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randombush3 · 6 months

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ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia’s birthday is soon.

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

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

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

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

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

“You love my accent.”

You smile. It’s true.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she looks at her phone.

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

You: Estoy aquí!

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

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.”

She drives.

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

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

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

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

Her eyebrows raise.

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

She understands you entirely.

She all but drags you to her car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is full.

The room is…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jo…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia,” you plead.

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

“You are Alexia Putellas.”

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

“Your father would love her.”

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

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

“She is very…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Dance with me!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.”

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

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

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.”

They cut the cake.

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

But, she values your presence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

The tour ends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not subtle.”

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

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

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

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

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

“England has a women’s team.”

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

“What?”

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

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

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“She is… classified.”

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

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

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

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

…

Things with Alexia are good.

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

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

They will resonate.

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

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

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

Gio: Have you seen the new plan?

Anya: What plan?

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

Gio: The publicity plan.

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

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

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

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

“It’s your solo.”

“I don’t care.”

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now.

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

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

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!”

“So what did she tell you?”

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

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

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

You can only shake your head.

You were not given a choice.

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

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

It goes like this for months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.”

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.”

She sighs.

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

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

“No, that was last month.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I fired her.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed.

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

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

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

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

“I hate watching football with you.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

“No.”

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

“Te lo dije. Nothing.”

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

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

“Are you proposing?”

“Are you saying yes?”

“Yes.”

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

“But you already—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun.

Like, really fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Gio? Is she okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued.

“Is it mine?”

“Yes, it’s yours.”

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

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

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

“Manches–”

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

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

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

“¡Vamos!”

…

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so nosy.”

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

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

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

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

“Ale, tell me.”

“No. You’re a gossip.”

“I’m not a gossip.”

“You so are.”

“Am not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A month,” Alexia negotiates.

“Yes! Just tell us.”

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

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

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

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

Alexia clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. How?!”

“The normal way most lesbians–”

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

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

“Because she’s…”

“Exactly.”

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

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

“A horse?”

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is another hour left.”

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

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

“Don’t… rush,” you groan.

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

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

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

“One of those massive bars?”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

Your contractions get closer together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.”

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

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

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

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

“She’s getting quite inventive.”

“There’s been worse.”

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

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

…

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

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

2019 comes with change — a lot of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

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

She is going to be busy.

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

She is going to fall apart without you.

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

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therapycat21 · 6 months

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Oh Baby

Requested: Yes/No

Request:

Hi, can you please do one about the Travis and Taylor rumors going around. Maybe like your Taylor’s sister dating Travis secretly for awhile now and your pregnant. And like the Taylor concert he went to he was like there with you and the football that Taylor went to she was like there with you. And it all comes out that he’s with you and not Taylor and they find out your pregnant and all and are so shocked and didn’t see it coming. Like if that makes sense 🙂

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Me and Travis have been together for a five years now and have been in a private relationship due to the past of both of our relationships. Since we decided to be private it has been nothing but amazing .We had met from mutual friends of my younger sister Taylor.

One of her backup dancers had known Travis from meeting him at the Super Bowl where he danced for Rihanna.

Travis and I officially met at the Superbowl party after they won and we’ve been together. Since then we had gotten a house together, married, and had a few fur babies but now as we stare at the screen in the dim room and the nurse moving the doppler around, we finally see our baby, we’ve been coming here for six months now and looking at our baby never gets old. We still have our gender reveal to do in the next few weeks but for now, we have to wait.

After wiping the gel off my stomach, I see Travis’s phone lighting up on the counter “Hey babe? Your phone’s going off” I tell him, the tight grasp he has on my hand is gone as he opens the phone screen, I continue to wipe the gel off and get myself together so we can leave when Travis lets a giant frustrated sigh resonate throughout the room. I look at him to see frustration masking his face “Baby what’s wrong?” I ask. He looks up from his screen before turning the phone towards me, I take the phone and start reading the news article. There have been many news articles about Travis potentially dating someone new every week at this point I'm used to it.

I look back up at him seeing the serious look on his face. “What do you wanna do about it?” I ask him, not knowing how to go about this, he rubs his forehead “I wanna be done hiding you and the baby. I know It’s a lot to ask of you but I just want the world to know I’m with you and I’m happy” he tells me.

I give him a once over before nodding “How about this, we don’t say anything yet, but we go out together and just do what we usually do at home, outside, and once it starts being noticed, then we’ll find a way to confirm it, is that okay?” I ask him, making up a plan so it’s easier. He smiles nodding his head at the plan “Alright, let’s do that” he gives me a chaste kiss before we leave the private room and start to head home, since this is a private doctor's office, no one knows we’re here, we get in the car and start driving home “how about tonight? We can start by going to Taylor's concert” I suggest as we pull up to the house. I look over and see him nod his head in response “Yeah let's do that, Let's get in cause we don’t have that much time before the concert.” He tells me.

We both got ready, and we both decided to wear white. We arrive at the stadium and are escorted to where Taylor is in the back, As I see her she quickly walks over to me, pulling me into a hug being cautious of my stomach, she lets go before softly rubbing my belly “Oh my god, I feel like you were 2 months like last week and now you're almost done” she tells me before pulling me into another hug before turning to acknowledge Travis “oh my god, how are you? How’s everything?” she asks him. He hugged her back briefly before talking a bit about what was going on.

We were interrupted as one of the managers came over to tell us it was time to head to our seats and for Taylor to get in position for the concert. We all hug one last time before Travis and I head to our family balcony seats.

3 Hours Later

After a few hours of enjoying Taylor’s set, I noticed some fans pointing their phones to wear Travis and I were sitting, I nudged him a bit to let him know, and I saw him look down, acknowledging them and giving some a few waves as they capture pictures of him, if only we knew what everyone would be thinking by noon tomorrow.

After hanging with Taylor for a bit at her after party we decided to head home so I could rest after being on my feet for a long time. Me and Travis are freshly showered and lounging on the couch watching Marvel before we head to bed for the night.

The Next Morning

The pressure on my bladder is what wakes me up from my comfortable sleep, I try to roll out of bed not even bothering to check my phone, and head to the bathroom to get ready for the morning, I can still hear Travis snoring as I hear my phone chime with a notification, I walk over to my nightstand grabbing my phone, opening it to see a crap ton of messages from Taylor and a few of mine and Travis friends. Opening the first message I see from Taylor

“Did you see this? I don’t wanna say anything unless you want me to cause I don’t want to add any more stress on you, no one knows me and Henry are together yet but I still need to talk to him about that, I love you please let me know, ”

I clicked on the link she sent, seeing it's an article from ENews.

I kind of expected this to happen considering I don’t really like to be in the spotlight, even as Taylor’s older sister I never really strived for that, Now don’t get me wrong, almost all of Taylor’s fans know of me from over the years.

I went to Travis's side of the bed and gently shook him awake “What? What's going on?” He asks groggily, I turn the phone screen and watch him as he reads the article title, he shakes his head before turning to sit up “What the hell?” is all he responds with while reading the article. He hands the phone back to me before picking up and checking his phone. I continue going through the messages from friends when I get sent another article, It is dated back to when when me, Taylor and our mom went to one of Travis’s games last week, and of course it is titled almost the same, with the public thinking they’re dating. Broken out of my thoughts, Travis slams his phone down on the nightstand, I put my phone down while walking over to him, I cradle his head into my chest, rubbing his head “I wanna be done with this” Is all he says to me.

I continue rubbing his head before he kisses me, getting up to use the bathroom. While he is in the bathroom, I contemplate, I already know what he wants to do but I know he isn't doing it because of my hesitation with it becoming more public. I decide I’m done being scared and hiding myself.

I pick up my phone before opening Instagram and uploading a picture we had taken recently at our maternity shoot and without a second thought I posted it. I quickly shut my phone, a little nervous to even look at it. I waddle into the bathroom where Travis is standing at the sink brushing his teeth. He looks at me in question, seeing the nervous look on my face. He quickly finishes his teeth “Are you alright?” he asks I open my phone screen and quickly turn it towards him. As he checks the post, I am filled with nerves but they quickly diminish as a giant smile breaks out on his face.

Putting the phone down he pulls me into a tight hug as best as he can, he lets go running out of the room, I peek out, waddling over to see him opening his phone and making his own post.

