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#Not gonna lie I'm a little disappointed

captainjonnitkessler · 6 months

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I just finished my test and I genuinely have no fucking idea how I did on it. It looks like shit and I didn't finish the last section, but everything else was finished and at least all the wires are pulled and terminated. So I guess I'll find out tomorrow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#not gonna lie i'm a little disappointed in myself for not finishing #wish I'd moved faster #but! we shall see

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roger-elizabeth-debris · 4 months

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I had a dream that there was new dragon ball keychains that came in boxes that included a pack of dragon ball super tcg stuff. they were hard to find cuz the packs had chase cards in it, so all the players would buy them, but I just wanted a keychain. in my travels to get one I met 2 celebrities, made a ton of friends, and met a cute girl who was also really into dragon ball and was in the same boat as me in terms of just trying to get a Goku keychain

Dragon Ball unites us all

#dragon ball #my dreams #i'm not gonna lie #little disappointed i woke up from this one #me n who

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prettycottagequeer · 2 months

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ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 1 month

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Stay With Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

a/n: sequel to Try Me; in this one Carlos' appendix and Lando's crash happened at the same time

"Guys, don't let him fool you. He was horrible to me when we were kids" You joked taking a sip of your beer.

"That's one big fat lie you just said" Carlos defends himself.

"I'm sorry y/n, but I just can't believe that, he's so protective of you, you know just like an older brother should be" Kika commented on your accusations.

"Well he sure wasn't like that when we were little. One time he slammed me so hard against the door that I almost broke my hip! I was bleeding!" You say making everybody's jaws drop and listen carefully to what was coming next.

"Slammed you..I didn't slam you, I pushed you a little and then you threw yourself against the door just to make me look bad" Carlos rolled his eyes at you as you mockingly mimicked his words.

"You scarred me for life! Literally! I still have a scar from the cut!"

"What cut?" Lando asks coming back from the toilet and taking a seat between you and Charles.

"We were just talking about how Carlos was violent towards me when we were kids..so much that I have a visible scar because of him!" You explain.

"Oh the one on your right hip?" Lando blurts out and at that moment everyone falls silent staring at the two of you.

It was a calm relaxing night. Kika, Pierre, Charles, Carlos, Lando and you were hanging out on a yacht. You were drinking a little, talking, laughing, the music was playing in the background and you were all enjoying a race free weekend.

Somehow you got on the topic of your and Carlos's childhood so you decided to tell them some interesting stories. Lando didn't know about the story you just told them, but of course he saw the scar on your hip the first time he saw you naked. He traced it with the tips of his fingers and even kissed it before going down on you multiple times..

"How would you know that she has a scar on her right hip?" Carlos asks furrowing his eyebrows at him. Your breath caught and your heart rate quickened. No one said a word waiting with wide eyes for one of you to give an explanation.

"I-I.." Lando stammered glancing at you. Both of you were so caught off guard that you didn't know with what lie to come up with. You kinda knew there was no going back from this now. There was no point in lying actually because none of them were stupid. Everybody knew how he must've found out, but still, you couldn't believe your brother was going to find out this way about you two.

"Are you sleeping with my sister?" Carlos growls angrily clenching his hands.

"Carlos, calm down okay? I can explain-" Lando tries, but is soon cut off by Carlos getting up from his seat and gripping the collar of Lando's shirt.

From a pleasant and relaxing evening, things quickly got out of hand. Kika and you both let out a scream as Carlos pounced at Lando and Charles and Pierre quickly intervened pulling Carlos away.

"Carlos, stop!" You shout your chest quickly rising up and down as you stood in front of Lando who put his hands on your shoulders to calm you down because he could feel how scared you were.

"What are you doing?! Get your hands off her!" But Carlos was seeing red. He was so angry that one of his friends disobeyed his rule about staying away from his little sister.

"Stop it right now! Yes, Lando and I have been seeing each other for quite some time now and there's nothing you can do about it!" You declare confidently, but quickly blinking to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. You were disappointed and embarrassed with the way he overreacted. He acted as if Lando was a drg dealer or something not his friend. You always knew all Carlos wanted was to protect you and your feelings, but this was completely unnecessary.

"Estas loca o que?!" Carlos snaps at you. "There's no way I'm gonna approve of that!" Are you crazy or what?

"I don't care! You don't get to tell me what to do with my life! Stop treating me like a child! I don't need you to protect me!" You bark back frustration bursting out of you. "Besides, Lando is your friend! What is wrong with you to act like this?"

"Baby, calm down, please.." Lando mumbles quietly, but loud enough that Carlos hears him too.

"This..this is the last time you see her. I don't ever want you around her ever again."

But of course it wasn't like that. You weren't even thinking about breaking things off with him. You two cared about each other way too much to let it all go to waste. Although you agreed to let the situation settle down a bit so you didn't see each other for 2 weeks, until the next grand prix in Las Vegas.

You missed him. You weren't used to not seeing him for more than 3-4 days, and now it's been more than 10 days since you last saw each other. You missed his touch, you missed his kisses, his warm hugs that always made everything bad go away. And he missed you too, even more than he thought he would. He realized in that relatively short period of time that he doesn't want to be without you anymore. He also realized that, to him, nothing will ever make sense if you're not there.

You took the opportunity and went with Carlos to Las Vegas to be as close to Lando as possible even though Carlos never let you out of his sight. Since Carlos got his appendix removed two days before the grand prix, he wasn't able to race so you two were following the race from the Ferrari garage.

You were feeling kinda strange that day. You couldn't explain it, but your gut feeling was telling you that something was just off that day.

You had a great need to go to Lando before the start of the race and tell him how much you miss him and how much you are in love with him. But since you didn't want to cause problems with your brother who came out of the operating room two days ago and was still in pain, you decided to keep everything you desperately wanted to say to yourself.

Everything about your gut feeling became clear as a day when while following the race you saw a McLaren car snap out of control and heavily crash on the third lap of the race.

Your heart dropped and your legs went numb looking at the screen before you.

"No.." You whisper to yourself putting your hands over your mouth and turning to your brother who went pale. "Is-is that Lando?" You ask, your voice breaks as Carlos pulls you to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Shh, he's going to be fine, okay? Everything's going to be alright." Carlos eyes were stuck on the screen as he was comforting you rubbing your back and you cried into his chest.

All the worst possible scenarios went through your head at that moment. The very fact that you could lose him scared the life out of you and you didn't even get to call him yours yet. You couldn't bear it.

"I need to see him. I want to be by his side." You said and Carlos just nodded. All the anger and rage quickly evaporated from him when he saw his best friend crash.

When Lando was taken for precautionary checks in the University Medical Center, you were in his driver's room pacing back and forth waiting for him or any kind of information about him. And then finally, after what seemed like years later, there he was entering the room after being told that you were there waiting for him.

"Lando.." You stopped in tracks at the sight of him in front of you before running into his arms. "You scared me so much you don't even know.." You said leaving gentle kisses over his cheeks, jaw and lips.

"I'm here, baby, it's okay" He said burying his face into the crook of your neck inhaling your scent as his arms tightened around you.

"I missed you, I missed you so much.." You say sobbing.

"I missed you too. I couldn't concentrate on anything, I just kept thinking about you the whole time" He admits looking deep into your eyes wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He didn't even have to ask. There was no force that would separate you from him anymore. From now on it was two of you together through everything and anything.

"I'll stay with you forever, baby" You smile softly as he leans his forehead against yours.

