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estesphantom · 11 days

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Ex-Husband John Price |

John Price headcanon

reader is she/her & works as a medic. John Price might be a little (insanely obsessed) love sick over his silly ex wife. He’s Joe Goldberg.

The two of you didn’t divorce because you fell out of love, or someone cheated, or any true “marital” problems many couples would divorce for. In fact, divorcing him killed you as it did him.

Being in the military is a job that is very demanding and although you knew of that when you married, you didn’t realize how much of an effect it had on the both of you. Though it was wrong, you felt like you could have more from a man that didn’t have a job that required more attention than your marriage did to him. John told you he understood your decision and respected you. He took weeks to sign the papers, though, with an excuse of being too busy.

The truth was that he let you divorce him because he knew you wouldn’t find a man that was better molded for you than he was. He was right. Of course he was.

“Mm, and how are you holding up, love?” he inquires while you fill up a pot of coffee in the break room. His eyes peered up at yours while you took a seat across from him on the couch. You two were making small talk and it had been only a few weeks after your divorce.

John let you keep the house, the dog, everything you would ask for. You felt guilty and pleaded with him to take something, anything he hadn’t already taken (which was only his clothes and documentations) but he refused. He wanted to prove he still respected and loved you after the divorce.

“Just fine. And you?” your delicate fingers rubbed your temples as you tried to free the stress from the first half of your shift. He stared at your badge which still had ‘DR. PRICE’ printed in bold black with a picture of your kind face above it.

“Good for you,” he smiles at you kindly, the same warm, handsome smile he’d given you a hundred times before and the first smile he’d given you when pronounced husband and wife. He didn’t answer the second part of your question.

Your attempts of finding a man that had enough time for you, or even any ounce of attraction towards you was rough. It seemed as if any man at work you would approach would dodge your attempts at flirting like the plague.

Men in the military were like starved lions; desperate, needy, and impulsive. You were a very attractive, young woman, which checked all of the boxes for the dogs working in the military. Hell, before you and the Captain became a thing, you had to bring pepper spray every day to make sure none of the men tried anything.

The absence of attention made you think. Then, you thought of your ex husband. The influence he has. His love that withstood signing the divorce papers and moving out of his home for your comfort and happiness.

You remembered the way he would make you promise you would never replace him. You remembered his vow to always look out for you and to never let anything become between you two. You remembered sleeping over at his apartment for the first time and finding a collection of your belongings that you thought went missing over the past few months. You remembered fiddling with the dusty mascara, the acrylic nail that had broken off during a date, the lipstick, the panties. You loved John because of how much he’d noticed of you and how much he loved you.

So, when your shifts were over and you were scrambling to find him, you felt mistaken for the divorce in the first place. Your feet stepped quickly as you called his name. His broad shoulders turned to face you and his facial expression immediately softened. Your heart slowed.

“Can you come home with me? There’s a- my air conditioning doesn’t really work anymore,” your face blushed up immediately as you came up with a dumb excuse on the spot. You wanted to slap yourself square in the face.

John chuckled. He was amused. He crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly to the side, staying quiet for a few seconds while contemplating his next move. He uncrossed his arms and grabbed his keys out of his pocket, using his free hand to pull your smaller hand into his. He saw right through you.

“Okay, love. It’ll cost you, though,” his thumb rubbed against yours as if it were always home for him. You hummed in response as he led you out of the base’s office to the car park where you would approach his car.

As you climbed into the car, you realized there truly wasn’t anyone out there who was meant for you the way John Price was.

His love wasn’t obsession, it was gratitude.

Right?

#john price #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x you #call of duty #modern warefare ii #modern warfare 3

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taylorswiftstyle · 3 months

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66th Annual Grammy Awards | Los Angeles, CA | February 4, 2024

Schiaparelli gown

In my eyes, a Schiaparelli look should be an uncontested slam dunk. So for this look to, in my opinion, not fly quite as high as befits the beautiful work of Daniel Roseberry is almost a greater disappointment than an average look on its own. To opt for a designer that is known for its surrealism and its beautifully eerie ethereal strangeness but to tamp it down to what I mistook as a Vivienne Westwood gown and strip it of any possible Schiaparelli beautiful weirdness feels like a huge missed opportunity. Especially when it could have really been magical and interesting and a fashion risk for Taylor.