After he posted the picture, he pulled me towards him with his head leveled with mine as he was sitting on the bed, He pulled me into a soft kiss “Thank you, I know how hard it was to do that” he tells me smiling softly. I chuckle rubbing the side of his beard “It was nerve-wracking no doubt but other than that, it wasn’t that hard” I reassure him. We’re both broken out of our silent bubble, simultaneously getting a notification chime, we both open our phone screens to see we were tagged in a Twitter post by Taylor Letting everyone know that she is indeed dating someone named Henry and how Travis is only and will only ever be her brother-in-law.

Travis still holding me by my waist pulls my face to him, kissing me softly, nudging his nose against mine, and softly rubbing the bump "I love you so much" he tells me softly, I smile "I love you too baby" I tell him pulling him in for another kiss.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For some reason, I feel like this sucks but It's whatever, I may rewrite it but for now, here it is,,,enjoy!!

Much Love

TC21

#travis kelce #travis x reader #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine

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cythena · 19 days

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celebrity!fav getting a crush on foreign idol!reader is so cute to me.

celebrity!fav is a fellow musician, actor, athlete or whatever. either way he so popular globally but mainly japan.

celebrity!fav finds or gets shown some song by an artist overseas and it's in his head for weeks. it's such a catchy song it draws him into the entire album and eventually you're entire discography. so he spends weeks learning about you and stalking your socials. it's not like he's unfamiliar with your name but he's never found your music to suit his usual taste.

celebrity!fav stalks your socials accidentally, very pleased to see you follow him on your main. he follows you on an alternate account for everything. his official page keeps its following to a minimum and it would be embarrassing to be caught. he likes all your pictures, especially your relaxed selfies. he lies in his bed admiring your beauty before he has to get out for his own day.

celebrity!fav is absolutely estatic when scrolling on twitter and sees your announcement: a world tour. so he excitedly scrolls through dates and cities. in three months from now you'd spend almost an entire week in japan performing at three of its largest venues. he could attend every single one and afford its premium packages. you'd first arrive in tokyo, then osaka, then finish in nagoya.

celebrity!fav is calling his manager to clear his schedule for that week with no exceptions. you had his full attention for that time. he didn't wanna worry about a photoshoot, rehearsal, practice or whatever. whatever it was could wait until he returned. he didn't care that his manager immediately protested when had he hung up the phone.

celebrity!fav arrives to night one of your tokyo shows. unfortunately, he wasn't as close as he would like to be but he was still seeing you live. he purchased seats a little high but close enough to see your pretty face. he sat in an aisle with one security member next to him (only because his manager was insistent on bringing one). as the concert keeps nearing its start, he decides to post a picture of the stage with a favorite song.

celebrity!fav who gets put on the jumbotron between songs. he mentally curses for being noticed but really doesn't mind. he waves to the audience but hopes to keep it brief. he finds it amusing how they searched for him and successfully found him so he humors it. the big screen flashes the word "dance!!" so he stands and laughs it off. when he sits, it finally switches to a different audience member.

celebrity!fav gets a notification from instagram during intermission to see you liked his story and his heart drops. he grins and goes to follow you back. he opens a video from you of him dancing to your song captioned "so good! you should be my backup dancer!" he responds faster than he thought his fingers could even move. replying, "alongside you is a true dream."

celebrity!fav who spends the rest of intermission silently losing his shit because he's actually flirting with you. before you tell him you're going back onstage, you ask him if he's free tomorrow. it's your first time in tokyo after all so you'd love a guide.

personally imagined as...

satoru gojo (this whole thing was satoru coded), yuuji itadori, aoi todo, toge inumaki

kaedehara kazuha, tartaglia, wriothesley, kaveh, arataki itto, kaeya, thoma

kyojuro rengoku, giyuu tomioka, zenitsu agatsuma, genya shinazugawa

meguru bachira, yoichi isagi, hyoma chigiri, rin itoshi, seishiro nagi

#♡ ⌢ ₊　cy. writes #genshin impact #demon slayer #genshin impact x reader #jujutsu kaisen #demon slayer x reader #jjk #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #gojo x reader #bachira x reader #rin itoshi x reader #giyuu x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader

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fillinforlater · 7 months

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Monday of Appreciation: Part 101

Hello everyone, Smite here!

2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY of Monday of Appreciation!

My first MoA post was posted on the 20th of September 2021, two years. Time really flies, huh? I don't want this to be just another MoA 100 post, but I really gotta thank you all, especially because Part 100 received so much love, God, it made me so happy <3 It was a kinda cathartic moment, the series had an epic peak... all thanks to you.

I definitely also want to thank all the writers, without whom this all wouldn't exist. My way of thanking you all is by... featuring a FUCKTON of stories below. Even if you are not featured (first of all, I'm sorry lol), I still appreciate your work and comradery in the bunker. Y'all are amazing <3

LET'S GET TO IT!!!

No. 1: @dnd-writes: Way of Water ft. Eunbi

Ah yes, Waterbomb Eunbi. The event that captured us all. The idea with the backup dancer is straight forward, nice, but the greatest thing about this is the watersports. Waterbomb, watersports... you get it? Just read it.

No.2: @leafostuff: No Names Needed ft. Sheon (Billlie)

Thanks to Leafo for spreading the good word of Sheon and her... goddamn midriff. No more reasons needed, appreciate this girl already, ugh.

No. 3: @iznsfw: The Devil's Telephone ft. Yujin

Everything IZ touches skips the part where it turns to gold. Fuck gold, IZ just creates diamondtic-masterpieces. I was thrilled to learn about this fic and when I read it... IZ did it again! This portrayal of Yujin is everything. What are we to your might!

No. 4: @idyllicidols: Cheat Day ft. Wonyoung

Wonyoung gangbang with her fans? I bet you all are already foaming at your mouth. Go on. Read it. Leave some love for this talented writer after getting your loads off the screen.

No. 5: @rvp32: Whisper of Uncontrollable Desire ft. Chaewon

Let me tell you, rvp is great! They don't hold back, they go all out, they try A/B/O, they like futa (please write futa!) and they have a Gaeul series. This one fucking sent me <3

No. 6: @existslikepristin: Not Summer Yet ft. Jeongyeon

Thx ELP for the nice message on Part 100! Thanks also for giving us these crazy pieces again and again (well, this one isn't too crazy for your standards, but you get me). This felt really intimate, liked it!

No. 7: @dreamcatchers-husband: The City of Love and Secrets ft. Sejeong

You better learn French for this fic. But fr, now I wanna go to Paris and marry a beautiful girl before :floshed: filling her up because she truly is mine now ahhhhh

No. 8: @capslocked: SERENDIPITY ft. Eunbi

Caps, Caps, Caps, Caps, Caps, what am I gonna do with you? Your fics are ALWAYS in my to read list and when I get to them... yeah, takes more than one attempt... more like five. Fuck you, I love you.

No. 9: @ggidolsmuts: Sin, Hormones and the Starlet's Boyfriend ft. Yunjin, Somi

HOLY FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK, that was so FUCKING hot, I caaaaan't stop meeeeee, this is so good, I need more of this. Yeah, basically every ddeun fic makes me go like this. What a fucking legend, man.

No. 10: @smuttysabina: A Pervert Bred by Perverts only Breeds more Perverts ft. E:U (Everglow)

As you can see, the title is quite elaborate on what happens in this fic. A bunch of perverts, a lot (and I do mean a LOT) of cum to breed and in the end everyone is happy. You too, you filthy pervert?

No. 11: @writingsomesin-amber: Puppies' New Toy Part 3 ft. LSFM, Xiaoting

FUTA, the best kind of futa. The one with Alphas, with Kazuha (who always has a HUGE cock), with boundless sex that's just horny nonsense. This is what I want to read. Thank you for writing it!

No. 12: @co-reborn: [PPV] BG SEX PERFECT PINK HAIR KOREAN COLLEGE GIRL RIDES AND GETS CREAMPIED - Full Ver ($30).mp4 ft. Jiheon

This is a sequel to probably the best porn focused smut to ever exist. Thank you, c.o, for creating this, for making it a universe and for dropping another Jiheon smut. She hot, you hot <3

No. 13: @pfxhk: Staircase: Prepotent Pleasure ft. Yuqi

Kaaajin <3 finally another Yuqi fic and a very good one at that. I want her hot lips wrapped around me too now.

No. 14: @rosiesmuts: After Dark ft. Rose

Rose little fuck doll. Her pics lately have been mind-fucking or sth like that, I dunno, just sex. Oh, and I know a lot of good things happen late at night.