"I'll hold you to that"

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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cheriiyaya · 24 days

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MASCARA RUNNIN' DOWN HER LITTLE BAMBI EYES !

FEATURING : D.Osamu, N.Chuuya + Fem!reader

♡ awww, their pretty girl's crying? or, dazai and chuuya with an emotional lover !

CW: fluff, dazai's a lil mean but its ok guys, clingy!reader, super self indulgent yall, erm crying (a lot of it), light angst(?) in chuuya's,

A/N: this was in my drafts for so long afjndkvndf also ogs know that my first fic was something similar ALSO I LOWKEY HATE THIS AJHHHOJFOIERW

"♪ Lana, how I hate those guys! ♪"

DAZAI OSAMU...⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Dazai admits that he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way you looked when you got upset over little things- your pretty eyes glossy with tears, lashes heavy and damp and tears dripping down your flushed cheeks, god you looked so adorable and dazai just can't help himself !

Dazai giggled softly, cradling your head against his chest as you sobbed into his shirt. fingers curled into the cotton as you quivered and sniffled in his hold.

"D'awh, what's wrong darling?" He cooed, brushing his lips against the top of your head before tugging your head back to see your face, clicking his tongue and tapping his thumb against your tear-stained cheek as you tried to hide your face against his neck. He stared at you, taking you in as you wailed and hiccupped. "aw, what's got the pretty girl so sad?"

"n-nothing..." you sobbed out of your sore throat, sniffling as more tears rolled down your features. dazai sighed, shaking his head and he gives your hair a light tug.

"Don't lie, what's wrong bella'?" He grins, kissing your tear stained cheeks as he strokes your hair. "I come home to see you all teary eyed only to burst out wailing when you see me." dazai teased, tone full of mirth.

Truthfully, dazai never minded when you were like this, and hearing the way you mumbled out an "I missed you" in that little strained voice of yours made his heart melt. He wiped away tears beading up on your lash line, smoothing his thumb against your flushed cheek.

"You missed me? awww, the cutie missed me? darling you can't possibly be this upset whenever I'm not around." He spoke with mock disappointment, biting down on his tongue in amusement when you began to cry harder.

"'m sorry!! 'm sorry!!!" You wailed, actually thinking he was mad at you. How cute.

Dazai hummed, stealing a kiss from your lips and nestling his long fingers into your hair.

"Aww, don't cry! c'mon, you're gonna ruin your pretty face by crying that much! It's okay, bella'- god you looks so adorable right now!"

NAKAHARA CHUUYA...⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Like dazai, chuuya can't help but admit your adorable when you cry, but he's a little more sympathetic. Shushing you softly to quell your worries-and he can't help but wish you'd be a little less emotional with everything.

"doll, please stop cryin', alright? I'm fine." chuuya sighed, rubbing circles on your back as your trembling form clung to him. you let out a choked sob, fisting his shirt in trembling hands.

"y-you were so late!!! I thought somethin' happened to you!!" you choked out, burying your face against his chest, dampening his gray vest with tears. chuuya's heart clenched, as if bony fingers wrapping around and squeezing hard as you sobbed in his arms.

he gently tugged your head up, kissing your forehead and mumbling against your hairline.

"sweetheart, I'm fine- the boss had a shit tonna work for me to finish, that's all." chuuya explained softly, pulling away and cupping your chin, pressing a gloved thumb on your quivering bottom lip "please don't cry, f'me?" He brushed his thumb back and forth on the plush of your lip.

You looked up at him, eyes glossy and red-rimmed. Chuuya sighed, brushing back your hair. He never minded how much you cared about him, but at moments like this...

He just wished you wouldn't stress yourself out like this.

Stroking your hair, chuuya whispered:

"Doll, you don't hafta worry about me so much, okay? I'm here, I'm okay, so stop crying, huh? It'll ruin your pretty face, 'kay? There you go..."

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

©Cheriiyaya 2024.

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talaok · 2 months

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Hey, I just want to tell you that I like your fanfics so much! and you're truly an amazing writer! Can I please have one shot where the reader asks Pedro to join her on her skin care routine? like it's all so fluffy, and P just keeps looking at her and pecking her lips at the same time. I hope you see this. Thank you so much. We love you, bestie!

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: thank you so incredibly much love <3, im sorry for the wait, this beautiful request truly deserved better, and of course, i love you too babe❤️

Pedro had always liked to watch you, you'd learned that quickly.

He liked to watch you when you were doing your make-up, cursing at your products when they didn't do their job right, he liked admiring you while you chose what to wear, that cute pensive frown always on your forehead, he liked seeing you put on lotion and bake those amazing cakes you baked, and finally, he liked watching you do your skincare.

He always prolonged his own routine in the bathroom at night just so he could be present for your little ritual of cleansers and serums and creams whose names he couldn't even pronounce, but today, today something had changed, and he'd decided he didn't want to only watch,

"You want to try?" your lips pulled into a smile as he nodded, his arms around your torso and his head between your shoulder and neck as he hugged you from behind, admiring your face from the mirror

"wanna see what all the fuss is about" he murmured, kissing your neck "What makes my wife abandon me in bed for twenty minutes every night"

You gasped, laughing as you feigned offense

"I have never abandoned you in bed, you're always here with me"

"mhh" he hummed contemplating, inhaling your scent as he tightened his hug "Whatever you say sweetheart" he murmured with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face "now, where do we start?"

He moved to your side, his gaze attentively examining the products filling the counter as if he knew what any of them did.

"first" you started explaining, picking up your oil cleanser and a detergent "we've gotta wash our face"

"I did already"

You glared at him, disappointed at the fact that even after all this time, he still had learned nothing

"it's not washing your face if it's just with water baby, you need a detergent, here" you handed him the white tub and he only opened and closed his mouth as he accepted the product in his hands.

"You're not gonna use this?" he asked, watching as you squeezed some other product in your hand "is this the cheap one?"

"no" you snorted "I just need to use another cleanser before that one cause I'm wearing make up honey"

"oh" he breathed "of course- I knew that"

You both laughed softly at his obvious lie as he squeezed an ungodly amount of detergent onto his hand just to slap it on his face and started rubbing it in with the same delicacy with which he changed a tire

"baby you're not washing the dishes, you've gotta be gentle" you laughed, watching him open his soapy eyes to look at you

"oh- like... this?" he asked, trying to mimic the gentle massage you were giving your own face

"that's better" you nodded, smiling proudly before taking the residues of your makeup off with a cloth

He rinsed his face and watched you as you did what he'd just done, and finally, finally, you asked him something you had no idea how you'd never asked before

"why do you always look at me?" you said, rinsing the detergent off "I'm not gonna disappear into thin air you know?"

He chuckled, his manly and deep voice bouncing from the bathroom tiles

"Are you?" he asked, taking a step so he was once again, right before you, his fingers moving some hair out of your face and lingering on your cheek

"I look at you, because I don't get to do it enough, because it's all I would spend my days doing" he murmured, droplets of water from your face and his hands falling to the ground as your heart sped up "because you're a work of art sweetheart, and because in everything you do, I see all the reasons I love you"

There it is, the man you married, able to melt you up with just a few words, spoken like they didn't seem picked up off a book, like he wasn't the best man you could have ever wished for, like you didn't love him to goddamn death

You didn't say anything, you never could when he said stuff like that, you only spoke through your eyes, through that invisible bond between you, the words lingering on your tongue

I love you

Before you kissed him, the same feeling, the same message, finding him with it.