But I also understand that she had a vision. And she molded the designer to fit her and that vision.

It’s a look that I feel falls on an Easter Egg’s sharpened sword. The draping akin to tangled bedsheets, the Victorian cameo-esque appearance of the watch choker from afar, the dramatic opera gloves, the corset back, and the black and white colour scheme feel pulled from (or inspired by) what we now know is the forthcoming album formerly known as ‘TS11’: Tortured Poets Department. And if Taylor’s admission that this project has been in the works for the last two years is anything to go by, it also throws into sharp relief the schoolgirl plaids, the dark academia loafers, and the shadowy colour palette her street style has often centered on in recent months.

There are so many beautiful elements to pull apart here that feel sacrificial in the name of early evocation of what could be a scholarly-sounding (or perhaps sapient-sounding) album based on the cover and intro language. The gown has a beautiful shape (the waist cinching!) and is a fascinating colour choice that could read suffragette or bride depending on who’s asked (and isn’t that in itself an intentional diametric “Lavender Haze” worth dissecting?). But the black accessories (presumably in service of Tortured Poets) overcooks it. I think a low bun, single strand of diamonds, and closed toe pumps could have gone a long way in styling (I’ll let the trendy gloves stay - in combination with the white gown they’re giving Princess Kate at the BAFTAs, no?).

The biggest point of all is that Taylor understands the connect between her music and her style (I should know - I spend 350+ pages talking about it in my upcoming book Taylor Swift Style: Fashion Through the Eras). She also understands the role her style plays in cementing moments in her career to milestones. This moment. This gown. It joins a trio of looks as her most memorable and significant: her AOTY wins. This look will forever be enshrined in slideshows depicting the new precedent she has set for any artist - male or female. And what a win it is for an album I love so much. Knowing that, it feels even more fascinating to me that she’d use this moment as a bridge to another project and not honouring the album in question.

Worn with: Lorraine Schwartz jewelry and Giuseppe Zanotti heels

Photos by Matt Winkelmeyer and Gilbert Flores via Getty Images

#taylor swift #award #dress #schiaparelli #february 2024 #grammys

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foldingfittedsheets · 3 months

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Come with me now on another story adventure.

Some types of hardship do start to feel like curses if they happen often enough. One thing I’ve experienced a lot- or at least enough to posit a curse- is my apartments flooding.

I’ve had flooding in three separate apartments I’ve lived in.

The place I lived with Betty flooded due to a massive rainstorm and poor placement on a downhill slope. Betty’s room was more effected than mine, but due to poor handling by the management it resulted in some rampant black mold and my eventual falling out with Betty as we broke the lease to escape.

My first flooding though. Happened when I lived in a third floor apartment. How, you might ask, is that possible?

Oh, Reader. Prepare yourself.

Now, I need to set the stage. Because you see, I shared this apartment with the last boy I’d ever date. For the purposes of this story let’s call him Connor. We’d known going into the relationship that I had a predilection for pussy but it finally clicked that I was just not attracted to men.

This was particularly devastating because I still loved that boy with all my heart but neither of us were getting what we needed out of the relationship. Suffice it to say, the atmosphere in the apartment in which he was sleeping on the couch was A BUMMER.

We were both sick, probably from stress, and had bad coughs. It was the night before midterms.

I was tucked up into bed, with little kitten Leeloo, ready to get to sleep. It was about 10pm. Connor knocked and poked his head into the room.

“It’s raining in the bathroom,” he said.

I got out of my comfy bed, and joined him in the bathroom. Raining was an exaggeration but there was definitely water dripping down the door jam and pooling up under the paint.

“That’s not good.”

We both stared at this problem together, sick and sad.

