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holyblonded · 1 month ago

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rearrange my world | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: your whole world changes with one tiny person

notes: the one yall have been waiting for. also subtle name reveal for estrella 🙏🏾🙏🏾

The whistle blew and the stadium erupted. The final score flashed across the screen 6-0. Barça. Your name was still echoing around the stands from that absolute screamer you’d buried top corner in the 89th minute. Your teammates had tackled you to the ground in celebration, Jana had kissed your forehead, and Lucy had deadlifted you like a sack of potatoes.

After the chaos settled, you started doing your usual post-game rounds— signing shirts, posing for photos, throwing your sweat-drenched jersey into a sea of eager hands. You even took a baby for a selfie. Not with a baby. For a baby. The parents said she was a big fan. You didn’t ask questions.

Eventually, you made your way toward the stands where you knew they’d be, your people. Soleil was perched on the edge of her seat like she always was, practically vibrating with excitement. Olga was standing next to her, a hand on her baby bump and an oversized Barça hoodie draped over her shoulders. But there was already someone there, Alexia. Of course. She always managed to beat you when it came to Olga radar.

You jogged over, climbing the little divider with unnecessary flair, nearly tripping over your own feet. “Hey, move! It’s my moment!” you shouted as you flopped dramatically next to them.

Alexia rolled her eyes but smiled. “You scored one goal. Relax.”

“It was a screamer!” you huffed, looking to Soleil for backup.

“She screamed,” Soleil nodded solemnly. “But I think it was more about the knee slide into the cameraman.”

“Semantics,” you muttered, before turning to Olga. “Did you see it?”

Olga was mid-nod when she suddenly froze and hissed. Her hands flew to her stomach. You, Soleil, and Alexia all stopped speaking.

Olga’s face twisted. “Ah—wait—ah—ow—that’s not normal.”

You and Alexia instantly panicked in the most coordinated, unhelpful way possible.

“She’s going into labor!” you shrieked.

“She’s going into labor,” Alexia repeated, eyes wide.

“Call someone!” you both shouted at the same time, looking at each other like idiots.

“I’m someone!” Soleil said, already on her feet, completely calm. She helped Olga sit down on the nearest bench and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the hospital.”

You were pacing in a circle, muttering things like “the baby is coming,” “I’m not ready to be a sister,” and “I don’t even have snacks packed.”

Alexia was frantically googling “What to do if your girlfriend gives birth in Camp Nou,” while also holding Olga’s hand and whispering “Breathe. Just breathe. Do people still breathe during this? Is that outdated?”

Meanwhile, Soleil had already flagged down security, arranged for the car to be brought around, and was now gently guiding Olga to the exit while both you and Alexia followed like panicked ducklings.

“I’M DRIVING,” you declared, keys in hand.

“You are absolutely not,” Soleil said, snatching them. “You don’t even know where the hospital is.”

“I know the vibe,” you argued.

“You once ended up in Andorra because you followed ‘the vibe,’” Alexia added.

The ride to the hospital was chaos. Olga was groaning dramatically, but still very much coherent.

“If either of you say push one more time, I will push you out of the car,” she warned.

You and Alexia sat in the back, both holding her hands, trying to out-comfort each other.

“Your breathing is perfect, amor,” Alexia whispered.

“Your aura is glowing, Mami,” you added, slightly louder.

Soleil drove like a saint, nodding along to Olga’s directions and occasionally muttering “we are literally the worst emergency support system in history.”

When you finally got to the hospital, the nurses rushed to take Olga in while you dramatically told the front desk that “a miracle is happening and it’s in that belly!”

Alexia followed closely, still googling things out loud. “It says here labor can last forty hours. Do you have snacks? Should I Uber snacks? Should we boil water? That’s a thing, right?”

Soleil rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might stick. “She’s not even in active labor. You two are embarrassing.”

After some monitoring and very unimpressed nurses, a doctor finally came out and said, “It’s just Braxton Hicks. False labor. You can take her home.”

There was a long pause.

You and Alexia blinked. “Braxton who?”

“Braxton Hicks,” the doctor repeated.

“That sounds like a Chelsea midfielder,” you whispered.

“It sounds made up,” Alexia said, crossing her arms.

But there was Olga, sitting on the hospital bed with a blanket wrapped around her and the most exhausted smile. “I’m fine. It was a false alarm.”

Soleil turned to you both. “Would you like to apologize now or in the car?”

You and Alexia looked at each other and said in perfect unison, “We panicked.”

Olga just shook her head, chuckling softly. “You two are lucky you’re cute.” Then she grabbed Soleil’s hand. “She’s the only one who didn’t add to my contractions.”

As you all left the hospital, Alexia put an arm around your shoulders. “We should probably take a birth class.”

“Can I bring snacks?” you asked.

“No,” Soleil muttered.

“Braxton Hicks,” you repeated quietly to yourself, like you still didn’t believe it.

“Sounds fake,” Alexia mumbled.

Olga just groaned. “You two are so not being in the delivery room.”

It started at breakfast, Olga winced slightly as she shifted in her seat, one hand settling on her belly.