"that" you smiled "Is why you're never allowed to make speeches before me ever again"

God only knew how much you had scolded him for making you look like a fool at your own wedding when he made you and half the guests weep with his vows while yours looked like a child wrote them in comparison.

he chuckled, kissing you again, before you mumbled something about finishing the skincare and he pulled away, a grin from ear to ear on both your faces

he followed all your instructions, first came the exfoliating stuff, then the serum, then the creams,

He watched diligently as you showed him how to execute every step, and then copied you, his hands still moving a bit too roughly on his skin.

the only change he brought to your routine, was the kiss he couldn't help but steal from you after every step he accomplished, a soft and quick one, just because he could, just because he wanted, just because you looked cute as ever, and there was only so much he could do to keep his hands off of you.

And after everything was done, after your skin glowed as you looked at your reflection, his eyes too, focusing only on you as his arms wrapped around you, he decided

"I think I should join you every night"

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months

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you talk of the pain like it's all alright

well i was too into this to not write part 2 right away, so here! the downside is i have not proofread oops.

warnings: nightmare, kind of a panic attack... worries of self harm, but no actual self harm. angst but more fluff :)

The drive to Alexia's apartment was uncomfortably quiet. You could tell that she was trying not to push you, which was not the norm. It made sense though; your actions this evening had really worried her, and she was at a loss for how to help you.

"Does your hand hurt?" She asked, breaking the silence, but keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"Only a little," you replied, lying through your teeth. You'd rejected any meds from the physios, and your hand ached, pain pulsing from various areas of your knuckles, highlighting the multiple fractures.

"I'll give you something for it when we get home," she told you.

"No, really, it's fine." You mumbled. Your hand hurt because of your own actions, because you'd been stupid and impulsive. It should hurt. In the back of your mind, you realized how unhealthy this thinking was, but you pushed that thought away.

"If you're in pain, you should take something. Just because you did something dumb doesn't mean you deserve to be in pain," Alexia told you, very gently. You tried to hide your surprise at how accurate she was, completely taken aback by her perceptiveness.

Instead of responding, you turned to face out the window, watching the city pass by. Alexia sighed when you didn't say anything; you were really getting tired of that sigh. It sounded like it was full of disappointment in you, even if that wasn't the intention.

-----

You received what felt like the millionth sigh from Alexia when you walked into her apartment. She asked if you wanted to talk, obviously trying to be casual, but you shook your head, telling her you were tired.

"You can't avoid this forever, y/n."

"I'm just tired, Ale, I'm not trying to avoid anything." If she wasn't so worried, she would have laughed at the blatant lie.

"Fine. We'll talk tomorrow," she said, and you nodded, not yet sure how you were going to get out of that one. She was clearly frustrated with you, and you hated it. You already felt bad that you'd made her worried enough to make you stay with her, and the guilt you felt for not being honest was quickly replacing your resolve to keep everything to yourself.

Alexia pointed you towards the guest room, before disappearing to get you something to sleep in. You sat on the bed, running your hands over the soft comforter. Carefully, you took of your brace, wincing at the sight of your hand. It was swelling, already bruised. You were so frustrated, so defeated. You took a shaky breath, trying to stave off the tears that were rapidly gathering in your eyes.

"Okay, these might be kind of big on you, but they... should work..." Alexia returned, voice growing quieter as she looked at you. You were staring at the ground, eyes welled with tears, cradling your hand to your chest. Your lower lip was trembling, and you were blinking rapidly, trying to pull yourself back together. She hadn't seen you look so vulnerable in a really long time, and she wasn't sure how much you'd allow her to comfort you.

The Catalan placed the pajamas on the bed, before carefully walking over to where you were seated. You sucked in a big breath, prepared for another speech, but none came. Instead, Alexia was pulling you into her, arms wrapping around your shoulders, pressing your head into her stomach. Her thumbs moved rhythmically in circles against your shirt. Abandoning your resolve momentarily, you wrapped your arms around her, pressing your face into her. You clutched at her shirt desperately with your good hand, and she held you tighter.

She ran a hand through your hair, speaking quietly to you. "Everything is going be okay, pequeña, I promise. We're gonna figure it out, whatever it is."

She felt you nod almost imperceptibly against her, and took the small victory. She pecked the top of your head, before pulling back.

"Sleep now, you must be exhausted. And wake me up if you need me." She paired her words with a reassuring smile, waiting for you to nod again, before leaving the room.

You changed, wiping all traces of your small breakdown off your face, before climbing into the bed. You were exhausted, too exhausted to try to stay awake. You hoped you were tired enough to not have any nightmares, but luck hadn't really been on your side recently.

-----

Sure enough, you'd only been asleep for a few hours when your dreams soured. It was a familiar nightmare, one that you had frequently. It consisted of you missing a goal, a game winning goal. The fans screamed at you, your opponents mocked you. Worst of all, your teammates were angry too, your captains and Jona yelling at you for not doing better, for not being better.

In the other room, Alexia woke from a light sleep to the sound of you whimpering. She was out of bed in a second, almost falling in her haste to get to you. Entering the room, she saw you rolling around, tears leaking from your eyes. You were talking through your cries, but she couldn't understand what you were saying.

Crossing the room, she sat on the edge of the bed, placing her hands on your shoulders and shaking. You sat straight up, gasping for air. Your wild eyes found Alexia, and before you knew it, you were throwing yourself into her arms, letting out loud, unrestrained sobs.

"Alright, you're okay. It was just a dream. Slow your breathing down, you're safe, I've got you." You barely registered Alexia's words, just so grateful that it was a dream, that she wasn't really mad at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," You cried. You weren't really sure what you were apologizing for, but you couldn't seem to stop.

"Shh, y/n, it's okay. You don't need to be sorry," she told you. She was holding you tightly against her, rocking you back and forth; she wasn't sure why, but it felt right, and it seemed to work. You were calming down.

And as the panic faded, embarrassment took it's place. You pulled yourself out of Alexia's arms, a horrified look on your place.

"No, y/n, it's okay, really, don't-" You cut her off, leaping from the bed and all but sprinting into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you. You sat against the wall, burying your face in your hands. You could hear Alexia knocking on the door, her panicked voice calling to you, but none of it registered. You were so distraught, so upset that she'd seen you like that. How could you let this happen?

"Y/n, please, please open the door. You don't need to be embarrassed, I'm not mad or upset. I just need to know that you're okay." Alexia was begging, not hearing any response.

Her mind was racing, thinking a million things at once. Whether she could break down the door, what was in there that you could hurt yourself with. She tried everything she could think of to get you to open the door, from pleading to using her stern captain voice, to soothing tones, back to pleading. It had been minutes, and you still hadn't answered. She could hear your ragged breathing, which was some comfort.

She didn't know what to do, how to fix this. Hands shaking, she grabbed her phone, calling the only other person she knew you trusted.

-----

Mapi hadn't expected today to turn out how it had. Not your red card, not your impulsive actions, your total disregard for yourself. She didn't expect the frantic call from Alexia in the middle of the night; Alexia was almost crying, a sign to Mapi that what was going on was bad. More than anything though, she didn't expect Ingrid to take charge the way she did, throwing shoes at her and rushing her to the car.

Ingrid drove fast, hands clenching the steering wheel. Mapi knew Ingrid was an empathetic person, a kind person, but she hadn't expected the Norwegian to join her in this, with this intensity. As Ingrid led her inside Alexia's apartment, determined, Mapi couldn't help but be so incredibly glad that her girlfriend was so perfect.