No. 15: @akkaweo-akkaweo: Treatment ft. Jinsoul

That's the treatment wr allll want from our dear Jinsoul. Her gorgeous visuals have really stunned me since she joined Modhaus. Now paint that pretty face.

No. 16: @mode-lfy: Jinni (SMUT) ft. Jinni (ex-NMIXX)

Sooooo... when does Jinni unzip my pants, first thing in the morning finally come back?

Edit: SHE ACTUALLY IS?!?! LFG!

No. 17: @worldsover: link in bio top 0.1% creator ft. Jiheon

This one is the follow-up to c.o's [PVV], so we got a whole-ass universe with pornstar!Jiheon now. What a blessing, and it leaves us with no doubt that Jihron would reach that 0.1% if she'd show her cute face and bubble butt on cam... when tho???

No. 18: @allthekingssmut: She's Rough And Coarse And Gets Everywhere ft. Heejin

Star Wars is already a win in my book, pair it with hotness everywhere (the sun, a mechanic, her face) and it only gets better and better. The release to all the fucking tension between those two is EPIC. Great fic!

No. 19: @writerpeach: Overindulgent ft. Wonyoung

To say I have over-indluged in this fic would be a massive understatement. When Peach let's loose and pours out tens of thousands of words of unpure smut, we know we got ourselves a massive hit, no matter the idol. To make it even better, Wonyoung.

No. 20: @okaylikesmomo: Kampfyre Part 1 - Vocals ft. Winter

Just one word: vocal training. Wait, that is two words! So Imma a need okay to write a second part to this, because Winter has not been trained enough (imo).

No. 21: @pupyuj: Magic Words ft. Wonyoung (fem!reader)

More love to female reader fics! Especially thise one, with this sweet and spicy Wony that makes girls' legs weak and mine too xD Thank you for this great story and hot smut!

No. 22: @usedpidemo: Parasailing ft. Yuri, Minju

This story feels so nostalgic, so oddly familiar. Like I was there throughout it all and feel entitled to the release at the end. This fic has me gliding, high on their two perfect bodies.

No. 23: @summersault31: Concerto Pt. 1 ft. IU

Blowjobs under the table while tempting another woman into your sinful lifestyle... this combines a clichee with a hook that has you begging: Summer, where is Part 2?

No. 24: @midnightdancingsol: I swear, the Bear Poked Me! ft. futa!Minji x Danielle

Now for the futa appreciation. I think Sol is perfect for this, especially because the mere thought of Minji fucking Dani with her... HUGE COCK... so big and... were was I? Oh yeah, Hanni is also in this.

No. 25: @maemisnippets: You're Mine, Cheeks ft. Chaehyun (fluff)

In between 29 smuts, there is this one short fluff by our dear Maems. Well deserved, I must say. Keep it up, qt, always fun bits to read.

No. 26: @mintwithchoco: [CYMX-461] ft. Choerry, Jinsoul

Monopoly can be so much fun, if you are willing to strike some questionable deals to further your chances of winning and everyone's chances to have a good time. Bathtub sex?

No. 27: @nichuuu: Where our blue is ft. Rei

A beautiful story, it truly made me fall in love with Rei, her strive and determination, her failure, her rise---and the insane, drawn-out fucking at the end. Where our blue is has it all and I have to congratulate @nichuuu: In between all these great writers, this story really stuck out to me!

No. 28: @svndaysaweek: Niche ft. Hanni

Cute little Hanni in need of her step-brother, because she is so deeply in love with him... this was so adorable and sweet at the start and then went into an excessive smut part that fried my brain.

No. 29: @sinswithpleasure: You Can Watch, But You Can't Touch [At Least, Not Yet] ft. Mina, Sana, Momo

I. Would. Not. Last. There is no shame in me saying this, but I just couldn't, with these three hotties right in front of me. Blast it all over their bodies, hng.

No. 30: @xiakato: Ella Baila Sola ft. Xiaoting

Hm, maybe Xiaoting should dance alone, I'm not really good at it though my Just Dance scores would beg to differ.

Hey, if you read all of that, you're fucking awesome. I appreciate you, and hope, you have a great week ahead. Until the next MoA, goodbye!

#mondayofappreciation #kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert

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lam-ila · 3 months

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Sing Your Heart Out as Your Ex Watches || Mat Barzal

Summary: Singer!reader performing at the NHL All Star Game while their ex watches.

Word Count: 851

Warnings: jealousy from an unnamed ex who plays in the NHL, slight mention of said ex being a bad boyfriend (please let me know if you find any more that i should add)

Maleeha's Masterlist

a/n: this short little fic was inspired by this post by @islesnucks and was quickly written (busted it out in an hour)

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You were an up and coming singer, and was pretty well known in the hockey world. Growing up a hockey fan had a big influence in your life; your most famous music video included you wearing some hockey gear, grabbing the attention of hockey players, fans, and organizations.

You were already connected to the hockey world with your boyfriend, Mat Barzal, being a well known hockey player for the New York Islanders. Unfortunately, you were also connected to the hockey world through your ex... who also played in the NHL.

You had been broken up with your ex for two and a half years and you had been with Mat for a little over a year. You couldn't have been happier with Mat, he was everything your ex wasn't: sweet, respectful, kind to your family and friends, the list could go on and on. So when you were confirmed to be at the NHL All Star weekend before your boyfriend was, he couldn't have been prouder.

A few weeks later, the All Stars were announced and Mat's name was listed as one of the players; it was your turn to be proud of him. However, upon reading the list of players who would accompany Mat as All Stars, you frowned at the sight of your ex's name. You brushed it off as your joy that Mat was an All Star overpowered your sadness that your ex was also an All Star.

Since you were performing, you were listed as one of the four celebrity captains. You of course drafted your boyfriend as your first pick resulting in the fans, both yours and his, going wild in person and over social media. Your and Mat's names were all over social media the entire weekend with your ex's name sometimes following your names as he seemingly didn't even try to hide his jealousy that you were happily with Mat. Your ex's obvious jealousy didn't bother you at the time, you were secure in yourself and your relationship as was Mat.

Your and Mat's names appearing on social media only increased on the Saturday, when you were behind the bench that Mat sat upon. Clips of you strategizing play and semi-flirtatiously bossing Mat around were all over the tags relating to the both of you and the NHL All Star Game.

You were set to perform after the second game of the day before the third and final game of the day. At first, you were excited to perform, however, as the All Star weekend went by, you were increasingly getting nervous about performing in front of your ex. As you were getting ready with your backup dancers in the arena's home team locker room, you realized how un-ready you were to perform in front of him. Your backup dancers noticed your nervousness and one of them texted Mat that he needed to come to calm your nerves. Once Mat arrived, you didn't look his way as he expected, signaling that you were lost in your thoughts.

"Hi." He said after cautiously approached you and sitting next to you, worried that he would abruptly break you out of your thoughts.

"Hi." You repeated, a slight smile accompanying your greeting as you met his gaze.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked, gently grabbing your hands and holding them in his as if saying 'you can't avoid this conversation'.

"I have to perform in front of him." You didn't have to say his name for Mat to know that you were talking about your ex. "Him being here wasn't bothering me Thursday, or yesterday, or even earlier today, so I don't know why I'm worried."

"I do," You looked at Mat, confused as to how he knew, but you didn't. "You're worried because it's the first time you perform in front of him since you broke up with him. And I completely understand that." Mat paused, allowing you to talk if you wanted to, but your silence showed him that he could continue. "But you know what? He's been jealous this whole weekend. He can't stand how well you're doing for your singing career without him by your side."

"And he can't stand that I have a boyfriend who's better than him in every way." You added, causing Mat to giddily smile and blush. You took a deep breath, your hands still in Mat's, before adding, "I can do this."

"Now that's the positive self talk I want to hear!" Mat squeezed your hands before letting go, standing up to lean down and give you a chaste kiss on your lips. "I want you to go out there and sing your heart out while your ex watches. Relish in the glory because you've earned it."

"I have?" You asked, standing up in front of Mat.

"You have," he reassured. "and that's all your work that allowed you to get to this point." With one last kiss - the good luck kiss as Mat called it - he was gone, re-joining his NHL peers on the ice waiting for your performance of a lifetime.