Finally, I suggested, “Go see if the upstairs neighbor left a faucet on. I’ll try to call maintenance.”

He left and I started making calls. At 10pm it was understandable that I was getting a lot of voicemails. Two maintenance lines deep, Connor returned.

“The people above us are getting drops too, and the place above that won’t respond.”

Four defunct numbers later, I finally got ahold of an emergency maintenance guy who was on call. “It’s raining in our bathroom.”

He was befuddled and said he’d be in soon.

That was about when it really actually started raining. Drips began pouring out of light fixtures. Terrified, we turned off the lights we could, setting out bowls and towels to mitigate water damage. Water dripped from several lights and started pooling ominously in the long flat kitchen light.

The maintenance man arrived around midnight. There was bowls and buckets littering the ground as Connor and I watched in abject misery as water filled them. The maintenance man was wildly out of his depth, having been left in sole charge while the entire rest of the staff was on vacation.

As we spoke to him, the water infiltrated our smoke alarm which began screaming in earnest at this wet invasion. The maintenance man promised to try to see what was causing the issue and fled. Connor and I regarded each other. We coughed, sick and exhausted, then went to empty the water buckets.

An hour passed. The smoke alarm persisted, it’s three shrill screeches pounded relentlessly into our ear drums. We stopped existing as individuals and became vessels of suffering. The paint in the bathroom started sloughing off the wall in wet ripples.

Connor tried to rouse the neighbor again and returned unsuccessful.

The maintenance man returned. It was 1am. He couldn’t get ahold of the apartment causing the flooding. He couldn’t get ahold of his bosses. After the update he made to leave and we begged him, please, just make the beeping stop, please. It can rain inside, and I can get no sleep the night before midterms, and I can cough miserably all night while I empty water bowls, but please, god, please, just make the beeping stop.

He promised to try and left. At some point around then, the flat kitchen light shattered under the pressure and gushed out a fall of water. Connor and I gave a bleak half hearted startle and tried to scrounge up more towels.

I started slipping into madness. The unceasing blaring beeps. The rain. The misery of being in this wretched situation with someone I used to be able to reach toward for comfort who I couldn’t anymore. This was hell, I decided. This circumstance fits into how they torture people, and I live here in this torturescape now. The maintenance man was never coming back.

The maintenance man came back with a ladder eventually.

Connor and I watched with blank hungry eyes as he fussed with the alarm and at 2am it finally ceased its shrieking klaxon of madness. I cried. The man left again. We emptied the bowls.

And finally, half an hour later, the rain began to abate. The maintenance man returned to inform us that he’d entered the upstairs unit.

Someone had become incapacitated and left their bath running. He was not at liberty to disclose what happened so presumably someone was sauced out of their gourd and fell into a deep stupor such that several hours of sustained door pounding couldn’t rouse them.

People all down the row flooded, and he looked near tears himself. We thanked him and went to collapse into bed. Neither of us took midterms the next day.

Connor and I are still friends to this day, even after a night fit to drive someone mad.

My last event of apartment flooding was a sewer main getting blocked. It was when my betrothed and I had just started dating and they were hanging out at my place while I was at work. Due to this good fortune, they were able to move my couch, entertainment system, and electronics out of the path of the flood.

It took a week and some extremely pointed emails to get the landlord to comp me rent for the week I couldn’t live there and the entire time I was just thankful I wasn’t stuck with water dripping from my lights while a fire alarm drove me to the brink of madness.

#ramblies #storytime #funny #funny story #writing #honestly just have some schadenfreude #cause it’s fucking funny now to look back on it #ffs foibles #curse #raining #flooding

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macfrog · 7 months

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soaked

started replaying tlou1. can't get qz joel out of my head. inspired by this work of art by the insanely talented @thefriendlypigeon !!!

summary: boston qz. the days are slow, the nights are long. joel wakes up alone with a problem that needs fixing. enter: his shower (literally)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) joel jacks off in the shower. that's p much it

word count: 1.5k

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His fist locks tight around it; gives one long, slow jerk. The sensitive skin moves with his fingers. His hips shift forward, body asking him for more – and he obliges. He glides through his curved hand, halting when his fingers reach the dark hair at his hilt, slowly soaking under the messy spray from overhead.