-----

Noise had faded for you, and all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. You needed to breath, you knew that. You also knew you needed to tell Alexia that you were okay, that you weren't going to do anything stupid. You were completely frozen though, all your energy focused on gasping little amounts of oxygen into your body, just enough to keep you conscious.

-----

Alexia was sat against the bathroom door, saying pretty much anything that came into her mind. The sound of you struggling was too painful for her to listen to, and she couldn't allow herself to do nothing. She only felt relief at the sight of Ingrid and Mapi. The three of them, together, could fix this, she was confident.

"What happened?" Mapi asked, flinching at the sound of your desperate breaths through the door. Alexia had been barely comprehensible when she called, and Mapi only really understood that something had happened, and you'd locked yourself in Ale's bathroom. Her and Ingrid took seats against the hallway wall near the door as Alexia responded.

"I think she had a nightmare. I went to wake her up and she was so upset, crying so hard. And I calmed her down but then she was pulling away and running out of the room. The look on her face. God she was so horrified that I'd seen her like that." Alexia's voice cracked as she spoke. "I've been trying to get her to open the door but she either can't hear me or she won't open it."

Mapi clenched her fists, before asking the question they were all thinking. "What's in there?"

Not 6 hours ago, you broken your hand punching a wall. They still weren't sure what your intention was with that, and the thoughts of what you could be doing, a locked door in between you, were terrorizing your friends.

Alexia just shook her head. "I don't know, I can't remember. I thought about breaking down the door, but... I don't want to freak her out any more."

Ingrid looked between her the other girls, the solution clear to her. "Did you try to pick the lock?" She asked. Alexia looked at her blankly.

"I don't know how to do that?" Alexia responded, sounding confused.

"Get me a bobby pin." Ingrid instructed, and Alexia scrambled off to her bedroom, uncharacteristically frantic.

"You... you know how to pick a lock?" Mapi asked, completely surprised. Ingrid seemed like the last person she knew that would have that knowledge. Ingrid was a rule follower.

Ingrid looked at her, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, Maria. Doesn't everyone?" She remarked.

Mapi looked even more confused. "No?" She said, her response sounding like a question rather than an answer to one. Alexia returned then, thrusting about 8 bobby pins into Ingrid's hands. Again, Ingrid almost rolled her eyes, wondering what kind of fun the teens had in Spain that they didn't learn how to pick locks. She dropped all but one of the bobby pins, turning towards the door.

Alexia and Mapi exchanged looks, and in the time that took, Ingrid had the door clicking open. They all looked in, distressed, letting out simultaneous sighs of relief at the sight of you. You weren't okay by any means, hunched into a ball, hands pressed tight over your eyes. You weren't hurt though, and that's really all that they were concerned about.

The girls paused, unsure what to do now. It hadn't seemed like you'd noticed them enter the bathroom, and they weren't sure what they could do to without startling you. Ingrid, full of surprises today, took the lead, moving to sit next to you, careful not to touch you. The other girls sat too, albeit a little farther away.

You were so in your head, so not aware of anything around you. You knew someone was speaking to you, closer than they were before, but that was it.

"Hey, y/n, can you hear me?" Ingrid said, voice hushed. You gave no indication that you could. "I'm gonna put my hand right next to you. If you can hear me, I want you to touch my hand." Her voice was so soothing, it broke through the fog in your mind.

After a minute, you pulled your good hand away from your face, and shakily reached for her hand. Ingrid kept her's open, palm facing up, until you wrapped your hand around, gripping tightly.

"Good, that's really good, elskling. Can you move your other hand? It looks like it's hurting, honey." You realized Ingrid was right, and unclenched your broken hand, pulling it away from your face with a whimper. They could see your face now, cheeks flushed and eyes puffy. You avoided looking at the other girls, keeping your eyes trained on the ground even as you stretched your legs out, bringing your hand to your chest. You were still holding Ingrid's hand though, which she took to be a good sign.

"I'm gonna get you some ice, pequeña, is that okay?" Alexia asked, voice softer than you'd ever heard it. You nodded mechanically, because your hand really did hurt. Alexia stepped out of the bathroom, and Mapi spoke this time.

"Can you look at me, y/n? Please?" You'd never heard Mapi like that, desperation clear in her voice. You gave in, lifting your head to meet her eyes. Briefly, you wondered when the hell Mapi and Ingrid had arrived, but Mapi spoke before you could ask.

"You don't need to be embarrassed. You didn't do anything wrong, we're not mad at you, not even a little bit. We just want to help, cariño, can you let us do that?" There wasn't much reason to resist anymore, nothing really left to hide.

"Okay." You said quietly, voice raspy from crying. Alexia returned in time to hear your answer, and this time she was sighing out of relief. It was a nice change.

She sat beside you, gently taking your mangled hand in her own, and wrapping it carefully in an ice pack. You grimaced, squeezing Ingrid's hand a little tighter. In response, she moved her thumb up and down the back of your hand. Alexia held the ice pack in place, not really sure what to do now.

"When did you guys get here?" You asked finally, looking towards the couple.

"A bit ago. Ale called us, she wasn't sure how to get you to open the door." You nodded, feeling guilty for worrying them.

"How did you get in?" You wondered.

"Ingrid must have a criminal background she'd hiding from us, because she picked the lock in 2 seconds flat," Alexia responded, voice jokingly exasperated. You looked at Ingrid, shocked.

"Who doesn't know how to pick a lock!" Ingrid said again, looking between the three of you.

"Most people, I'd say. It's okay, amor, I think it's hot that you used to break in places." Mapi joked.

Ingrid glared at her, her response dying in her mouth when you pulled your hand from her grasp and shuffled closer to Alexia, leaning into her. The girls looked at each other, never really having seen you seek comfort out like this. Alexia wrapped an arm around you taking in your exhausted expression.

"How about we go to bed? We can talk in the morning, when you're feeling better." She suggested, and you agreed.

"I promise I'll talk to you guys." You said quietly. Your friends smiled at you. You really didn't want Ingrid and Mapi to leave, but you weren't really sure how to ask for that. Luckily Alexia's mind reading powers seemed to have returned full force.

"You guys wanna crash in the extra bedroom?" She asked. The couple nodded, and you looked confused. Where were you supposed to sleep?

Alexia pulled you to your feet, holding part of your weight up as you were unsteady on your legs. "Cmon, I'm not letting you out of my sight." She said, leading you into her room. The couple peeled off into the extra bedroom, wishing you a goodnight. Alexia pulled you towards her bed. You were so passed arguing, you let her guide you onto the bed, scooting under the covers. She climbed in next to you letting you wriggle into her. She wasn't sure if you were being snuggly because you were exhausted, or emotional, but she didn't care.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she had an idea of what was going on in your head, and if you needed physical comfort, she was more than happy to provide it.

You felt safe, comforted, even if anxiety still fluttered in your chest at the thought of talking to your friends in the morning. You passed out almost instantly, regardless, and Alexia followed soon after.

-----

part 3 probably tomorrow because i'm obsessed with this

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #barcelona femeni x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen #alexia putellas

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randombush3 · 5 months

Text

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

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

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

“Y/n left me.”

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

“What?” says Jenni.

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

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

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

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

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

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

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

The doorbell rings again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re delirious.”

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

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

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

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

…

You’re married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

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

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

“Does that count?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s the album doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

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

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

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

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

…

The routine changes the following year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to be.”

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

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

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

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

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

In this way, she is functional.

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

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

Where does she put the used bandage?