——————————

NHL taglist: @readyfreddy @jostystyles @jimothystu @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @11livpangburn @matthewkniesys @lifeofpriya @fallinallincurls

join my taglist here

#maleeha writes #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfic #mathew barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal fanfiction

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24hlevi · 2 months

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— THE IDOL

itoshi rin x male!reader

summary: y/n is a famous pop idol, and rin is his biggest fan. what happens when y/n announces his brand new album "mood swings in this order" along with a tour to be held later in the year? surely, nothing too bad. right?

warnings/tags: language, nsfw implications (cum is said)

wc: 2.6 k

chapter one of the PAPARAZZI series

Being a pop star was difficult at times. From dealing with promotions, tours, and interviews, to crazy fans, trolls, and stalkers. But, none of that fazed you. Should it? Compared to some other idols, you went through a bit more than others, purely because of you embracing your sexuality in both the romance aspect and the performance aspect. You weren't afraid to do crazy concepts that would make fans turn and hate on the idol immediately. You definitely weren't afraid to express how you liked men, and while that may have caused a ruckus during your debut, it all worked out in the end somehow.

At the current moment, you were doing a photo shoot for your new album that you were soon to release the first single for. You had been taking photos for at least two hours, and you were getting irritated by the photographer telling you to do the same pose you’d already done fifteen times. After one last shot, you clasped your hands together.

“Can we take ten?” You said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

Murmurs of yes and thank gods came from the staff at your words, and everyone immediately split off into different areas of the house. With a sigh, you got up off the bed and walked outside where the balcony was, looking down at your backup dancers practicing the routine.

“So, how do we feel about the shoot, Y/n?”

You turned your head to see your assistant and best friend, Mikage Reo standing beside you. “Well, I’ve been taking the same photos for hours, how would you feel?”

Reo chuckled and nodded. “I know.” He followed your gaze towards the dancers before speaking more. “How do you feel about the choreo? Is it too hard? Do I need to make any adjustments? Do you not like any of the backup dancers?”

“Reo,” You said, placing both your hands on his shoulders. “Everything is fine, I swear. As long as things don't go shitty, everything will work out amazingly.” You reassured him.

Reo sighed and nodded again. “I guess,” he said. “I just want this album to be your biggest yet, and that's what Anri wants as well. She’s been super stressed recently trying to put all this together.”

“I understand,” You acknowledged, removing your hands from his shoulders. “But everything is going to be fine, stop worrying so much.”

“Okay,” He sighed again and nodded.

Meanwhile, your manager, Anri was dealing with a big problem with some of the other staff.

“What the fuck do you mean?” The woman spat out angrily at their social media manager.

“Look,” They handed Anri the phone.

She looked at the picture and her eyes went wide. “Has this hit the public yet?”

“Yes.”

“Shit,” Anri cursed, handing the phone back. “We have to tell him.”

“Are you serious?” The social media manager looked at her with shock. “What if it causes a breakdown of some kind?”

“He can deal with it. Follow me.” Anri told them, starting to walk to where you and Reo were.

“Y/n!” Anri called your name. “We have a big problem!”

You and Reo both turned to look at Anri speed walking towards you two, making you look at her in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“This.” Anri shoved the photo in your face. “What the hell were you thinking going to a club with Ryusei and having this happen?!”

Looking at the photo, your eyes widened at the image. “I thought- he told me he deleted it!” You defended.

“And you believed him?!” Anri exclaimed. “Y/n, this is already trending on all social media, and not in a good way. You and Ryusei are not together. But now that everyone has seen this image, it's chaotic. His management isn't responding and either we have to say it's not real or you admit it and we pray this doesn't fuck anything up. So what do you want to do?”

“I guess I should admit-”

“We’ll say it's fake,” Reo cut you off before you could finish, making you look at him with confusion. “This will damage everything if we say that it's real. Can you imagine what the public will think? How are we supposed to hold a tour when they have seen someone's fucking cum on his face?”

“It’s not like Ryusei is some stranger,” You said.

“It’s still not good, Y/n,” Reo replied. “We have to say it’s fake, and hope his management says the same thing.”

“This is the best decision, Y/n,” Anri told you. “This also means you cannot see Ryusei anymore, he is going to damage your whole career if you go out with him again. Do you understand?”

You felt cornered. It was rare for Reo to take this kind of side in things, and it made you feel like you were being cornered into doing what they thought was best. While, usually they were right in matters like this. It was like you had no real control over anything anymore. With a short nod, you responded. “I understand.”

“Good, now get back to finishing the shoot while I figure out how to deal with this,” Anri said before walking back inside the house.

As soon as Anri was out of hearing distance, Reo quickly turned to you. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“What?” You asked, looking back at him. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You look like a whore!” Reo whisper-yelled to you. “Do you understand that? This is not good! Ryusei is going to ruin this whole album! You need to stop seeing him!”

You stared at your friend in slight shock. Yet, you knew he was right. Consistently time after time again Shidou Ryusei has done something to fuck over your reputation leaving you to rebuild it again and again. But, you couldn’t stop seeing him. It was hard. But, you had to stop now. “Okay,” You said quietly, nodding your head.

“Now let’s get back to the shoot,” Reo said, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him back inside the house.

You sat back down on the bed, adjusting your robe as the photographer came back and stood in front of the bed. You stared at the camera with what they later called a “killer look” that you should’ve had from the very beginning in your debut album. But, they didn’t understand what that look really meant. Not even Reo, who had been your best friend since you two were in middle school. They said the distant look in your eyes was perfect for the album, but they didn’t realize that this was going to end up being just the beginning of things. It was just that no one knew it yet. Not even you.

…

“Y/n, wake up,” Reo’s voice woke you up as he opened the curtains of your room.

You groaned lightly, covering your face with your hands as Reo sighed, walking over to you.

“Come on, you have to get up. We have to talk with PR,” He said, handing you a cup of coffee.

“Oh, great,” You mumbled, sitting up and taking the coffee from him. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Not yet,” Reo shook his head. “Ryusei’s management finally responded an hour ago.”

“What did they say?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee after.

“Well, they are with us on saying the picture was fake,” Reo started. “Which is good, but…”

“But?” You tilted your head to the side.

“But, they also want to say it’s for your concept of this album,” Reo finished.

“What?” You questioned.

“Anri already told them how terrible of an idea that is so hopefully that won’t happen. But, it’s obvious Ryusei is trying to work his way around things. You must not let him, do you understand?” Reo told you.

You nodded your head slowly. “I understand.”

“Good, now get up.”

…

After finishing the long meeting with your PR team, you were finally able to go back home. You sat at the pool with a drink in your hand, sunglasses on with your eyes closed when you heard footsteps approach you.

“Yo! Y/n!”

You opened your eyes and turned your head to see your best dancer for your career so far, Hyoma Chigiri. “Chigiri! What’s up?” You replied, taking a sip of your drink.

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” Chigiri asked you. “There’s this new club I checked out last week and it was killer. You should come with me tonight.”

“Will Ryusei be there? I’m not really allowed to hang around him anymore.” You said, stirring the straw around in your drink.

“Nope,” Chigiri shook his head. “But who knows! Maybe you’ll meet someone better.” He smiled.

“True,” You acknowledged with a nod. “Sure, why not?” You eventually answered.

“Awesome, I’ll be here at 8 to pick you up then,” He said, patting your bare shoulder before walking away.

You hummed shortly in response, waving your hand and taking a sip of your drink. Hopefully, this would be nice for you. If not, it at least couldn’t hurt to go out with your friend. You finished your drink in another sip and set it down beside you, putting your arms behind your head as support and closing your eyes again.

…

Chigiri showed up a little late, which you didn’t mind since you weren’t even ready in the first place. You put your shoes on and heard your phone buzz, making you look at it to see Chigiri’s message that he was there. You put your phone in your pocket and left your house, immediately spotting the car near the front gate and you hurried towards it, the cool air freezing through the light materialized shirt you were wearing.

You opened the door and climbed inside the car, seeing Chigiri and he smiled at you.

“Hey! Looking good,” He said to you.

“You too,” You responded, putting the seatbelt on. “So, where’s this place at?”

“Only where the best clubs are,” Chigiri answered, pulling out of your driveway and back onto the road.

“Awesome,” You said, leaning your head against the headrest.

By the time you two arrived, it was half past nine, and the club had just opened at nine. When you stepped out of the car, your eyes squinted at the bright neon lights saying the name of the club that you were unable to read.