You froze, mid-bite of your toast. “Mami…?”

Alexia, pouring tea, turned around instantly. “Are you okay?”

Olga let out a soft laugh. “Relax, it’s just Braxton Hicks again. False alarm.”

You and Alexia looked at each other like the world was ending. Alexia put down the kettle with a clatter. “That’s what you said last time and then you couldn’t stand for ten minutes.”

You stood up, already reaching for your phone. “Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” Olga reached for your hand to keep you from spiraling. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

At the grocery store, it happened again.

You were helping her pick out snacks when she leaned forward against the cart and winced.

You gasped so loud the man in the next aisle turned his head. “Oh my god, is it time?”

Alexia, holding a bag of rice, dropped it. “Wait, did your water break? Should I call the doctor?!”

Olga rolled her eyes. “No! Just another one.”

You started Googling. “But what if it’s like… one of those stealth births?! Where the baby just like, pfft, slips out?!”

Alexia looked visibly pale. Olga just waddled away slowly, mumbling something about letting her finish her damn shopping.

After a routine appointment, you were all sitting in the car when she grabbed the side of her seat.

You screamed. “She’s in labor!”

Alexia dropped her keys. “I’ll drive! I’ll— Wait. Should I call Alba? Do we need reinforcements?!”

Olga groaned. “Stop yelling!”

You climbed halfway into the front seat. “Is she crowning?! I can’t see!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, ESTRELLA.”

At bedtime, she was brushing her teeth when she hunched forward again.

You tripped over the laundry basket rushing to her. Alexia dropped her phone and fell off the bed in a panic.

Olga sighed, her face still calm. “It’s. Just. Braxton. Hicks.”

You and Alexia were shaking like leaves the rest of the night.

Finally, finally, it was a quiet afternoon. You, Soleil, and Olga were piled together on the living room couch, half-buried under blankets, watching the kind of cheesy, over-the-top romantic comedy you always pretended to hate but secretly loved. Soleil’s head was on your shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing slow shapes on the back of your hand. Olga was curled against a cushion with one arm draped across her belly, her swollen stomach rising and falling as she chuckled at something on screen.

Everything was soft. Safe. Still.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” Olga said suddenly, shifting upright with a grunt.

You immediately sat up too. “No, no, I’ll get it for you!”

She shook her head with that little smile that always meant no use arguing. “I need to move, mami. You and Alexia have me bubble-wrapped. Sound familiar?”

You pouted dramatically. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Hmm.” She smirked as she waddled off toward the kitchen. “Wonder where I got that one from.”

You watched her go, then turned to Soleil with a playful nudge. “She’s gonna regret saying that when she realizes she can’t even reach the top shelf.”

But just a couple minutes later, a sharp gasp echoed from the kitchen. Then came Olga’s voice. Breathless. “Uhm… my water just broke.”

You froze. Soleil stood up slowly, calm already settling over her like a blanket. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. Estrella—grab the bag and start the car.”

You were already gone. Vaulted over the coffee table. Nearly ripped the front door off its hinges. You yanked the hospital bag from where it had been waiting by the entrance for weeks and sprinted outside.

Then you stopped dead. “THE KEYS!” you screamed into the void, whirling around like they’d magically appear in the driveway.

You thundered back inside, socked feet skidding across the tile. “WHERE ARE THE KEYS?”

“Estrella!” Olga groaned, half-laughing, half-dying. “Just get me to the car!”

Between frantic scrambling and Soleil keeping her steady, you finally got her down the steps and into the backseat. Soleil climbed in beside her, already dialing Alexia while murmuring soft instructions, “Keep breathing, that’s it, lean back, I’ve got you.”

You drove like an absolute menace. Ran a red light. Cut across a roundabout. Screamed at a Vespa. Soleil didn’t even flinch. She was in the back with Olga, voice gentle, fingers rubbing soothing circles on her arm while she gave Alexia a quick rundown of the situation.

By the time you screeched into the hospital’s emergency drop-off zone, Alexia was already there— hair still damp from the gym, shoes half on, worry written all over her face.

But things moved fast. Too fast. The doctors didn’t like what they were hearing from the monitors. The baby’s heartbeat was irregular. They said they had to assist with the delivery. It was go-time. You watched with bated breath as Alexia clutched Olga’s hand as she was wheeled away.

You were left behind. You and Soleil. Just sitting there in the sterile, humming quiet of the waiting room.

You couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe. You paced back and forth, chewing at your nails, bouncing your leg, running your fingers through your hair until it was sticking up in every direction. Soleil tried everything— held your hands, made you sit, tried breathing exercises, even offered to braid your hair to calm you, but nothing worked.

You were too afraid. Not just for the baby. But for Olga. Your mother. You couldn’t lose her.

Eli showed up first. She didn’t say anything. Just wrapped you in a massive, grounding hug and didn’t let go until your hands stopped shaking.

Then came Alba.

Alba, who took one look at your wrecked state, grabbed your shoulders, and pushed you down into a seat with a pointed stare.