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

…

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

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

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

You: Go on…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

She consults Mapi.

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

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

“I’m not asking you to.”

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

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

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

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

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are.

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

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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granddaughterogg · 2 months

Text

So, you're the newest addition to Task Force 141 and you Make a Move on one of the boys. How will they react?

Johnny Soap MacTavish: With utter glee. "Took ya long enough, lass! Thought you'll never shoot your shot!" He'll announce with amusement. Our perky Scotsman is an absolute Sexpot - and he knows it. He is also a master of Living in the Moment aka Seizing the Day. Rules and regulations be damned. "So what do you say?" He'll ask, filling your personal space with all that muscle and clasping those strong hands around your waist. "Wanna go on a date first…" Johnny wiggles his painterly eyebrows. "...Or shall we skip to the good part?"

Ghost: When you confessed that you'd like to spend some time with him in private, he didn't seem thrilled. As is usual case with Ghost, he didn't seem like caring one way or another. All you got in the way of a reaction was his hand, holding the cigarette and now stilled halfway to his mouth. He threw you one of his Stares - Simon Riley's eyes are as beautiful as they are cryptic, you've never been able to read those dark peepers surrounded by white, seemingly frosted eyelashes of dizzying length. Then he muttered something under his breath and walked away. You didn't hear a word from him for the next three days, apart from work orders anyway. Disappointment and embarrassment tormented you in turns. You were silently cursing your big, reckless mouth. On the fourth day he approached you as if nothing had ever happened and said: "Allright". "Allright what, Sir?.." You asked, dumbfounded. "I agree. We should fuck."

Gaz: Oh, this beautiful boy. Out of the whole squad he's probably the one best adapted to Living in a Society. He reacts as any sensible man would: with a charming smile, a proud, joyful gleam in his eye, a trace of a blush almost. "Gosh, Private, really…Me? Well, girl, you got outstanding taste." "Don't I know it," you answer boldly. "Look, babe," he says in a hushed voice, coming closer and putting his hands on your shoulders, "Cap will rip my head off and piss in my neck if he finds out that I'm fooling around with a subordinate...so we're gonna have to be extra careful, 'kay? Can you promise me that?" You nod enthusiastically. This is so exciting!

Captain Price: So you like to live dangerously. There is no safe way that you can Put the Moves on your commander. You know that...right? On the other hand - if you're gonna break the rules, break them hard and break them for good. Tell him that you desire him. That you can't stop thinking about him. Pick a moment when the rest of the guys won't be within a kilometer radius. Say your line and look into those hard, cloudy sky-coloured eyes which have just grown big and round with shock. "Kid," says Price, his voice suddenly a little breathy, which is oh so hot: "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" "Only for you, Sir." Flutter those eyelashes. Come on, lay it on thick. It's been some time since anyone has thrown themselves at the old man. He will sigh the mother of all sighs, then drag one hand across his tired face. "I am you commanding officer." "That you are, Sir." He will come closer, both hands behind his back. Then he'll reach out and gently, oh, so gently touch your cheekbone. "You do realize tha' I could tell you to pack up and send your arse home?" His voice is very meticulously level, but you can feel the volcano bubbling underneath. "I do, Sir. But I just couldn't live a lie. I want you." That boldness will earn you another sigh - this time more ragged. He'll trace his finger over your upper lip, say: "Well fuck me sideways..." like a man who has just experienced a miracle - and then John Price will embrace you in a kiss, shameless, deep and hungry.

This man has been criminally touch starved. Congratulations, you'll have your hands full from now on. Not to mention your…other regions.

333 notes · View notes

lucy-gray1075 · 4 months

Text

On the Sea

synopsis: finnick teaches you to surf, the only water activity you never learned

dear reader: i know nothing about surfing lol. all i know is that i'm in love with this man and would very much be more head over heels for him if he taught me how to surf <3

w/c: 1.5k

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

"Come onnn, babe," Finnick runs ahead of you, surfboard clutched under one arm. "It's gonna get dark soon. And cold." It already is. Although it never really goes below 40 degrees in District 4, the water still feels frigid to you. Finnick, however, pretends it's a sunny summer day like the golden boy he is.

"It's freezing, Finn," you complain. You hate being whiny, but you can't bring yourself to take off the thin shawl you're using as a cover-up.

He turns back to see you struggling against the wind, shivering in your skimpy swim clothes.

"Aw, c'mon babygirl," Finnick pouts at the unmistakable misery on your face. He jogs back to you, stooping to pick you up with one arm and throw you over his shoulder like you're a sack of potatoes. He runs full speed toward the water, giggling like an overexcited toddler when you yelp.

"Let's go!" he booms, jiggling your body as you hold onto him for dear life. You scream the entire way to the water, but he doesn't mind.

Finnick wades in a few feet until he can safely set down the surfboard, then plops you down on it. He instructs you to straddle the board so you don't fall off it.

"Okay, baby, I'm gonna push you out a little bit here." He gently turns the board around so you're facing the waves. He pats your bum lightly, earning a scowl from you that he repays with a cheeky grin. He really is a twenty-four year old teenage boy.

You clutch the sides of the board as you feel Finnick pushing you further out to sea.

"Alright, this seems like a good spot to start out." He turns you back around to face the shore before coming to stand beside you. He's chest deep in the water now, meaning you would be covered up to your eyes if you fell in. You try not to think about that as Finnick instructs you to lie flat on your belly.

"You're gonna paddle, keeping your arms close to the board. Then, I'll instruct you when to pop up." He holds your board steady as you shift from your seated position onto your stomach. You look down to see your hands trembling.

"Aw, you cold, honey?" Finnick seems genuinely concerned, but you don't want to disappoint him.

You plunge your hands into the water, smiling wide despite your now-frozen fingertips. "Nope, all good."

"M'kay." He looks skeptical of your cheerfulness but takes it in stride. "Paddle forward and wait until you catch a wave. I'll tell ya when to pop up, okay baby?"

"Wait!" You place a hand on his arm to stop him from pushing you out to sea. "How do I pop up?"

"Oh, we should probably practice that," Finnick laughs, tapping a fist to his forehead to chide himself for being too eager. "I'll hold you in place. Now, I want you to grip the board with two hands and shift from your belly to your feet."

You use your arms to give yourself enough momentum to pull your legs up under you in a crouch. You can tell by the way his arms are flexed that Finnick is holding the board as steady as possible for you. Even still, it's hard for you to keep your balance, and you have to throw your arms out as you wobble from side to side trying to stand up.

"That's my girl!" Finnick booms when you're successfully on two feet.

"I didn't even do anything yet," you roll your eyes, smiling down at him. You sit back down on the board to avoid falling in.

"Oh, you did too. You popped up on your first try! Most of the kids I teach don't get it until an hour of practice." Finnick reaches up to place one hand on your midback and the other on your cheek, leaning up to capture your lips in his. Somehow his hands are still warm despite the frigid water. You lean down to deepen the kiss, straddling his broad chest. He tastes of sea salt and the green apple he had as a snack before this. You could never tire of your golden boy.

You pull away because he's smiling brighter than the sun now and he can't seem to stop. "What're you so happy about?" You giggle at the mere sight of his dimples.

"Nothin'," and just like that his grin is cheeky again. He slides his hands down your body seeming to drink in your appearance. He gives you a quick pat on your bum before his hands leave your body to find the edge of the surfboard again. “Off you go, now.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the worst before lying flat on the board and peddling yourself forward. After a few seconds, you feel yourself catching a wave and wait for Finnick's direction.