“Come on,” Chigiri grabbed your arm and pulled you inside with him.

You were immediately met with the loud booming music and neon lights, making you look around in awe at the place. “This place looks wicked,” You said.

“It is,” Chigiri answered, pulling you along more to get drinks.

While waiting for the drinks, you felt eyes on you. You turned your head to see a man staring at you. He quickly looked away once you noticed his gaze on you, and you watched as one of his friends started talking to him. You looked away when the drinks arrived, and Chigiri took his and went off somewhere, leaving you alone at the bar. You took a sip of the drink and made a sour face.

“Not your taste?”

You turned your head at the voice, seeing the male who was staring at you now standing in front of you. “Not really,” You shook your head. “I like harsher drinks.” You answered.

“Hey! Rufio!” The man called for the bartender, who hurried over to you two. “Get this lovely man here a new drink. Let’s say, a double jack and coke?” He said, glancing over at you for confirmation.

“Yeah, that works,” You nodded your head.

The bartender quickly made the new drink and handed it to you. You took a sip and looked at the male in front of you. “You can sit, if you want,” You offered, gesturing to the chair.

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to dance,” He said.

“Ah,” You let out. ‘Well, I usually like a drink or two before dancing.”

“But-”

“Hey!” A voice echoed throughout the club.

The man looked away from you and at the younger male approaching the two of you at a fast-paced walk, and he looked terrified.

“What the fuck did I say about you coming back here, huh?!” The younger male exclaimed when he finally reached you two, smacking him in the face.

“I-I’m sorry! I th-thought-”

“Thought what? Get the fuck out!” The male kicked the older man a few times, watching him scurry away.

You stared at the new male in front of you with shock on your face, not knowing entirely what the hell just happened. When he looked at you, his face dropped, making you look at him confused.

“Uhm, do I know you?” You asked politely.

“No,” He shook his head. “But, I know you.” He answered. “You-You’re L/n, Y/n.”

Ah. A fan, great. “Don’t tell anyone, please,” You said quietly, holding your finger up to your lips. “I really just wanted a night out with my friend.”

“I won’t say anything,” He quickly shook his head. “I’m Rin,” He held his hand out to you.

“Nice to meet you, Rin,” You shook his hand.

“Do you maybe wanna dance?” He asked.

Looking at your drink, you took another big sip and set it down, nodding your head and standing up. “Sure.”

Rin grabbed your hand and pulled you with him to the main dancefloor. His hand let go once you both were in the middle of everyone, starting to dance to the electronic music blasting throughout the club. You generally weren’t one for electronic music but you didn’t mind it at the current moment. You felt hands wrap around your waist from behind and a body press against you, turning your head to see Rin towering over you while behind you. His gaze was stuck on you as he moved against you to the rhythm of the music.

He leaned down to your ear and quietly whispered. “Is that your friend over there?”

You followed his eyes to where Chigiri was talking to someone else and started walking towards the exit, and you nodded. “Yeah,” You said.

“Looks like he’s ditching you,” Rin spoke quietly. “Is he your ride?”

You nodded again.

“Hm,” Rin hummed, his hands gripping your sides tightly. “How about you let me take you home?”

You looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and shock. “What?”

“You have no way home now, right?” Rin asked. “You can’t get an Uber cause of your status, and I’m the only one who knows a famous idol is in my club right now. So, I say you have no other choice.”

You stopped dancing by now, his hands keeping you in place as you thought. He was right in all sorts of ways. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else know that you were here, and who knows what would happen if someone took a picture of you out clubbing just after the issue with Ryusei? You were stuck. “Okay,” You nodded.

“Come on,” Rin said as soon as you spoke, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the club through the back entrance where his car was.

You followed him out to the back, mentally praying that you wouldn’t die on this ride back to your house as he opened the passenger side door for you. You hesitated for a split second before getting in the car, letting Rin close it behind you. He got in a few seconds after and started the car.

“So, what way to your house?”

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tag list: [ @d4y-dr3am3r ; @paleenthusiastfox ; @kaitfae ; @will-o-the-wisp ; @pleniluneg4ze ]

#blue lock x male reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x male reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock smut #blue lock imagines #bllk scenarios #bllk smut #bllk imagines #itoshi rin #itoshi rin smut #itoshi rin x reader #rin x male reader #rin x reader #rin scenarios #rin smut #rin imagines #paparazzi series

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ghostofhyuck · 2 months

Text

Taguan ng Anak series 4

Idol! Donghyuck x coffee shop owner! reader

Summary: Donghyuck was a dreamer. He dreams of becoming an idol someday. You know that as his childhood friend turned girlfriend, that’s why you let him go.

But he also has other dreams, which is you. To have a family with you. Can his other dream still come true?

cw: mentions of pregnancy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Thank you for today’s hard work!”

“We’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Fighting everyone!”

Donghyuck watched as the backup dancers left the practice room one by one. They were laughing and chatting, excited about going to this barbeque place nearby. Donghyuck could only hold on to his stomach as it grumbles — he’s starving but he’s on a diet right now.

“Hey,” a soft nudge removed his hands from his stomach. “Starving yourself is different from dieting, okay? Go eat something and then burn it with exercise.” a long-time friend and the head choreographer of his team, Ten said.

“Ugh hyung! You know how mad Johnny-hyung will be if he finds out that I ate something,” Donghyuck complains. Sometimes, his manager Johnny can be strict especially with taking care of his body.

Ten rolls his eyes, “I’ll tell him to cut you off some slacks. Your concert’s in a few days! If you fainted due to starvation then I’ll give him an earful lecture.”

Donghyuck only pouts. Giving time to think about it.

“Come on now! My treat! I heard that there’s a new coffee shop near this studio — I passed by the place and the smell was something!” Ten suggested, tugging the idol out of the dance studio.

“Hyung~” Donghyuck complains.

“If Johnny lectures you, he'll have our divorce papers sent to his office the very next day,” Ten mischievously grins. “Now come on!”

Donghyuck doesn’t fight anymore and follows Ten who keeps on lecturing him about maintaining a figure that is not all about cutting his food intake. Their feet found their way towards a coffee shop painted sky blue and had a huge teddy bear displayed on the window. Donghyuck couldn’t help but smile at how oddly unique the teddy bear was.

“Welcome — oh. Hello.”

Donghyuck's eyes went wide. Stopping his tracks when he saw you by the counter.

“Good, it’s just you here,” Ten smiles, scanning at the menu plastered on the wall. It was handwritten neatly on the blackboard, Donghyuck knows that it was your handwriting and the doodles were also made by you.

“Can I have one large americano please and oh, the glazed donuts looks delicious, I’ll have two please but can you wrap the one as a takeout?” Ten said casually, not even noticing Donghyuck’s stare at you.

You ignored Donghyuck’s piercing gaze, punching the older guy’s order.

“That’ll be 16,800 won,” you simply said, trying to fake a smile as you accepted Ten’s card.

“Wait a second. Hey Hyuck, what's your order?” Ten turns around to Donghyuck.

“I got it from here hyung, find us a table please,” the younger one says, shooing his friend away who seems to agree with him somehow.

You only roll your eyes. Trying your best to pretend that he’s just a random customer.

“I’ll have the taro latte and matcha brownie please,” Donghyuck says.

You didn’t say a word, punching his order.

“How have you been?”

“That’ll be 14,900 won sir,”

“Wow, you’re unbelievable,” Donghyuck mocks. “Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who broke up with me?”

“Yes, that’s why I am ignoring you,” you smiled sweetly. “Your order’s 14,900 won. I’ll just put it in your friend’s card too.”

“Really, you broke up with me with no valid reason over a text! You think I’ll let it slide that easily!?” he taunted, raising his voice a little bit. It was a good thing that it was a graveyard shift and it was only you who’s manning the shop.

“Donghyuck,” you whispered. “You’re an idol, I’m just a girl who’s working at a coffee shop. You have everything in this world, a breakup from your high school love shouldn’t change a thing.” you handed him the receipt and was about to go to the kitchen when the back door of the coffee shop opened.

“Mama!” a tiny voice shouts, making you run towards the voice. Your daughter sometimes gets so excited that she might trip while running.

“Haesoo, I told you to stay put inside the office,” you went to your knees and smiled endearingly at your daughter.

“But I’m bored! I want to go home,” she pouts. You tried your best to find an excuse when a shadow hovered over both of you. That’s when you realised that you made a mistake.