“She’s going to be okay,” Alba said firmly. “You love her, right?” You nodded fast.

“Then trust her and the doctors. Olga is strong, you know this.”

That made something shift in you. Just a little. Just enough to take a breath. Just enough to sit still. And then, finally, Alexia came out.

“She’s okay,” she said, voice thick, tears glistening in her eyes. “The baby’s okay. Olga’s okay.” You nearly collapsed right there.

“She wants you,” Alexia added gently. “She’s asking for you.”

You ran. Through the doors, past the nurses, straight to the room. You didn’t go to the baby first. You couldn’t. You needed to see her.

You rushed to Olga’s side, cupping her face in your hands. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay,” you whispered over and over.

She nodded with tears in her eyes, her hand finding yours and squeezing tightly. “We’re okay, bebita. We’re okay.”

Only then did you turn. And there she was.

The tiniest thing you’d ever seen. Swaddled in soft pink blankets, wriggling gently in her bassinet. Her skin was flushed, her eyes blinking slow and curious. A head full of dark hair. Little fists that already looked ready to throw hands.

You stepped forward, breath caught in your throat.

“Can I—?”

Olga smiled. “Go on. Hold her.”

You picked her up like she was made of glass. And the moment she settled into your arms, your entire body broke open. Tears welled up instantly, your shoulders shaking.

“She’s so perfect,” you whispered.

Olga’s voice was soft, but sure. “Do you want to know her name?”

You looked at her, blinking through tears. Alexia smiled gently. “Valerie Celestina Putellas.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your legs gave out, and you sat in the chair next to Olga’s bed, clutching your baby sister like she was everything.

“You named her after me?” your voice cracked.

“Of course,” Olga said, her hand stroking your back. “So she always has a piece of her big sister with her. So even when you’re out in the world doing your thing, she’ll still have you close.”

You sobbed. Couldn’t stop. Could barely speak through the tears.

After everything. After the abandonments. After sleeping on couches. After courtrooms and broken promises and crying yourself to sleep wondering if anyone was ever going to want you. Now you had a family. And you had her. Valerie Celestina.

Forever.

#woso community #woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #⋆｡˚ stargirl

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

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"𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐃𝐍𝐀, 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲"

you had spent ten months avoiding ex bf! sae itoshi, ignoring his name on sports headlines and skipping press conferences where he might be. but now, as you stood on the sidelines of the biggest match of the year, there was no avoiding him. especially not after that goal.

it had been a perfect strike, the kind that would be replayed for years. ex bf! sae itoshi ran a hand through his hair in celebration, sweat-slicked under the stadium lights. he was swarmed by teammates, but his eyes cut through the chaos.

and found you.

sports journalist! reader, one of the best in the industry, but if we’re speaking more than that, the love of his life that he regrets ever letting go of.

ten months ago, he was at a turning point in his career, as one of the biggest football clubs in the world, re al (real madrid), wanted to sign him. the deal meant leaving the country, a brutal training schedule, and an insane media spotlight.

he knew what that kind of pressure could do to a relationship. he’d seen it with other players – long-distance, constant scrutiny, fights over missed calls, and conflicting schedules. you had just landed your dream job in sports journalism. he didn’t want you to dim your own success just to chase him around the world.

so, in the only way he knew how, he let you go.

he told himself it was for your sake, that you deserved stability, not a boyfriend who was constantly on planes or stuck in training camps. he didn’t give you a choice. he ended it before the two of you had the chance to fall apart.

and he never told you the real reason.

for you, it came out of nowhere.

one minute, you were planning a future together. the next, he was pulling away, telling you “it just wouldn’t work.” that he didn’t “have time for a relationship.” that you’d both be “better off this way.”

you didn’t beg. you didn’t chase.

you walked away with your dignity intact, but you won’t lie, it wrecked you. because you never stopped loving him. and the worst part? you had to keep covering his career. watching from the sidelines as he became a global superstar.

now in the present, he casually stood in front of you, looking like sin itself. “didn’t think you’d show up,” he drawled. his voice was as lazy as ever, like he hadn’t just scored the most jaw-dropping goal in club football.

you level him with a look, gripping the notebook in your hand a little tighter. “i’m working, itoshi. try to act like this isn’t personal.”

his lips curled at the edges, the smirk so familiar it made your chest ache. he would always do that when he tried not to laugh, especially when you called him by his last name. “it’s not personal? you sure about that?”

gosh, he was impossible. effortlessly cocky. stupidly attractive.

you exhale sharply. “how does it feel, scoring the winning goal in the biggest match of your career?”

ex bf! sae itoshi tips his head, like he actually had to think about it. “mmm. feels good, i guess.”

you nearly scoff. “you guess?”

“yeah.” he looked straight at you, voice maddeningly casual. “would’ve felt better if you were waiting for me at the end of it.”

your stomach flips.

you tried your best to keep your expression neutral, but him? he saw right through you. he always did.

“that’s not my job anymore,” you say, proud of how steady your voice remained. “you don’t get to say things like that anymore.”

ex bf! sae itoshi just hummed, unconcerned. “yeah?”