"Okay, baby, pop up now!" he yells.

You try your best to do it like before, but it's harder without Finnick's steady grip on your board. You end up taking a headlong tumble into the water sideways. You come up spluttering to hear Finnick chortling his head off.

"Hey!" You wade over to splash him, forgetting about your surfboard for the moment.

"Hey!" Finnick mocks you with a teasing smirk painted on his stupidly handsome face. He wraps his thick arms around your waist, forcing you to wrap your thighs around his middle so that you can't splash him.

You pout down at him but wrap your arms around his neck anyway, allowing him to kiss yours.

After a few more failed attempts, you finally pop up and stay on the board long enough to ride out the wave. You're tired but it's all worth it when you see Finnick's face.

He's looking up at you like you're made of starlight.

"Baby, that was so incredible!" He pulls you off the surfboard and into his arms, spinning you around and around until you think he's dizzy enough to drown. You revel in his congratulatory embrace before realizing it's gotten much colder. What with all your tumbles into the sea and the wind picking up speed, you are now shaking like a leaf.

"I think it's getting a little chilly," you glance down at him. Even Finnick notices how violently your teeth are chattering now.

"Ohh, let's get ya home, honey," he rubs his arms up and down your back, trying to convey the warmth he seems to radiate like a furnace.

Once you're back on shore, Finnick takes off, running full speed toward your cottage. "Race ya back!" he has the decency to holler after he's already fifteen feet ahead of you.

"Hey, no fair!" you call out. Your legs feel numb and leaden. They're absolutely unresponsive to any sense of urgency you feel. Even with the surfboard tucked under his arm, Finnick is somehow faster than you.

A few seconds later, he turns back around, presumably to wait.

"Can you walk any slower, grandma?" Finnick taunts. His smile is a mile wide. Everything had to be a competition with him.

"Almost there!" you call back sweetly, not taking the bait. If he sees that you're annoyed, he'll be overjoyed, and you are not letting him win today. "Oh my god, is that a pelican?" You point up at nothing.

In the time it takes him to confirm your ruse, you speed ahead. You use up every last ounce of your energy and almost make it to your porch before you feel a big arm snake around your waist. You're flipped to face away from the porch as Finnick cheers for himself.

"Finnick!" You can't hide your annoyance now. You won fair and square. Just because he's twice your size, doesn't mean he can throw you around like a spare surfboard.

"I won!" You yell up at him.

"I'm the one on the porch, sweetheart," he chuckles, putting his arms up.

"I won, and you're giving me a foot massage," you storm past him opening the front door. "And a back rub." You slam the door then giggle. You don't actually mind his antics. But acting annoyed now ensures you an evening of relaxation, courtesy of your handsome boyfriend who is extremely talented in masseur-ly duties.

"Yes, ma'am," Finnick walks in. "You just go start the fire and relax for me, sit real pretty. I'll make your favorite soup and we'll have some of that bread Peeta sent us last week. And after we eat, I promise to give you the full Finnick Odair spa experience."

"That's what I thought," you smiled, pointing at your cheek for a kiss he happily delivers.

364 notes · View notes

joeys-babe · 6 months

Text

Joey B Imagines: Get It On*

————————————————————————-

summary: after a road game win in San Francisco, you know Joe’s gonna be in a certain mood when he gets home. you had stayed in Cincinnati with your twin boys and Joe couldn't wait to celebrate the win with you. Being able to predict that, you decide to play a little prank on Joe.

warnings: talks of and illusions to smut, mostly fluff, funny/unserious

pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

imagine universe: into the mystic

————————————————————————-

Bye week - October 18th (with flashbacks from October 15th & 12th)

(y/n’s pov)

The bye week was something I had been looking forward to since week one.

With the calf strain before the season even started it had been a little harder for Joe to get into the groove. He’s been more down on himself than normal and it was clear to me that he needed rest which is exactly what a week off would give him.

When Joe was home with me and the twins he wasn't Joe Burrow the quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, he was simply “Dada” to his boys and “Joey” to me.

He loved it, being away from the bustle of the NFL and being with his little family.

After a morning of sleeping in and cuddling, Joe cooked breakfast while I watched the twins, who were playing on the floor with their toys while sitting on their playmat.

They had just said their first words within a week of each other, both saying “Dada”. I thought I would've been jealous if my boys said Daddy, Dad, or Dada first but the situations in which they said it were so sweet that I couldn't have been upset.

The boy’s first game was at home against the Seahawks a few days ago. I sat up in the box with Robin & Jimmy plus my boys.

Tyson was sitting on Robin’s lap while I had Miles on mine. Joe ran out and Robin bounced Tyson on her lap saying “Look there's Dada!!” to which Tyson loudly squealed and cooed his first word in response to his grandma.

“Da-da!”

I hurt my neck with how fast it snapped in his direction from pure shock.

Miles said it just a few days before after Joe came home from practice.

Joe walked through the door and immediately found me in the kitchen feeding the boys. He walked over and kissed my cheek before turning his direction to his boys. Miles was reaching out to his dad and Joe immediately picked him up.

“Did you miss daddy?” - you smiled

“Da.. Da!” - Miles

Watching Joe’s eyes widen before he tossed Miles in the air was the sweetest sight.

“Thats my boy!!” - Joe yelled

Now back to the present day, Joe was in the floor with the twins passing around this tiny foam football. “Teach ‘em early” Joe would say.

I sat scrolling through Tiktok when a funny video came up on my fyp of this wife pranking her husband by lighting a candle that smelled like farts and putting it in their bedroom, after seeing the husband's reaction I immediately ordered the candle in hopes to do the same prank on Joe.

I had to laugh as I glanced over my phone at the unsuspecting victim. This was going to be hilarious.

October 29th - After 49ers game

Everyone seemed on cloud nine after the win over the Niners. I stayed back in Cincinnati with the twins while Joe was in San Fran. My parents ended up coming over to watch the game and overall it was a good day.

It wasn't long after the boys went back to the locker room that I received a text from Joe.

Hey mama.

To other people, it might seem like an innocent text, but to me, after all these years with Joe, I knew where this was headed.

Hey, champ!

A couple of seconds later when Joe replied back, I couldn't help but bust out laughing.

Whatcha wearing rn? 😏

I looked down at my current fit and thought about whether I should tell the truth or lie to please him.

Nothing special. Just a pair of your sweatpants and one of your Bengals shirts.

I got worried when he didn't message back for a minute or so, worried that I had disappointed him.

Sounds sexy.

Boy. 💀

Listen, I'm feeling really good right now. I gotta go shower but I'll text you when we're on the bus to the airport.

Talk to ya later then! Enjoy your shower, baby.

Ttyl, love you. ❤️

Love you too!

After I hit send, I put my phone down for a bit and ushered my parents out of the house. I’d hopefully get a shower, get the boys to sleep, and clean the house up a bit before Joe got home.

He'd definitely be getting home late but after big road game wins that would end in a long night for the both of us.

This also meant that tonight would be the perfect night to use something that I ordered back during the bye.

What was that you may ask?

A candle that smells like farts.

Now I’m not a big prankster but I will never pass up an opportunity to mess with Joe, it's been like that since we started dating in high school.

45 minutes later I had gotten most of the dishes washed in the sink, along with putting the clean dishes from the dishwasher up, and moved on to folding and putting away laundry.

It was always fun putting Joe’s clothes back up in our walk-in closet due to how diverse and unique each article was.