“You…” you looked up to see Donghyuck standing in front of you. His eyes locked on Haesoo who you immediately hid behind you. But your daughter seems to have caught Donghyuck that she slipped out of you.

“Oh you’re Haechan! You’re that idol,” Haesoo excitedly shouts pointing at Donghyuck who was in disbelief. Tan skin, bright eyes, and the set of fucking moles on her cheeks — the child looks so much like him.

“Yah, is she…I — she looks exactly like me!” Donghyuck shouts as if he’s not an idol. It was really a good thing that you’re the only person working during that hour.

“Hey, what’s going on here…” Ten’s voice trailed off as his eyes wandered at Haesoo who’s staring at Donghyuck, still starstrucked.

“What the fuck,” Ten whispers. Hands covering his mouth, gagged apparently.

Donghyuck was a dreamer. He wanted to sing. He has loved singing ever since he was a kid, which leads him to performing at many events. On your little town’s festival, on school events, or just any occasion that will give him the opportunity to showcase his talent.

He also has another dream — you. You were his childhood friend. Neighbours, classmates, friends, and eventually lovers.

Loving Donghyuck was the easiest thing that you could do. It was as if it was a natural thing for you to do. You know all his fears and deepest secrets and at the same time, he has seen you at your lowest and most fragile moments.

Eventually, Donghyuck has to choose between his dreams. When he heard that he was accepted as a trainee for one of the biggest agencies in South Korea, you don’t know whether you should be happy for him or not. You know what will be the end of your relationship if he becomes an idol, he’ll be in the spotlight and having a girlfriend is considered to be scandalous.

But Donghyuck fought for you. He wanted you to be part of his dreams, he was willing to keep everything a secret because he loves you so much that he doesn’t want to let you go. And so did you, so in the remaining years of his trainee life, you two shared a secret affair that made your love stronger than ever. You even moved to Seoul just to support him which has been the hardest for you especially when you’re balancing college too.

You didn’t tell Donghyuck that the reason why you broke up with him was because one of the staff of their agency caught you two. You weren’t threatened but instead, you were told that for the sake of Donghyuck’s career, you have to break up with him. Seeing that he’ll be debuting soon. You knew that it was best that you don’t go in his way.

And weeks later, you realised that you were right when you found out that you’re pregnant. You were scared at first but asked help from your family who helped you. You went back to your hometown and soon, everyone knows that you’re carrying Donghyuck’s child. They didn’t feign any disgusts to you but instead helped you in raising Haesoo especially when they know how much it hurts you that you have to let go of Donghyuck.

Haesoo was raised to be loved by everyone, the same way Donghyuck was raised to be loved by everyone. You wanted to stay in your hometown but when your friend pulled you into opening a coffee shop, which has been your long-life dream, you couldn’t miss the opportunity.

But it seems like fate is pulling the strings because somehow, you’ll end up meeting Donghyuck after many years.

“I’m angry!” Donghyuck shouts with annoyance. “You hid all of this from me! Do you know how devastated I was that I wasn’t even happy that I debuted!?”

From the outside. The coffee shop’s signage was written closed. Three tables away sat Ten and Haesoo who seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.

“I want to be his godfather!” Ten exclaimed, gushing at how cute Haesoo was.

While you and Donghyuck sat at another table. He says he wants to talk but it seems like his emotions are still all over him.

“I can’t believe it! I mean, look at her! She’s so cute!” Donghyuck shouts. “And you hide her from me!? I wasn’t there when she was a baby! I didn’t even carry her when she was a baby!”

Now Donghyuck was being overdramatic. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Donghyuck you know the reason why I hid her from you,” you said with a serious tone.

“Why!? Because you think I’ll choose you over my career?”

“Yes! That is why I made a choice for you! You were about to debut! I don’t want a child to stop you from achieving your dreams!” you shouted back.

“Stop that,” Donghyuck calmly said.

“I’ve known you ever since I was a kid, I know how much you love performing and becoming an idol. That’s why…I have to make a choice for you. I know that you don’t want to choose so that’s why I did that.”

“You’re stupid you know that?” Donghyuck sneers. “You’re so so so stupid. Do you even know me that much? You know that you’re also my dream!”

You stop when Donghyuck stands up and pulls you away from your seat. Confused, you didn’t even notice how Donghyuck’s hands slipped perfectly to yours.

“I may have achieved my dream of becoming an idol but you’re still the dream that I want to achieve the most,”

“Donghyuck —”

“I love you so so much. Don’t ever let me go again, okay?” Donghyuck promises to you. “I don’t care if I get scolded by my managers, just stick with me this time okay? You’ve fought for me, now I’ll fight for you.”

“You’re such an idiot Donghyuck,” you said breathlessly. You know that no matter how many times you say no to him, Donghyuck will come running after you.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he teases.

And even before you can even speak, Donghyuck holds your cheeks gently and crashes his lips onto yours.

#nct #nct dream #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream haechan fic #nct dream haechan imagine #nct dream haechan #nct haechan imagines #nct haechan #haechan #nct haechan fic

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jjunberry · 3 months

Text

bts! when they think you’ve used them for fame

pairing! bts x reader

genre! angst

synopsis! they think you’ve used them for fame by releasing personal information (requested)

wc! 700

jin! always wanted you close to him, if not as his s/o then at least as his friend. he told himself he’d never confess to protect you from everything. so when some personal information got leaked, he didn’t want to believe it was you. the company however painted you out to be the culprit. “y/nie how could you?” he was hurt and confused. “jin i didn’t say anything i swear.” you pleaded. “i can’t trust you right now.” he left you to cry. your heart shattered. when it was revealed to be a stylist he tried to apologize only to find his phone number blocked.

namjoon! saw red. there was no way the one he loved could do this right? wrong according to the company. he called you right away. “hi joonie.” you greeted when you answered his call. “y/n i am so upset with you. i trusted you and this is how you treat me? i hope your five minutes of fame was worth it.” his tone full of venom. “joonie what?” the call went dead. when it was revealed a producer released the information namjoon’s heart broke. he tried reaching out but all attempts were blocked or ignored, he broke your heart.

yoongi! felt so betrayed. the one he loved releasing such personal information. he swore his heart broke. the company said it must have been you and he believed them. you brought him coffee but he was less than happy to see you. “yoongi are you okay?” he scoffed. “what do you think? i seriously hope the fame was worth it, get out now.” he snapped. your eyes watered and you left the coffee and ran. when it was revealed a backup dancer leaked the information yoongi tried everything to get you back but you put up a wall and shut him out.

hobi! didn’t want to believe it. he didn’t want to believe the one he loved told the world that information. when the company told him be immediately called you. “hi hobi.” his heart ached. “y/n did you see? congratulations you’re famous now.” his tone was cold. “hobi i didn’t say anything..” he hung up the phone. he couldn’t stand to hear your excuses. when he found out it wasn’t you he tried to reconcile but you turned him away to heart broken he didn’t believe you.

jimin! barely listened as the company said you leaked his personal information. after the meeting his took off to your house. when you opened the door to his frantic knocking he shoved his way inside. “jimin what’s wrong?” you asked. “don’t act so innocent y/n, you know exactly what you did. this friendship is over! i hope the fame was worth it.” you stared at him confused as he left. when he tried to make it up to you, he found his number blocked and his knocks on your door ignored.

taehyung! went numb when the company told him you leaked the personal information. all voices of reason left him. he felt so betrayed. “hi tae!” you greeted when he called you. “i can’t believe you, was the fame worth it?” you furrowed your eyebrows. “tae what?” he sighed. “i really thought you were the one.” he hung up. when he found out it wasn’t you he tried to get you back but after the second week of you not answering him, he left you be. he had to get use to the fact that he lost you.

jungkook! listened somewhat at the meeting about the information leaking. his eyes widened when they said you did it. he took off without a word. he showed up at your house angry. “jungkook i saw are you okay?” he rolled his eyes. “what do you think? you did this to me! i never want to see you again.. you hear me?” tears welled in your eyes. “jungkook what are you talking about?” he started to back away. “hope the fame was worth it.” he spat before leaving. jungkook begged you to forgive him when he found out it wasn’t you. however your heart was already broken beyond repair.

requested! by anon <3

author’s note! tumblr isn’t letting me place my pictures like normal so i had to improvise pls ignore any weird cropping while i figure out an alt method 😭

love, echo🖤

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts preferences #bts reactions #bts headcanons #kpop x reader #kpop writers #jjunberry

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bangchansdirty-slut · 4 months

Text

Don't Worry, I'm Here For You.