“you left, sae.”

his expression darkens. “and you let me.”

silence.

the past wrapped around the two of you, thick and suffocating. your love had always been like this: high risk, high reward. but in the end, no one had won.

“say the word,” he murmured, voice rough. “and i’ll fix it.”

your pulse hammered. “it’s not that simple.”

his fingers brush your wrist, the lightest touch, but it sent a wildfire through your veins.

“it is,” he said, his voice low, steady. “i still want you. and i don’t think you’ve stopped wanting me either.”

damn him. damn how right he was. it wasn’t fair. the way he could stand there, completely at ease, while you felt like your entire world was tilting.

the crowd cheered, the cameras rolled, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. and all you could see was the way your ex-boyfriend looked at you… like this game wasn’t over.

like he was ready for extra time.

“why do you look like you wanna kiss me right now?”

your jaw clenched. “you’re delusional.”

his grin deepened, all lazy arrogance. “nah. just good at reading the game.”

you should have walked away. you should have kept this professional. but instead, you made the mistake of looking at his lips.

ex bf! sae itoshi saw. and like the menace he was, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping low. “still the same, aren’t we, princesa?” his fingers ghosted near your wrist, not touching, but close enough that you felt the heat of him. “still pretending we don’t want this.”

your heart slammed against your ribs and you swallowed. “what do you want, sae?”

his voice softened, just barely. “you.”

simple. unbothered. like he had all the time in the world. like he already knew he had you.

and the worst part?

he was right.

a/n: yes, the title was based off of a lyric from “fallen star” by the neighbourhood gosh i LOVE that song

#sae can kidnap me and run me over like a truck #sae could look at me in disgust and i'd still be happy bc he acknowledged my existence #i love sae #sae supremacy #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #ah yes exes to lovers #my favorite trope #exes to lovers #you're in my DNA i can't get away

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enwoso · 5 days ago

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lovin' red | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

there is still a part four to come from weight of world but i wanted to put this little one out before it wasn’t relevant anymore:)

grumpy masterlist

the emirates was a wall of noise. the crowd was still roaring, still chanting, still very much in love with the the team, as even after a bit of a ropey season and amongst the doubt they'd finished second in the league - cementing that with a win over manchester united.

golden boot under her arm, alessia strolled with leah, her girlfriend and teammate, hands brushing. but their attention was on a small blur sprinting ahead of them.

"Y/N mind the cameras!" leah called out with a laugh. there being many reporters and media staff all with cameras you not having the best sense of direction (something you definitely got from your mum)

but you weren't listening — you had locked eyes on your target. "AUNTIE ELLA!" you yelled, a wide grin on your face.

ella turning around a second too late as she was tackled by the flying bundle of your blonde curls and arsenal red. the manchester player staggering a bit but caught herself in time, lifting you up in a spin. "there's my favorite little russo," ella grinned.

you wrapped your arms around her neck like a koala. "you came!"

"of course i did," ella laughed slightly as she held you in her arms. "wouldn't of missed it. even if your mummy did thump us."

you blinked, playing with the collar of the blue away shirt that ella was wearing before a tiny gasp came from your lips. "did you see mummy got the shiny boot."

"i did see! a big golden shoe. it's very fancy."

"i helped," you said so proudly and matter of the factly. "i told her to score more goals and also did the lucky dances."

"oh! the lucky dances, of course," ella said, nodding gravely having seen a few from videos and england camps. "those are world famous by now."

"they are," you confirmed not really understand what the word famous meant, before narrowing your eyes slightly. "you sad you didn't win?"

ella shrugged, lips tugging up. "a little bit, but that's football innit. but i'm also proud of your mummy. and proud of you. you've been the real booster this season.”

and just then, alessia jogged up behind them, flushed from the walk, still riding the adrenaline. "thought you two might be together. you trying to kidnap my daughter again?"

"hey, little russo here is just spending time with her favourite auntie ella!" ella said innocently with a wide grin, still holding you.

"good job your her only auntie ella then," alessia teased, stepping closer. then there was a pause. something warmer passed between the two former teammates.

"you were class today, less," ella said, sincere now. "golden boot... you've made it look easy all season long."

alessia's smile softened. "thanks, tooney. never easy though you know that. but it meant a lot."

they bumped shoulders lightly, not needing much more than that — a shared history tucked into one glance. they'd always be the bestest of friends. for life.

"right," ella said, kissing your cheek. "go on, your mummy's got a stadium to conquer and i've got a shower callin' my name!"

you reached for alessia not before giving your auntie ella one last hug and getting scooped back into your mummy's arms as the two of you wandered down the pitch.

ahead, you spotted renee talking with a few teammates near the center circle. your eyes lighting up again. "mummy! quick. put me down!" you squirmed.

"you're gonna give someone whiplash," alessia muttered, but she obliged. lifting you down and before she even had a moment to blink you were darting across the grass and straight into renee.