He hasn’t slept all night. Not a wink.

It isn’t anything new. He rarely sleeps anymore; prefers to let himself drift in and out, teetering against the edge of slumber and then pulling himself back again. Staying in this life, instead of being dragged into a past one. Stops the nightmares. Stops the memories.

Usually, he can let himself rest, though. Let his eyes close over, let his ears deafen to the sounds of the world around him. Heavy footsteps fade into a numb knocking on the walls, the steady heartbeat sound of the QZ. Roars and yells from the street below are the blood twisting violently through the veins of the place.

But tonight – fucking hell, tonight. Tonight, he lies and stares at the distorted rectangle of amber light on the wall opposite his bed. When he closes his eyes, it’s still there. He can still see the peels of torn wallpaper, the way the harsh glow from the streetlight outside licks at the faded pattern like a flame, dousing his apartment in some ugly shade of nauseating orange. Like he’s living inside a fucking pill bottle.

Tonight, he teeters nowhere. He looks up at the pale ceiling – rotten paint slowly succumbing to the claim of the brown stain of damp. He looks at the apartment door – considers how easy it would be to kick down, how little effort it’d take against the rusted lock and molded wood. And he looks out of the window – to the inky black sky canvasing a jungle of buildings and power lines, lit by the moonlight of watchtowers.

Eventually, morning comes. The first break of day replaces that harsh, dirty glow with something softer, fresher. He runs his palms down his face, digs the heels into his eye sockets until he sees stars. His fingers swipe through his beard. His lashes flutter open.

It can’t be later than six. The sun’s only just clawing herself over the horizon. Peering over the ledge of his window, shooting like a bullet through the bottle he left on the table last night, rays refracting all over his kitchen.

When he pulls the mottled white sheets from his body and shifts to the side of the bed, there’s a tightness between his legs. A stiffness. It beckons his chin lower, draws his puffy eyes to the swelling in his boxers. The outline of himself, rock solid through the worn cotton. He curses under his breath and pushes from the mattress, groaning at the ache of his back and the throb of his cock.

The water only runs warm when no one in the surrounding apartments is using it. His only neighbor spends every night on the streets – Joel doesn’t bother to question why. He would’ve heard, though, if the guy had already hammered back into his own apartment; if he’d slammed the door shut, hinges rattling; if he’d sank into squealing bed springs. Joel would know.

So he hauls the curtain back, cranks the metal knob in a white-knuckle fist. The shower coughs up some pathetic spatter of freezing cold water, soaking the ends of his graying hair; and then, right before he yanks if off again with a sigh of contempt, it surrenders a burst of stronger, warmer water.

He holds an open palm under it for a few seconds. Turns his hand over, lets the water break across his wide knuckles. He feels a strain beneath his underwear. He tugs the fabric down and steps beneath the stream.

His cock slaps against the trail of rough, dark hair dappling his groin as he moves. He growls as the water cascades down his chest, running over the curve of his stomach and teasing tiny, pattering kisses along the wide base.

He glances down at himself. Spits into the palm of his hand, then uses it to cup his heavy shaft, running the pad of his thumb up the vein pulling at the surface of his skin. He shivers when he reaches the head, red and raw and angry, and swipes at the precome beaded there. He drags it back down, spreading it gently around, the skin glistening with saliva and sweat and arousal.

The direct stream of water is broken by the arch of his shoulders, splashing against the nape of his neck. The droplets of water race down his spine, sinking between the valleys on his back where his body slopes and swells with muscle. As he tightens his grip with his right hand, his left jumps up, palm smacking heavily against the grimy tiled wall.