I saw the different suits and past game-day fits as a reminder of all of the ups and downs Joe and I have been through together.

Moving over to hang up his favorite grey jeans, in the corner of my eye I caught a view of the jacket Joe wore the day of the AFC Championship back in 2022. That was the same night Joe proposed to me and the thought made me smile. When the memory of what had happened later that night popped into my mind my once-innocent smile turned into more of a smirk. That was one goooood night.

My thoughts ended up interrupted when my phone dinged but seeing Joe’s name being the source of the tone made my smile reappear.

How’s my wife and my boys doing?

One of Joe’s biggest worries, since we found out I was pregnant, was him not being around enough for his kids to have a good relationship with their father. Every away game Joe seemed to check up on his little family every chance he got and though it was incredibly sweet, I worried about how he thought about himself parent-wise. He was an amazing dad, the boys loved him so much

We're doing great, baby. Your boys are already asleep and your wife is just cleaning around the house right now.

We should be home in a few hours but don't feel like you have to wait up for me, it'll be late.

I'm def waiting for him, I thought to myself with a laugh.

Okay! Are the guys all feeling good after the win?

Oh yeah, everyone is hyped right now. They're blaring music and have asked the bus driver to take a detour to the nearest club twice. LOL

You guys should go! Y’all need to celebrate.

It took a few minutes for Joe to respond but when he did, his message warmed my heart.

No thanks. That would just take time away from getting home to you guys. I miss you and the boys so much.

We miss you too. Especially the boys, who kept yelling “Daddy!” every time you were on the TV.

When I read Joe’s reply it was a complete mood shift, but I can't say I wasn't expecting it.

Did you also yell Daddy when I was on the TV?

Omg, Joe!

You'll be saying that again later, baby. 😉

Big wins always put Joe in this mindset but I couldn't help but giggle at his forward texts.

I was brainstorming what to say next when I remembered a little photoshoot I did the other day when Joe was away at practice. These pics would get him worked up for sure.

The pictures were of me fresh out of the shower in the mirror with nothing but his jersey and a tiger-striped thong on. The jersey was hiked up on my hip to where the panties were visible but my phone covered my face, the star of the show was the huge “9” on my front.

*Attachmentt 3 images*

When a few minutes had passed by and Joe hadn’t said anything back I started to get worried. He's on the bus right now... what if someone else saw the pics? Oh no.

If someone else saw those Joe’d be pissed. Oh no.

Holy shit, mama. You look fucking gorgeous.

Oh thank God, I thought.

You like what you see?

Screw like, I damn love it. Those pics are just for me, right?

Your eyes only, J. ❤️

I had no idea what was going on with Joe other than his texts, so I was completely oblivious to him struggling to contain himself in front of the guys.

You don't understand how much I'm struggling right now.

Struggling how Joey?

I knew exactly how he was struggling but I wanted him to come out and say it.

I'm getting so fucking hard. The last thing I need is the guys seeing a tent in my damn sweats.

Just a couple pics got you worked up?

y/n, baby how do you still not understand how much you turn me on after all this time?

Idk, Joe.

Plus baby it's not just the pics you sent me, it's also thinking about what's bound to happen when I get home.

What's that?

I'm gonna get you naked and show you exactly why you wear number nine. Sound good?

Can't wait.

We're boarding the plane, I'll see you later my love.

See you later, Joey.

*time skip*

It was almost two in the morning and there was still no sign of Joe. I was starting to get tired and was genuinely considering just going to bed.

Rolling over onto my side to get comfortable, I had just closed my eyes when I heard the garage door opening. Meaning Joe was home.

I removed the covers from my body and slipped out of bed, running my hands over the front of my satin nightgown to flatten it out before going downstairs.

By the time I made it into the mudroom, where the door that connects the garage to the house is, Joe was already there taking his shoes off.

“Hey baby.” - you smiled

Joe flinched before he found my eyes, his gaze softening as he did so.

“Shit babe, you scared me.” - Joe laughed

“Sorry, how was the plane ride?” - you

“It was fine, everyone was pretty much asleep so I just sat there on my phone… thinking about you.” - Joe

“Is that so?” - you giggled

“Yes ma'am. I missed you like hell.” - Joe

I opened my arms for him and he immediately walked over into my embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist as my hands ran up and down his muscular back.

Joe leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips before letting his hands drop from my lower back down to my butt.

“The boys still asleep?” - Joe

“Mhm.” - you

“Just us then, wanna go upstairs?” - Joe

“Before we do that… when was the last time you ate?” - you

“I ate this morning and had some snacks on the plane. I'm low-key starving but I made a promise to you about what was happening when I got home.” - Joe

Pulling away from his arms, I pecked his lips before patting his stomach.

“Let's get some food in you, then you can fulfill your promise.” - you winked at him

Joe grinned as he followed me into the kitchen, he sat on one of the barstools as I looked in the fridge.

“What do you want?” - you

“You.” - Joe mumbled

“What was that?” - you turned to face him

Joe smirked at me before dropping his head with a laugh.

“Nothin. Uh, whatcha got?” - Joe

“I've got leftover chicken and noodles, sandwich stuff, bacon for a BLT…” - you

“Chicken and noodles are fine.” - Joe

“Okay, I'll heat that for ya.” - you

I popped the container into the microwave and made my way over to Joe, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Sorry if I'm kinda clingy, I just missed you.” - you

“Don't ever apologize for wanting to be close to me, baby.” - Joe’s hand moved to cradle your head

Just a few seconds before the timer went off, I stopped is as to not wake up the twins with the loud ding.

After handing Joe his food with a kiss on the cheek, I walked upstairs.

I told Joe that I went up there to finish cleaning up but in reality, I was lighting the candle. The directions said that it would smell like vanilla for the first 30 minutes, then it would gradually start to smell bad.

Once it was in a sufficient spot I made my way back downstairs. Joe was in the same spot he was when I left but now he was just in his grey sweatpants as he ate and scrolled on his phone.

The floorboards creaked before I was completely in the kitchen and Joe looked behind him to make sure it was just me.

“You look incredibly beautiful in that nightgown by the way.” - Joe

“Well thank you, a special someone bought it for me.” - you

“A special someone?” - Joe gave you a confused/agitated look

“You bought it for me you goof.” - you laugh

“Oh!” - Joe laughed

We shared small talk as he finished eating. Talking about dinner for the rest of the week, the grocery list, just little things.

Joe abruptly stood up and walked over to the sink to wash the Tupperware his chicken and noodles were in. My eyes couldn't seem to peak away from his body, his back muscles flexed with every scrub he made making me feel hot all over.

He grabbed a towel and was now facing me as he dried the dish, my eyes still drawn to the veins protruding from his hands and arms.

After it was dry to his liking he put it up and the cabinet and sat back down on the stool next to me.

With a longing glance at each other, Joe swiftly grabbed my waist and pulled me off my stool and onto his lap. My hands landed on his chest as his mouth was immediately on mine.

Joe’s hands gripped my hips and slowly slid down to my thighs.

“You still got that tiger-striped thong on?” - Joe

He was grinning up at me as his hands slowly slid under my nightgown. His eyes turned dark when his fingertips reached my hips and he hadn't felt a band.

“No panties?” - Joe’s voice dropped an octave

“No, sir.” - you

“Fuck, y/n…” - Joe groaned

I felt Joe’s hand start moving down toward my inner thigh and I had to stop him. The confused look on his face made me giggle.