"THANK YOU!" you shouted, throwing your arms around her.

renee staggered. "whoa—hey tiny! uh—thank you?" before the dutch coach knelt down, a little thrown. "but what for?"

you looked up seriously as if the answer was obvious. "for being cool."

renee blinked slightly confused. "i—well... thanks. i guess?"

you nodded, matter-of-fact. "you always give me fist bumps and you always say hi and you don't tell me off for running too fast."

"right," renee laughed, ruffling your hair a little. "well, you're welcome,, for all of that." behind the two of you, the arsenal girls had stopped to watch, arms crossed, grinning.

"think tiny is more popular than us at this point," caitlin whispered, a wide smile on her face as they continued to walk.

beth grinned. "oh for sure, she’s definitely got better pr."

you waved at the group like she was on a float, then spotted someone else and took off again. "CHLOE! LOLO!”

chloe turned, instantly catching on after a few more yells from you. "let me guess. another hug?”

"yes and no," you said, stopping dramatically in front of the chloe, scott chloe’s boyfriend standing nearby. "you have to stay lolo."

"stay?" chloe blinked a small chuckle from scott coming from behind. "with arsenal?"

"yes," you said, arms crossed as if you were able to control chloe’s future at the club. "i told mummy that you’re not allowed to leave."

chloe crouched down to your level, amused. "did you now?"

"i did," you replied you bottom lip wobbling slightly. "c-cause if you leave, who's gonna dance with me?"

beth snorted behind them along with a few others watching on. "she’s got your number, chloe."

chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. "that is a very strong argument."

"very very strong," you nodded. "you do the spin lifts. no one else does the spin lifts."

"true," chloe admitted. "but sometimes football changes. transfers, contracts..." you looked up at the blonde very unimpressed and slightly confused by the big words.

chloe sighed, not wanting to put a dampener on the already great day. "okay, okay. if i go, i promise i’ll fly back every weekend just to dance."

"you better." you paused, then offered her hand. "we do one now?"

chloe took it with a wink. "thought you'd never ask kiddo."

as the crowd roared and the players laughed, you and chloe spun in the middle of the emirates — like it was a stage built just for them.

a little off to the side, alessia and leah sat watching, arms around each other, boots laying next to them as they’d walked around in just socks along the turf which had carried them through the highs and heartbreaks of the season.

"look at her," alessia murmured, eyes soft as she watched you twirl with wild, fearless joy.

"she’s stolen the whole show," leah said, squeezing alessia’s waist.

"she’s picking up your attitude," alessia said, nudging leah slightly as she smirked. “and your cheek." the two of them bursting into laughter, leaning into each other, heads touching lightly.

"you’ve done it, less," leah whispered after a moment, voice quieter now. "golden boot. the perfect season. you’ve gave her something to remember forever."

alessia looked down at the trophy in her hands, then back at you, spinning and beaming under stadium lights. before she turned toward leah, eyes glowing. "so did you," alessia said. "we did it together."

leah kissed her then — soft and sure, in front of their team, their fans, and the daughter who made the whole world feel like home.

as the music faded into the hum of the crowd, you came running back over, breathless, cheeks flushed pink with joy.

"mummy! mama!" you shouted, barreling into both of them with a big squeal.

leah crouched first, scooping her up as alessia wrapped her arms around both you and leah. "you were having fun out there" alessia said, brushing your hair back from your slightly sweaty forehead.

"i know," you grinned, chest puffed out. "lolo says i’m a natural."

leah smirked. "we might have to get you an agent."

you wiggled between them, arms tight around their necks. "you both won today."

alessia blinked. "what do you mean?"

you pulled back slightly, looking serious. "you won your trophy, and mama won 'cause she's bossy. but i won 'cause i’ve got you two."

alessia melted instantly a pout forming on her lips as she could feel the tears building up in her eyes. leah went completely still for a beat — then tugged you in tighter.

"alright," leah whispered. "you’re definitely staying up late now."

"hot chocolate?" you asked, a cheeky smile on your face. "with marshmallows," alessia added.

"and a movie."

"deal."

the three of you sat there a moment longer — tangled together in the heart of the pitch, framed by confetti and floodlights and the fading hum of celebration.

three hearts, one family.

and as you looked up at the two women who were your whole world, you didn't care about trophies or titles.

you already had everything you’d ever need.

and under the hot sun of the emirates, with laughter in the air and trophies in hands, you all stood — family, and something even better: home.

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cherryxbooo · 4 months ago

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Most important part of my life

Summary: Pedri's secret relationship is tested by rumors with a new media colleague, leading him to publicly declare his love.

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

Being in love with Pedri González felt like cradling a secret so luminous, so extraordinary, that unveiling it to the world might scatter its magic like dandelion seeds caught in the wind.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was one of the most recognizable footballers in the world, gracing the pitch at Camp Nou with effortless grace.

It was the way he looked at me when we were alone, the quiet strength of his love, and the unspoken promise in his touch.

Our relationship grew like wildflowers in the shadows, away from the glaring lights of stadiums, the endless buzz of fans, and the relentless click of cameras desperate for a glimpse of his personal life.