His head dips, eyes full with the sight of his cock fucking his hand. At fifty, living in a wasteland with little companions outside of those he nudges past in the hallway on his way to the ration line, he forgot how it felt to fucking do this. He feels like a damn teenager – all hormones and chasing. Chasing a high, chasing a release. He doesn’t even remember the last time he felt himself this hard in his own hand.

It feels fucking good. Feels sweet. He smirks, letting his eyes slowly close, and imagines it isn’t his own hand wrapped around himself. Imagines the gentler, nimbler grip of someone else. The touch of another person, the warmth. The intimate feel of them around him, giving him what he needs, listening to the sounds he lets fall from his lips, responding to them. Doing what he asks for. Doing what he begs for.

He thinks of the last woman he had wrapped around him. Her pussy – warm, wet, velvet soft – squeezing him until he came. He was careful then – pulled out in time to coat her belly and the inside of her thigh with his come.

Right now, in the shower, with his eyes closed and his fist beating furiously up and down his length – he doesn’t pull out. He fills her deep with his seed. Fucks her so good until she draws in around him, pulling the orgasm from his body, taking everything he gives her. Every last fucking drop.

His wrist jacks. He whimpers, breathless and weak. It’s drowned by the time it hits the flow of water. She’s such a good girl. Takin’ it so good. Lettin’ me fill her up so nice. Prettiest pussy I ever felt, sweetest sounds I ever heard.

He’s close. His hips start to falter. Belly sucks in, tightening around the coil he’s desperate to let snap. Harder, faster, tighter. His finger curls around the top of his shaft, squeezing with his thumb to tug just below his tip. Harder. Faster. Fuckin’ – tighter.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, and he realizes his entire body weight is being held up by his one hand, splayed out on the slippery wall in front of him. “Fuck, darlin’…”

His left hand drops to cup his balls, kneading slowly as his right focuses hard on nailing the arrow in the center of the target. The bullseye. He thrusts into his fist. His head falls back as it approaches. Mouth agape, filthy moans scratching from the bottom of his throat to the ceiling. The shower pours onto his chest, water trickles down his hairy torso. It’s following the rush, fleeing southward. Thundering through his body as his lungs start to freeze up, breath solidifies in his throat. His back begins to arch. Knees bend a little. And then –

His head snaps back down with a grunt to watch his release; thick, white ropes spurting from the tip of his cock and coating the tile, running down the wall towards the drain. The moans and curses which slip from his tongue follow at its heels, the water rushing them off to the shower floor and ushering them down the steel pipe. He groans, the noise reverberating against the shower walls, the echo of his own depraved sounds relaying in his ears only spurring him on more.

He's panting, hand slowing as he works his way through his climax. White heat floods over his body, crashing like tidal waves on his shoulders. His breath slowly returns, chest rising and falling again as his lungs restart, regain function. He feels dizzy. He feels shaky. His hand pulls up to the tile again, and his arm tenses as he leans forward, cock still dripping with come.

When he feels empty, satisfied, his hand stops. Holds his soft dick steady at the base, fingers gently massaging his balls. He’s still regaining composure, breath still finding a rhythm again. His entire body feels alive, thrumming and pulsating with energy and blood and the aftermath of his orgasm.

The water chokes in the shower head. The flow disappears, and then returns a second later, weaker and colder. The neighbor.

When he can feel his knees again, when his head feels like it’s back on his neck, body whole again – his weak fist twists the valve off.

----------

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller

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greynatomy · 5 months

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bigger than the whole sky

alessia russo x reader

based on this request.

been writing this for a while. my longest fic yet. i cried so much writing it.

thank you anon for the request, one of my favorites.

i also just reached 1k followers! thank you all for following and reading everything i’ve put out. i started writing for female celebrities then got into woso. i never knew people would read what i would put out, but i was wrong. i appreciate every single one of you who like, reblog, follow, or just read.

again, thank you! enjoy this angst!

———

In her twenty-four years on this earth, Alessia Russo can count every single event, party, or celebration she’s been to. Whether that be a birthday party, after party, or a simple get together. But the event she’s at right now is not something she ever saw herself attending for a very long time.