“Can we do it more… vanilla tonight?” - you

“Oh yeah, that's okay with me. Whatever you want baby, I'll give you.” - Joe

“Okay… now where were we?” - you

Joe moved his hands back to my waist and stood up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he continued kissing me.

Joe’s pace changed as we passed by the twin’s room to make sure the sound of us rushing to the bedroom wouldn't wake them up.

Once in the bedroom, Joe shut the door and moved to lay me down on the bed.

“Did you light a candle for mood lighting?” - Joe grinned

“Guilty.” - you laughed

Joe laughed along with me as he climbed on top of me. The candlelight accentuated the soft features of his face and enhanced them, he looked even more ridiculously beautiful than he already was.

The faint smile on his face melted my heart as he admired me.

“Gosh… I love you so much y/n.” - Joe

I reached up and combed his curls back with my hand before slowly moving my hand lower to stroke his cheek.

“I love you too, Joe. So so much.” - you

Joe gently pressed our lips together. We engaged in a thorough, slow-burn kiss, that had my toes curling in my fluffy socks.

Very slowly, Joe’s hands moved from my sides and back up my nightgown. He started gently inching it up my body as his lips never left mine.

Once it was completely off my body, Joe disengaged his lips from mine to pull it over my head. The only thing I was left in was my bra.

“You are so… beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. You're just… breathtaking y/n.” - Joe

His eyes scanned over my body with so much love behind them. I wanted nothing more than to lean over and blow the candle out, knowing It was going to ruin this intimate moment but it was too late.

Joe’s once content face was scrunched up in disgust as he abruptly rolled off of me.

“What the fuck is that?” - Joe

“What do you mean? Did I do something?” - you

“I don't think so… unless. Babe, did you fart? If you did…. goddamn!” - Joe

“Joseph Lee! I did not let one rip while we were trying to get it on!” - you

Joe tried so hard not to cackle but ultimately failed, his nose re-scrunching when he took a big inhale.

“What the actual hell is that putrid smell then, I know for sure it wasn't me! That smells so bad that if it was me I'd be in the bathroom right now.” - Joe

I giggled to myself as Joe hopped off the bed and started smelling around the room.

“Joe baby, you look like a damn bloodhound smelling around like that.” - you hollered laughing

“Well, I'm trying to find whatever the fuck that is so I can get rid of it! I'm not going to bed until I get some sugar.” - Joe

My laughing only got louder as Joe dropped to his knees and started looking under the bed for the source of the stink.

“Maybe there's a dirty pull-up under here…” - Joe grumbled

I rolled off the bed and grabbed a pair of Joe’s boxers that were clean and in his pile of laundry before slipping them on and walking over to his nightstand.

“Baby get off the floor.” - you

“Hold on! I think I'm getting close!” - Joe

“Joe! Get up! It's the candle!” - you laughed

Joe suddenly stood up and looked at me with a confused look on his face.

“How is it the candle? It says vanilla?” - Joe

He walked over to me and I plugged my nose before blowing it out and moving it toward his nose.

Joe looked at me hesitantly before leaning down and smelling the freshly melted wax. He immediately jumped back and gagged at the terrible stench as I seemed t never stop laughing.

“God bless!” - Joe

“I pranked you pretty good huh babe?” - you

“That was not funny at all, and now our room smells terrible. Looks like there's no sex on the menu tonight.” - Joe pouted

The way he exaggeratedly pushed his bottom lip out in a frown had me grinning. I got on my tiptoes and repeatedly pecked his lips till his pout turned into a small smile.

“We can sleep on the couch and watch movies tonight.” - you smiled

I watched Joe’s smile fall back into a pout as he pressed his hips against my thigh, reminding me of his dilemma.

The unamused look on my face only made him more whiney as multiple “please y/n” fell from his lips.

“Here, how about we get in the shower and I suck you off at the end. Would that make you happy?” - you sighed

“No. I don't want pity head.” - Joe grumbled

“Boy please you know pity head doesn't exist in this relationship.” - you smirked

Joe’s frown once again turned into a smile as he took my hand and led us into the bathroom.

Once both of us stripped naked and got in the shower, Joe got his head before he pressed me against the shower and finally got what he'd been craving since the game ended.

After we cleaned each other off and hopped out of the shower, our bedroom had finally gone back to smelling like it normally does.

When Joe flopped on the bed he almost immediately knocked out.

“Tired?” - you kissed his forehead

Joe nodded and I kissed him one last time before cuddling up to him and falling asleep.

One thing you can take from our relationship is no matter what, get you a man that'll still rock your word less than 10 minutes after he thought you let out the worst-smelling fart known to man.

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Authors note: a random daydream turned into one of my fav fics ever. 💀

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut

433 notes · View notes

leclvrc · 1 year

Text

fraternizing with the enemy ♡ cl x reader

summary: annoying your dad has never been easier since you started dating charles

requested? yes/no

yn_wolff

liked by mercedesamgf1, charles_leclerc, susie_wolff and 321.292 others

yn_wolff the easiest way I've ever disappointed my dad <3

view all 5.291 comments

mercmaids THAT CAPTION 😭😭 toto is somewhere crying himself to sleep rn

goatmilton imagine stanning ferrari when merc is right there...

charles_leclerc ❤

mercedesamgf1 toto told us to tell you that he expects you in the garage 😯

yn_wolff tell him no ❤

mercedesamgf1 🙈🙈🙈

scuderiaferrari that's what we love to see 👊🏼

liked by yn_wolff, charles_leclerc

peargasly y/n has no fears 😭😭

yn_wolff added to their story

mercedesamgf1

liked by yn_wolff, susie_wolff, f1 and 499.192 others

mercedesamgf1 the boss showing tiny wolff around 🙌🏻🙌🏻

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goatmilton tiny wolff... I'M GONNA PASS AWAY

mercmaids look at toto beaming and lil jack 😭😭

yn_wolff rude how he never shows me around like that anymore...

mercedesamgf1 we think it could be because you insist on staying at the ferrari hospitality 🤔

susie_wolff your dad agrees

yn_wolff tell jack his big sis is coming for his spot 🏃‍♀️

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lh44 this is so cute I can't take it !!!!!

f1 showing the little guy around his kingdom 👊🏼

leclercupdates

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leclercupdates charles getting cozy with long-term girlfriend y/n wolff at a Christie's event a day after the race in COTA

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charlos LOOK AT THEM BEING CUTE ASF IN PUBLIC

peargasly I'm so single BYE

charleslechair god when is it my turn 😭

leclerc_ they're so cute and for what

goddessyn about to start joining other people's relationships fr I've had enough

lh44 me rn !!!!

yn_wolff added to their story

charlesleclerc

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charlesleclerc dinner for the in-laws 😁

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pierregasly don't lie... we know y/n cooked

yn_wolff pierre go offline challenge

charlesleclerc I didn't write that caption

yn_wolff shh I'm manifesting it !!!!

mercmaids IN-LAWS SHUT UP

peargasly when's the proposal WHEN IS IT

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lh44 she's waiting too 😭

charleslechair he can cook and drive and be cute and funny and--

mercmaids love him but no way that was edible if he cooked 🤣🤣

susie_wolff it was very good, Charles (even toto approved 😉)

charlesleclerc that is very good to hear 😅

yn_wolff he loves u, babe 😂 he's just being dramatic

#f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #**mine #**requests

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whorbidmore · 29 days

Text

okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy headcanons #babyfangs.txt #fangsfic #idk man im literally talking out my ass on all this 💀

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