When we first started dating, the decision to keep things private was mutual, though it came with layers of complexity.

Pedri had been upfront from the beginning.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he said one evening, his brown eyes searching mine for reassurance.

He wasn’t just asking for patience, he was offering me trust, a sanctuary in a world that rarely afforded him the same.

The privacy was liberating in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

We could wander hand-in-hand through unfamiliar streets in cities where Pedri’s face wasn’t plastered on billboards.

We could spend entire evenings tangled up on the couch watching old movies, his laughter filling the room as I teased him about his terrible popcorn-making skills.

In those quiet, unguarded moments, I discovered who he truly was, not just Pedri the footballer, but Pedri the person I fell in love with.

Still, keeping our love a secret wasn’t without its sacrifices.

There were nights when I longed to post a picture of us on social media, to scream to the world how much he meant to me.

But I knew the cost of such exposure.

Pedri’s life was a constant whirlwind of matches, media obligations, and the ceaseless adoration of fans who believed they knew him intimately.

I’d seen the toll it took on him, how even the smallest misstep could spark a wildfire of speculation.

Sometimes, being in love with him felt like standing at the edge of an untamed sea. His life was the tide, vast and unstoppable, threatening to pull me under if I wasn’t careful.

I remember one particularly tough evening when he was away on a grueling road trip, the distance between us amplified by the silence of my apartment.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through a sea of articles about him, wondering if I’d ever fit into his world.

But Pedri always had a way of grounding me.

He called late that night, his voice warm despite the exhaustion that laced his words.

"I miss you," he said simply. "You’re my calm, mi amor. Don’t forget that."

It wasn’t a grand declaration, it didn’t need to be.

It was enough to pull me back, to remind me that what we had wasn’t just a fleeting romance but something deeper, something worth navigating the storms for.

We had our own rituals, ways of carving out space for us amid the chaos.

Pedri loved to write little notes for me, tucking them in places he knew I’d find later: a pocket in my coat, the inside of a book I was reading.

Once, I found one on my bathroom mirror that simply said, "You’re my favorite part of every day."

It was these small acts of love, these intimate gestures, that made me feel like the luckiest person alive.

Who would've thought that footballers could be so romantic.

And yet, there were challenges I couldn’t ignore.

Being with Pedri meant learning to share him, not just with the fans who adored him, but with the game that consumed so much of his time and energy.

There were moments when I felt like a spectator, watching him shine while I stood in the shadows.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting sometimes, but then he’d find ways to remind me that I wasn’t an afterthought.

One evening, after a particularly intense match, we sat on his balcony overlooking the city.

The air was cool, the distant hum of Barcelona serving as our soundtrack.

Pedri reached for my hand and pulled me close.

"You know," he said softly, "everything I do out there, it’s for us. For this."

His words settled over me like a warm blanket, and in that moment, I knew that no amount of distance, scrutiny, or secrecy could diminish what we shared.

But that feeling didn't last for long...

It all began when FC Barcelona announced their newest hire, Valentina.

She was young, vibrant, and clearly eager to make her mark as the team’s new media coordinator.

Her job was to handle interviews, create social media content, and give fans a closer look at the players they adored.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

Pedri had mentioned her in passing, a new addition to the team, someone he was helping adjust to the job.

I’d nodded, smiled, and asked a few polite questions, not giving it another thought.

But then the content started appearing.

At first, I convinced myself it didn’t matter.

Pedri was just being himself, kind, warm, and approachable.

It was part of what made him so magnetic, not just to me but to everyone around him.

This was the man I fell in love with, after all.

How could I fault him for being the very person who stole my heart?

But as the days turned into weeks and the “shipping” online intensified, I felt my confidence begin to waver.

It started subtly, like a shadow creeping into the edges of an otherwise sunny day.

A fan edit of Pedri and Valentina laughing during an interview would pop up on my feed, the caption declaring,

“The chemistry is undeniable!”

I’d roll my eyes and scroll past, telling myself it was harmless.

But the comments below were relentless.

"They’d be such a cute couple!""Honestly, Valentina and Pedri give me life!""Look at the way he’s smiling at her, come on, that’s love."

I’d catch myself staring at my screen, rereading the same comments as if the sting would lessen with repetition.

It didn’t.

Instead, it gnawed at me, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind that grew louder with every passing day.

The first time Pedri showed me one of the videos, I forced a smile, feigning indifference.

“Look at this,” he chuckled, holding up his phone.

“They’re making compilations of every time I’ve talked to the new media girl. Fans are wild.” (brother can't be this clueless omd)

I leaned over, barely glancing at the screen, and shrugged.

“Yeah, wild,” I muttered, keeping my tone neutral.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to look at me.

“Of course,” I lied, standing up abruptly.

“I just remembered I need to finish something. Be right back.”

I didn’t meet his eyes as I left the room.

How could he not see the true intentions behind those edits? (ugh men smh)

The little things began piling up.

Each new fan theory, each edited clip, felt like a pebble being dropped into an already overflowing jar.

I told myself it was silly, irrational even, to feel this way.