———

Walking to the field in her first day of practice at UNC. She didn’t know anyone and was a little shy, but you were the first person to introduce yourself to her.

During both of your time at UNC, you were inseparable. No one would see one of you without the other, so it was not shock at all when you got together a year after meeting.

~~~

“Hey! Alessia!” You get her attention, catching up to her.

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me tonight? Only if you’re up for it and aren’t busy.”

Alessia’s smile could not get any bigger.

“I would love to.” She kisses your cheek, walking away. “Text me the details.”

You stand frozen in your spot. You hand coming up to your face, fingers brushing where her lips touched.

A few hours later, you were standing outside of Alessia’s front door, flowers in hand. You go to raise your hand to knock, but it opens before you have a chance to.

“Woah.” You we’re speechless. Alessia was wearing a black dress, with a slit at the right leg and red bottom heels. You were in a simple black dress pants, white dress shirt with a couple buttons undone and dress shoes. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you.” She gives you her million dollar smile. “And you look very attractive.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yup. Let me just lock up.”

Opening the passenger door for her, she gets in, giving you a kiss on the cheek before you close it. You run to the driver side and get in. You put the car in drive and go on your way to your destination.

Alessia notices your fingers fiddling with the gear shift so she becomes very bold and grabs your hand to intertwine them, settling them in her lap.

The date went along perfectly. You talked about anything and everything, catching up on things that happened recently. Driving back home in a comfortable silence, smiles on both your faces.

You walk her to her front door, saying how you had a great time hoping to go on a second date and more after that, her agreeing. After a couple seconds of silence, you feel very confident and place your hands gently on her cheeks.

“May I?” You ask.

Alessia just nods, bringing her face closer to yours and closes the gap, lips molding together in a quick but passionate kiss. Pulling away she bites her bottom lip.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses your cheek, hurrying into her door.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” In a trance, you slowly walk back to your car with the biggest smile on your face, doing a happy dance not aware that Alessia was watching you through the window, laughing.

———

Walking around the living room, she can’t help but tear up. All the memories you made coming back to her. All that you accomplished together. She was glad to be able to play with you and start on your professional football careers together on the same team for Manchester United.

~~~

“I thought lesbians were supposed to be good at building and stuff.”

You and Alessia are in the process of moving into your new apartment in Manchester after being signed by United together.

“That’s very stereotypical of you Less.”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugs, biting back a smile.

“Would you like to help me then?”

“Nah. I think you’ve got it all figured out.”

~~~

“You’ll do great.”

“Same with you.”

~~~

“Making their debut today, Y/N Y/LN and Alessia Russo, an unstoppable duo from the University of North Carolina, subs into the game.”

~~~

“Another goal for Alessia Russo from the assist from Y/N Y/LN. The duo showing us exactly what they’re made of!”

~~~

Years later, you’ve both just signed a deal with Arsenal. The club not wanting to separate the dynamic duo the two of you became known for.

———

She makes it up to your shared bedroom, not having been since that day, opting to sleep in the guest room. Taking a deep breath, she twists the door knob, opening the door.

Everything was how it was left two weeks ago. Nothing being changed. Eyes scan the room, landing on your bedside table. A picture sat on top, one of Alessia’s favorites. Hands trembling, she delicately picks it up, thumb running over your face.

———

Walking along the water, footprints remain behind them on the sand. Hands intertwined, occasionally swinging between the two.

“You ready for tomorrow?” You ask softly, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere.

“Nervous, but it’s the world cup final.”

“That’s to be expected then.”

“Come here. I wanna take a picture.”

Holding her arm out, phone in hand, you place your head next to hers into frame. She turns her head, placing a kiss on your cheek.

Later that night, she goes through the photos as you slept. Seeing as they were live photos, she watches them. She didn’t notice at the time, but after kissing your cheek, you look at her with the look all her friends told her about.

Like she hung all the stars in the sky.

———

Alessia felt numb. All of the emotions she could feel are bottled up inside her. She thought of the last moment she spent with you, still not able to wrap her head around it all.