Paring: Han x 9th member! Male Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Han will always be there when you have a panic attack.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I am mentioning panic attacks in this because I sometimes experience asthma attacks. Although I understand that they are not the same thing, they share some similarities.

I also just finished the first season of Jujutsu Kaisen, and it's so good. I'm currently watching the movie right now.

As the members of Stray Kids and backup dancers filed onto the stage, adrenaline pumping and anticipation swirling, Y/N couldn't help but feel a wave of unease wash over him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he scanned the stage, searching for a familiar face. There it was, towards the back of the arena, a familiar pair of eyes that seemed to hold him together when everything else spun out of control. It was Han, his bandmate and closest friend in the group. But as he focused on Han, something unexpected happened. His breath hitched, his chest tightened, and a cloud of darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision. He tried to fight it, but it was no use. Before he knew it, Y/N had ducked off stage and sprinted towards the nearest restroom.

Once inside a secluded stall, Y/N collapsed against the door, the familiar weight of a panic attack pressing down on his chest. He felt hot tears stinging at his eyes, his throat constricting as he struggled to catch his breath. Just as he was about to lose himself to the overwhelming terror, he heard a voice from outside the stall. It was Han's voice, calm and reassuring. "Hey, you okay in there?" Y/N couldn't respond; he could only manage a choked sob. A moment later, the stall door creaked open, and Han peered inside. "Y/N?" he asked, alarm etched into his features. "It's me, Han. I'm here. We'll get through this together."

As Han knelt beside him, Y/N felt a sense of relief wash over him. He wrapped his arms around his friend, burying his face in Han's shoulder as he tried to steady his breathing. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out between sobs. "I didn't mean to ruin the performance… I just can't…" of relief wash over him. His bandmate had always been there for him, understanding the intricacies of panic attacks better than anyone else. Han passed him a small bottle of water, and Y/N took a shaky sip, his breath slowly beginning to steady. "Thanks," he managed to croak out, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Han gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It's not your fault, Y/N. You know that. Panic attacks don't discriminate, and they're not a sign of weakness. We're all here for you, and we'll get through this together." He pulled a small, discreet inhaler from his pocket, handing it to Y/N. "Just in case you need it," he added with a gentle smile. Y/N took the inhaler, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him.

As they sat there in the quiet of the bathroom, the sounds of the arena slowly beginning to filter back in, Han reached out and took Y/N's hand. Their fingers laced together, and for a moment, they simply sat there, lost in their own thoughts. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the bond they shared, the understanding they had for each other's struggles.

"You know," Han began softly, "I've had my own share of panic attacks on stage. It's not easy, dealing with them in front of all those people. But we've made it this far, and we'll keep going together. We'll figure out what works for you, what helps you manage them. We've got each other's backs." Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and strength emanating from his friend.

As they sat there, lost in their own thoughts, the weight of the panic attack seemed to lift ever so slightly. It was then that Y/N realized something else: he was no longer alone. He had his bandmates, his friends, and Han by his side, supporting him every step of the way. It was a realization that brought a small, hesitant smile to his lips.

"Thanks, Han," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Han squeezed his hand in response, his own smile genuine and warm.

"We're a team, remember? And we'll always have each other's backs."

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elryuse · 16 days

Note

May I request Subby Yandere Karina? The reader never realizes how obsessed and manipulative she is until everything is too late?

Caught In The Spider's Trap

Yandere Sub Karina X Male Reader

Y/n had always admired Karina from afar. As a backup dancer for Aespa, the pressure was immense, but watching her flawless movements and electrifying stage presence always calmed his nerves. Her fiery crimson hair, a stark contrast to her icy stage persona, held a magnetism that drew him in.

Their initial interactions were professional, respectful exchanges during practice sessions. But what started as a simple admiration blossomed into a sweet, unspoken feeling. Shared smiles across the practice room, lingering touches during dance routines - a silent language bloomed between them.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice, Y/n found Karina slumped over, clutching her stomach. Concern flooded him. "Karina, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

She looked up, her eyes glazed over with a convincing hint of pain. "Just a terrible stomachache," she mumbled, clutching her abdomen tighter.

Without hesitation, Y/n offered to take her home. The drive was filled with stolen glances and comfortable silence. As they reached her apartment, a shy smile played on her lips. "Thanks for taking care of me, Y/n. You're a lifesaver."

He felt a warmth spread through him. "No problem, Karina. Just glad you're feeling better."

The following days were a subtle shift in their relationship. Karina would linger closer during practice, brushing her hand against his during routines. Late-night texts inquiring about his day became a routine, her messages filled with emojis that sent his heart fluttering.

One evening, after a particularly long practice session, Y/n caught Karina staring at him with a melancholic intensity. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to her lap. "It's just... I feel like I'm always second best. Winter's the leader, Giselle has the rap, and Seulgi… well, Seulgi's Seulgi," she mumbled, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Y/n placed a hand on hers, offering comfort. "That's not true, Karina. You're the heart of the group, your vocals are phenomenal."

She looked into his eyes, a spark of something deeper igniting within them. "Do you really think so?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

He leaned in, his face inches away from hers. "I know so," he murmured, the space between them charged with unspoken emotions.

Before he could close the gap, a loud laugh shattered the moment. Winter, their leader, stood at the studio door, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. "Caught you red-handed, lovebirds!" she teased.

Karina recoiled as if burned, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Winter! We weren't doing anything!" she stammered.

The moment was broken, the shy flirtation replaced by a nervous blush. Y/n, his heart pounding, retreated, unsure of what had almost happened.

The incident, however, triggered a change within Karina. Her admiration for Y/n morphed into a possessive need. She craved his constant attention, his every glance. Her attempts to sabotage group activities whenever he interacted with Winter or Giselle became increasingly subtle.

One day, as the group practiced their latest choreography, Karina "accidentally" tripped, landing right in Y/n's arms. The fall was convincing, her pained expression so realistic even Winter didn't suspect a thing.

The incident earned her a day off practice "to recover." While the others toiled in the studio, Y/n found himself at her apartment, tending to a "sprained ankle" that didn't seem to impede her ability to walk around him in skimpy pajamas.

She batted her eyelashes innocently, the scent of lavender oil filling the air. "Stay with me a little longer, Y/n," she purred, her voice dripping with a sweetness that sent shivers down his spine. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving her alone, especially since she seemed genuinely hurt.

As days turned into weeks, the pattern continued. Karina perfected the art of the "convenient" injury or sudden illness, securing Y/n's undivided attention. He found himself spending more time at her apartment than his own, a prisoner of her manipulative charm.

One evening, as they snuggled on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background, Karina reached for his hand, her touch lingering longer than usual. "Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you ever feel like we're meant to be more than just friends?"

He looked into her eyes, the familiar sparkle now replaced by an unsettling intensity. A knot of worry tightened in his stomach. "Karina, we…" he stammered, unsure how to articulate the growing unease he felt.

Before he could finish his sentence, she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine, Karina finished, her voice a husky murmur. The innocent facade she'd so meticulously crafted crumbled, replaced by a raw hunger that made Y/n flinch. He'd seen glimpses of this possessiveness before, fleeting moments brushed aside as fatigue or performance anxiety. This, however, was different. This was a predator sizing up its prey.

He tried to pull away, but her grip tightened on his hand, her crimson nails digging into his skin. "Don't you see, Y/n?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "We're perfect for each other. We have this connection, something the others don't understand."

Her words sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn't the sweet affection he'd grown accustomed to, but a twisted, possessive love that reeked of desperation. He stammered, "Karina, I… this is too fast. We need to talk about this."

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Her lips met his in a searing kiss, a desperate attempt to claim him as her own. Y/n, caught off guard by the sudden shift, found himself responding instinctively. However, beneath the heat of the kiss, a cold dread coiled in his stomach.

He pulled back, gasping for breath. "Karina, this isn't right. We can't just…"

She cut him off, her eyes blazing with a feverish intensity. "Why not? You care about me, don't you? You worry about me, spend all your time with me." Her voice cracked, a hint of vulnerability peeking through the facade. "We have something special, Y/n. Don't you feel it?"

