojo satoru

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