———

You and Alessia make you way to the garage. You open the driver side door for her, letting her get in. You close the door, she rolls the window down. You lean down, resting your arms on the door, head sticking in the car.

“Now, you be careful getting to training. It’s our first one with the team.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you soon.”

She leans up giving you a kiss. When she pulls away, you hold the back of her head to pull her back in, kissing her a bit longer.

“Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you more. See you in a bit.”

She watched you put your helmet on, swinging a leg over your motorcycle, driving off, giving her a little wave.

Alessia arrives to training first, waiting for you at the car park. When you didn’t arrive in a couple minutes, she went ahead inside.

“Hey! Where’s your missus?”

———

The door opening snaps Alessia out of her trance. Looking up, she sees her parents and your mom. She wipes her tears hastily, sniffling a bit.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mum.”

The three parents look at each other, not knowing how to start. Alessia’s dad eventually sit next to her daughter on the bed.

“We need to tell you something.”

———

You knock on the front door, it quickly opening to reveal Alessia’s mom, Carol.

“Y/N! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hi, Carol.” You greet, returning her embrace. “Is Mario home? I need to talk to the both of you.”

She leads you through the house to where her husband was sitting on the couch.

“Hey, kid.”

“Sup, pops.”

“Y/N said she needs to talk to us.”

“Oh? What about?”

Taking a seat in between the married couple, you reach into your pants pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. You hear a gasp that came from Carol.

“Oh, honey.”

“I-I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready, been ready, to take the next step into my relationship with your daughter. Alessia is… she’s the love of my life and I hope you’d give me your blessing to do so.”

A strong hand finds itself on your shoulder, pulling you close.

“Kid. You’ve had our blessing since the day we met you.”

“There’s no one better for our Alessia than you.”

———

Your mom holds out her hand, a small velvet box sitting it it.

“She told me to hold onto it.”

Alessia let out a quiet sob, sliding off the bed, kneeling over onto the floor. Her mom follows, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“She loved you so much.”

———

“Is this Alessia Russo?”

Alessia got a call minutes after walking into the locker room. An unknown number.

“This is she.”

“You are the emergency contact for Y/N Y/LN. How fast can you get to London Medical?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Alessia’s heart is racing, the unknowing of why she would be called as your emergency contact. She packs her things as quickly as possible, hands shaking.

“Woah. Where are you going? You just got here.” Katie questioned, seeing her stuffing her training bag.

“Uh, Y-Y/LN hos-hospital.” She stutters.

Katie realized how serious the situation is, grabbing her things for her.

“C’mon. I’ll drive. Which hospital?”

“Lon-London Med-Medical.”

“Okay. Get in the car.”

The two run towards Alessia’s car, giving her keys to Katie. After a twenty minute drive, they get to the hospital. Running to the emergency room, she goes straight to the nurse’s area.

“Y/N Y/LN. My-my girlfriend. I got a call.”

“Alessia Russo?” She nods. “I’m Kerry. I called you. If you can sit in the waiting room, I’ll have a doctor come out and talk to you.”

Not even a minute later, a man dressed in scrubs walk up to the two footballers.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Hill. This is Officer Randall. You’re here for Y/N YLN?”

“Yeah. What happened.”

“We got a call for a crash. Witnesses say it was head on. Driver was drunk and is in our custody.” The officer answers.

“What about my girlfriend? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s in surgery right now, we’re trying to repair her broken leg, ribs, arm, but what we’re most worried about is her head. She was wearing a helmet, which is good, but with how the driver hit her, we’re unsure how she’d heal. We’ll let you know more when we’re done. Now if you’d excuse me.” With that, the doctor heads back through the double doors.

———

“Earlier this month, Arsenal signed women football’s dynamic duo, Alessia Russo and Y/N Y/LN. We’ve seen what they’ve done at the University of North Carolina, Manchester United and we’ve been excited to see what they could bring here at Emirates Stadium.