After all, I knew the truth. Pedri loved me, not her.

But logic and emotions rarely danced in harmony.

It wasn’t just online, either.

At a recent game, a group of fans behind me had spent the entire first half discussing Valentina and Pedri.

“They’d be perfect together, don’t you think?” “She’s got that bubbly personality, and he’s so down-to-earth. Total power couple vibes.”

I gripped the edge of my seat tightly, my nails digging into the fabric. I wanted to turn around and scream,

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Instead, I stayed quiet, plastering on a strained smile for the rest of the match.

Back home, my silence began to speak louder than my words.

“Hey, how was your day?” Pedri asked one evening as we sat at the dinner table.

“Fine,” I replied, not looking up from my plate.

“Anything interesting happen?” he pressed, his tone light but curious.

“Not really,” I mumbled, shoving a forkful of pasta into my mouth to avoid elaborating.

Pedri frowned, setting down his fork.

“You’ve been quiet lately. Is something bothering you?”

I shook my head, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Just tired. Long day.”

He nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push further.

Instead, he reached across the table to take my hand.

For a split second, I felt the warmth of his touch, the comfort it usually brought me.

But then I pulled away under the pretense of needing my water glass.

The hurt that flickered across his face was brief, but I saw it.

My chest tightened with guilt, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain.

One evening, the tension between us became unbearable.

We were sitting on the couch, a movie playing on the TV, but neither of us was paying attention.

Pedri’s hand rested on his thigh, close enough to mine that the absence of contact felt glaring.

Without warning, he paused the movie and turned to me.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

I stiffened, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been distant,” he said, his brows knitting together.

“You barely talk to me, you pull away when I touch you… something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,”

I replied too quickly, the tightness in my throat betraying me.

“It’s not nothing,” he countered, leaning closer.

“I know you, amor. Something’s bothering you, and I want to help. But I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”

I looked away, my gaze fixed on the coffee table.

“It’s stupid,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Then let me decide that,” he urged gently.

“Please.”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat.

How could I explain something that felt so petty?

How could I tell him that seeing him with Valentina, innocent as it was, was eating away at me?

“I’m just tired,” I said finally, standing up before he could press further.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Wait—”

But I was already walking away, leaving him sitting there, confused and worried.

In the quiet of my room, I replayed the moment in my mind, hating myself for the walls I was building.

But as I scrolled through my phone later that night, another video of Pedri and Valentina popped up.

The comments filled with speculation and admiration for their supposed connection.

I turned off my phone, buried my face in my hands, and let the tears fall.

Not knowing it was about to become worse.

The next evening,

It started like any other evening.

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, half-distracted and trying not to think too much about the growing distance between Pedri and me.

But then the headline caught my eye, bold and damning:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

My thumb hesitated above the screen, my heart already sinking, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I clicked.

The page loaded, and my stomach twisted with every word I read. The article was a masterclass in speculation.

Blurry photos of Pedri and Valentina laughing together accompanied captions like,

“Too much chemistry to be just friends?”

A still from a video of her hand casually resting on his arm had the writer waxing poetic about

“intimate body language” and “the undeniable proof of a budding romance.”

Every word felt like a small dagger, but it was the comments that truly gutted me.

"I knew it! They’re perfect together!""Pedri deserves someone like her. She’s stunning and sweet!""Finally, the couple we’ve all been waiting for. #Pedritina"

My hands trembled as I set my phone down, but the damage was done.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It didn’t matter that I knew the truth.

It didn’t matter that Pedri had never given me a reason to doubt him.

The narrative was there, glaring and insistent, and it felt like it was pulling him away from me, like I was losing him to a story that wasn’t even real.

That night, I couldn’t bear to look at him.

The weight of my emotions was too heavy, threatening to spill over if I let him get too close.

“Hey,” he greeted me warmly as he walked into the kitchen, where I was furiously scrubbing an already-clean countertop.

“What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning,” I said curtly, not turning to face him.

Pedri leaned against the counter, his eyes following my frantic movements.

“It’s nine at night,” he said with a soft laugh.

“The kitchen’s spotless mi amor. Come sit with me.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” I replied, my voice clipped.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer.

“You’ve been… acting different lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, still not meeting his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped away, pretending to grab a dish towel.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for further questions.

Pedri watched me for a long moment, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Alright,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of defeat.

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

I nodded but didn’t respond, and he left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unbearable ache in my chest.

I threw myself into meaningless tasks for the rest of the evening.

Folding laundry, reorganizing the spice cabinet, rearranging the books on the shelf, anything to keep my mind and hands busy.

But no matter what I did, the article and its comments haunted me, looping endlessly in my mind.

What made it worse was how vividly I could picture it all.

Pedri’s laughter as Valentina joked with him, the way he always leaned in when someone spoke, giving them his undivided attention.

I knew it was innocent.

I knew it was just who he was.

But knowing didn’t stop the jealousy and insecurity from creeping in, filling the cracks in my resolve.

By the time Pedri came to bed, I pretended to be asleep, my back turned to him.