Her words hung heavy in the air, laced with an underlying threat. Y/n felt trapped, caught in the web of her twisted affection. He cared for Karina, yes, but not in the way she craved. There was a line she'd crossed, a line that blurred friendship with an unhealthy obsession.

He tried to reason with her, to explain the boundaries she was violating. But his words were met with tears, accusations, and a chilling display of possessiveness that left him speechless. Her manic behavior was a stark contrast to the playful, bubbly Karina he thought he knew.

The more he resisted, the more desperate she became. Her "accidents" escalated, turning from minor injuries to elaborate schemes that ensured his constant presence. Her apartment became a gilded cage, filled with lavender oil, her favorite scent, a constant reminder of the suffocating grip she held over him.

One night, as Y/n lay awake, staring at the flickering neon lights outside her window, a sense of dread gnawed at him. He had to escape. He couldn't live like this anymore, a prisoner in her delusional world.

He formulated a plan, a desperate attempt to break free. He feigned enthusiasm for a weekend getaway with friends, a lie that felt like swallowing sand. Karina, predictably, protested, her voice thick with suspicion. But Y/n held firm, insisting he needed a break.

The weekend was a blur of nervous glances and guarded conversations. The weight of Karina's expectations hung heavy over him, a storm cloud threatening to burst. As Sunday night approached, dread clawed at his throat. He knew returning to her apartment meant surrendering to a life of manipulation and control.

Back at her apartment, the air crackled with tension. Karina's smile was strained, her eyes glinting with a dangerous possessiveness. "You had fun, I hope?" she asked, her voice laced with venom.

Y/n forced a smile, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "Yeah, it was good. Relaxing."

The following days were a descent into paranoia. Karina monitored his every move, his phone calls, his texts. She'd lash out at any mention of Winter or Giselle, accusing them of trying to steal him away.

Then, came the final blow. Y/n received a text from an unknown number, a single picture attached. It was a photo of him and Winter, laughing during the weekend trip, clearly taken from afar with a zoom lens.

Karina's face contorted into a mask of rage when he showed her the picture. "Who sent this?" she snarled, her voice trembling with fury.

Y/n shrugged, feeling a pang of fear twist in his gut. "I don't know."

But she didn't believe him. The accusation hung heavy in the air, a poisonous seed blooming into a monstrous paranoia. She became withdrawn, locking herself in her room for hours on end. When she emerged, her eyes held a glint of manic determination.

One evening, as they sat in silence, Karina reached into her bag and pulled out a small, sleek phone. "Look what I found," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Y/n's heart plummeted. It was his phone – the one he'd claimed to lose a few days prior after a clumsy "accident" staged by Karina. Panic clawed at his throat as he realized she must have used the downtime to meticulously go through it.

"How-" he stammered, but the question died in his throat.

Karina's smile was a predator's, devoid of warmth. "Don't worry, darling," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "I just wanted to see what you were hiding from me."

She scrolled through his messages, her eyes narrowing with every playful text from Winter or friendly exchange with Giselle. Y/n felt paralyzed, exposed, as she unearthed every innocent interaction he'd had with the other members.

"So, these are the girls who 'stole' your attention, huh?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "These are the ones who 'threatened' our connection."

Y/n tried to explain, to plead that it was all just harmless friendship, but Karina cut him off with a sharp laugh. "Friendship? Don't insult me, Y/n. I know what I saw."

Suddenly, her demeanor shifted. The anger melted away, replaced by a cloying sweetness as she reached out and stroked his cheek. "But don't worry, my love. We can fix this."

The way she said "love" sent shivers down Y/n's spine. It wasn't affection, but a possessive claim that made him feel like a prized possession. He knew then that escape wouldn't be easy.

The following days were a chilling display of control. Karina used the information gleaned from his phone to isolate him further. He was forbidden to see the other members, his phone confiscated, and his movements monitored like a hawk.

The cheerful, bubbly idol he'd once admired was gone, replaced by a woman consumed by a twisted possessiveness. She showered him with affection, but it felt suffocating, a gilded cage closing in around him.

One night, as Y/n lay awake, staring at the ceiling, a desperate plan began to form in his mind. He knew he couldn't fight her directly, but he had to find a way out. He started leaving subtle messages for Winter, coded phrases hidden within seemingly innocuous texts he was forced to send under Karina's watchful eyes.

It was a risky gamble, playing a double game in his own prison. But the fear of a future trapped under Karina's control outweighed his apprehension. The messages, cryptic and desperate, went unnoticed by Karina, her focus solely on keeping him close.

Winter, thankfully, was perceptive. After days of deciphering Y/n's pleas for help, she contacted their manager, discreetly sharing the encrypted messages. The situation unfolded quickly. Security was alerted, and a plan was formulated to extract Y/n from Karina's grasp.

The day of their pre-recorded performance arrived. Y/n felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. It was his chance – the only opportunity he might get. As the girls prepared backstage, a tense silence hung in the air.

Karina, oblivious to the impending rescue, fussed over his costume, her manic behavior reaching new heights. Finally, it was time. The girls took their positions on stage, the familiar pre-show energy buzzing around them.

Just as the music began, a pre-arranged signal flashed in the corner of Y/n's eye. It was his cue. With a surge of adrenaline, he faked a sudden cramp, collapsing to the floor in a convincing display of pain.

While Karina was momentarily distracted, Winter, who was in on the plan, took her place next to him. In a split second, security personnel materialized, whisking Y/n away from a bewildered Karina who screamed his name in a desperate attempt to hold on.

The escape was swift and discreet. Y/n, shaken but safe, was ushered into a waiting car and driven away from the venue. The weight of the past few weeks lifted from his shoulders as he sank back into the soft leather seat, the city lights blurring into streaks of light.

He knew the fight wasn't over. Karina's possessiveness wouldn't disappear overnight. But for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of hope. He was free, and he wouldn't let her manipulate him back into her twisted world.

The news of their internal conflict spread like wildfire, shaking the K-pop world to its core. Aespa's future was uncertain, the damage done by Karina's actions seemingly irreparable.

Y/n, still recovering from the ordeal, received therapy to deal with the trauma. He missed the stage, the rush of performing, but the thought of returning to that environment, knowing Karina might still be lurking

Weeks turned into months. Y/n, cloaked in a shroud of therapy sessions and public scrutiny, slowly pieced his life back together. Aespa, however, had fractured. Winter, Giselle, and Seulgi went on a hiatus, their future uncertain.

One day, a knock on the door shattered the fragile normalcy Y/n clung to. His heart hammered against his ribs as he peered through the peephole. Fear, cold and primal, coiled in his gut. It was Karina, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the pale winter light outside.

But she wasn't the same. Gone was the fiery idol, replaced by a woman with haunted eyes and a manic glint. Her smile, once playful, was now a chilling display of predatory possessiveness.

"Y/n," she rasped, her voice hoarse, a stark contrast to the vibrant idol he once knew. "I knew you'd come back to me."

Before he could react, she shoved past him, the door slamming shut with a sickening thud. The familiar scent of lavender, her signature, filled the air, a suffocating reminder of the past he desperately wanted to escape.

He tried to flee, his legs turning to lead as he stumbled back. But Karina was quicker. With a swift movement, she slammed him against the wall, her grip like a vice around his arms.

"You left me," she hissed, her voice barely a whisper laced with venom. "You left me after all I did for you. After all the ways I showed you how much I love you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but they were not of sadness. They were tears of a twisted love, a love that demanded his complete and utter devotion.

Y/n stammered, words failing him as she traced her manicured fingers down his cheek. He could feel the tremor in her hand, a mix of raw emotion and unyielding control.

"Don't worry, darling," she purred, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody. "We can fix this. We can be together again, just like before."

Her lips, once soft and playful, were now rough and demanding as she pressed them against his in a searing kiss. It wasn't a kiss of love, but a claim of ownership, a forceful reminder that he belonged to her.

He tasted her desperation, a desperate hunger that mirrored the manic glint in her eyes. She ran her hands over his body, exploring him with a possessiveness that made his skin crawl. There was no escape, no fight left in him.

As her touch ignited a chilling fire within him, a morbid clarity washed over Y/n. This was his fate. He was a prisoner in her twisted love story, a possession she wouldn't relinquish without a fight. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he would never truly be free from Karina's obsessive grasp. The dream of a normal life, the thrill of performing with friends – it all faded away, replaced by the chilling reality of a love that had turned into a suffocating prison.

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