Two weeks ago, Y/LN was struck by a drunk driver and unfortunately passed away. Let’s all take a moment of silence.”

Alessia is trying hard not to break down in front of everyone. She’s done that plenty enough.

“To the families of Y/N, we are with you. Alessia Russo, we stand by you. Y/N Y/LN. You are loved. You are missed. Rest easy.”

———

It’s been four days since the accident. There’s been no change in your overall health and brain activity. Doctors have told Alessia that there’s a low chance of you ever waking up.

“Ms. Russo.” Doctor Hill knocks on the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve gone through her file and you make all of Y/N’s medical decisions now. When we need to do something, you’re the one to make the decision.”

“What about her mom? I thought that only if you’re married, you’re the next in line or something?”

“She listed you as her power of attorney. She trusts that you make the choice for her. Ones that she can’t.”

“What do I do now? Is there still a chance for her?”

The look on the doctor’s face says otherwise.

~~~

After talking to your mom, her parents, she’s now back in your hospital room. She never thought she’d see you like this, lifeless on a bed, wrapped in bandages, wires poking and prodding all over.

“Hey, baby.” She sniffles. “Um. It’s been a few days since you’ve been here. Uh, it’s really all up to you now.” She grabs your hand, mindful of the wires and needles. “If-uh-if you feel like you can’t go on, I pro-I promise you that I’ll be fine. I can look after your mum.”

Alessia gets up from her seat, walking to the corner, bottom lip trembling, holding in a cry. Holding herself together, she goes back to where you lay.

“I don’t want you to fight for me anymore, to-to suffer and longer. If…if you need to let go, you can. Just know that I love you. As much as I want you to wake up, and see what we could’ve been, what should’ve been, I-I let you go.”

She watches your chest rise up and down, the movement slowing down. The beeping from the monitor slows, ending in a long beep. Flatline.

You were gone.

Nurses rush into the room to try and revive you, but Alessia waves them off, not wanting you to go through anymore difficulty. She let you pass peacefully.

———

“A hat trick for Alessia Russo on her Arsenal debut! What a player!”

Alessia couldn’t hold it in anymore. She collapses onto the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her teammates surround her, Lotte gets to her first, embracing her in a tight hug. Lotte had become your best friend at UNC, so it was difficult for her too.

With Arsenal winning the game, Lotte and Alessia were asked to do a postgame interview.

“We’re now here with Alessia Russo and Lotte Wubben-Moy. What an amazing performance from the both of you. Alessia a hat trick and Lotte who assisted them all. What was going through your head?”

“Uh, well, it’s the first game of the season and there was supposed to be one more here from the UNC squad, but unfortunately she isn’t. I played for her. Y/N is-was my best friend.”

“Alessia?”

“Uh, yeah. We all started our football journey together back at UNC and supposed to be back together again, the three of us, so I just played for her. She always believed in me and was by my side, following to all the way to Manchester and now to London. So I-uh-the whole team really just played for Y/N.”

———

Walking down the path, flowers in hand, Alessia stops in front of headstone. She takes the old flowers out of the built in pot and replaces them with the new.

She takes a blanket out of her bag and lays it out in front, sitting on it. She reads the stone, for what felt like a hundred times.

Y/N Y/LN

Daughter • Footballer • Wife

you are bigger than the whole sky

Even though the two of you never got married, your mom and Alessia decided to call you a ‘wife’. It just wasn’t official on paper and it would’ve happened anyway. She now wears the ring you never got to give her on a chain hung around her neck, to keep you close to her heart.

“Hey, baby. Uh, played my first game as a Gunner. Scored a hat trick just for you. Pretty sure you were watching down on me, helping me get those goals in.” She wipes a fallen tear. “Wished you would’ve been down at the pitch with me, but, uh, yeah. I don't know what else to say. You’re usually saying something back. I’ll see you again soon.” She kisses her fingers and placing them overtop of your name. “Ti amo amore mio.”

At twenty-four, she didn’t think she’d have to say goodbye, but here she was, walking out of the cemetery, leaving you behind.

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