He sighed softly as he slipped under the covers, and for a moment, I thought he might say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the room fell into silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing as he drifted off.

I stayed awake long after, staring at the wall, tears slipping silently down my face.

For the first time in our relationship, I felt like I was losing him.

And the worst part? I didn’t know how to stop it.

The next day,

Meanwhile, Pedri was wrestling with his own frustrations.

The training session had wrapped up, but instead of heading to the showers with the others, he lingered in the locker room, sitting on the bench with his phone in hand.

His thumb hovered over the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the strange tension between you two over the past few weeks.

Every clipped response, every missed kiss, every moment you pulled away lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Yo, Pedri,” Ferran’s voice broke through the quiet, light and teasing as always.

He strolled in, a towel slung casually over his shoulder.

“Why do you look like someone stole your boots? You alright?”

Pedri looked up, his frown deepening.

“Not really,” he admitted, tossing his phone onto the bench beside him.

“It’s… Y/n. She’s been acting different. Distant.” He shook his head, as though trying to shake off the confusion.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her. I’ve tried asking, but she keeps saying she’s fine.”

Ferran raised a brow, a knowing look spreading across his face.

“Different how?”

“She barely talks to me anymore,” Pedri said, frustration clear in his voice.

“When we’re together, it’s like she’s somewhere else. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Ferran leaned against the locker, crossing his arms.

“You sure it’s something you did?”

“I don’t know,” Pedri muttered.

“Maybe? She’s never been like this before.”

Ferran hummed thoughtfully before his eyes lit up as if a lightbulb had gone off.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing something.

“What are you doing?” Pedri asked, sitting up straighter.

Ferran didn’t answer immediately, his focus on his screen.

Then he turned the phone around, holding it out for Pedri to see.

“You seen this yet?” Ferran asked, his tone cautious but pointed.

Pedri frowned and leaned closer, his gaze locking onto the screen.

It was an article, the bold headline instantly grabbing his attention:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

“What is this?” Pedri asked, his tone sharp.

“Just read it,” Ferran said, handing him the phone.

Pedri swiped through the article, his jaw tightening with every word.

The photos, blurry snapshots of him and Valentina during team interviews and moments caught on video, accompanied captions that painted an entirely false narrative.

Phrases like “unspoken chemistry” and “undeniable connection” jumped out at him, making his blood boil.

“This is…” Pedri trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You think that’s bad?” Ferran said, leaning over to scroll down.

“Check the comments.”

Pedri’s frown deepened as he skimmed the comment section, where fans had enthusiastically declared their support for the supposed couple.

"They’re so cute together!""I ship them so hard!""Finally, Pedri’s found someone who matches his energy!"

Pedri tossed the phone back to Ferran, his frustration palpable.

“None of this is true,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

“Yeah, well,” Ferran said, pocketing his phone,

“if Y/n saw this, it might explain why she’s acting weird. Can’t blame her, man. This article’s painting a pretty convincing picture.”

Pedri exhaled deeply, leaning back against the bench.

“She didn’t say anything about it.”

Ferran shrugged.

“Would you, if the shoe was on the other foot? Imagine reading something like that about her. You wouldn’t even need to believe it to feel like crap.”

Pedri rubbed his face with his hands, guilt beginning to creep in.

“I didn’t think this could be bothering her. I didn’t even know about this until now.”

“Well,” Ferran said, giving him a pointed look,

“now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

Pedri didn’t hesitate.

“I need to fix this,” he said firmly, determination sparking in his eyes.

Ferran gave him a pat on the back.

“Good. Go home, talk to her. Don’t let this article ruin things.”

As Ferran walked away, Pedri stayed seated for a moment longer, his thoughts racing.

Now it all made sense, your distance, the way you avoided his touch, the sadness in your eyes.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting, especially because of something so far from the truth.

He stood abruptly, his mind made up.

He had to make things right.

When Pedri came home that evening,

I was sitting on the couch, my laptop open in front of me, but my mind was far away, drifting aimlessly through thoughts I couldn’t quite organize.

The quiet hum of the apartment felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me, and I couldn’t escape it.

I had been trying to keep myself busy, just so I wouldn’t think too much about the distance that had been growing between Pedri and me.

But it didn’t help.

The more I tried to ignore it, the more the emptiness crept in.

The quiet space between us had only grown, and every little thing felt like a reminder of how lost I had become in my own insecurities.

I couldn’t keep pretending.

Every time I saw him laughing with Valentina, or when I came across fan edits of them together, the nagging feeling in my chest had gotten harder to ignore.

The worst part wasn’t even what people online were saying. It was how much I had started to doubt myself.

Doubt us.

When Pedri stepped into the living room, I felt the change in the air.

His presence filled the space, but something about his posture, his eyes, told me he had noticed something was off.

His gaze locked onto mine instantly, and I felt my stomach tighten in anticipation.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there for a moment, as if weighing whether he should bring it up.

His expression softened, but I could see the concern brewing beneath the calm.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of determination.

My heart skipped a beat.

“About what?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He sighed, the frustration and worry clear on his face as he walked toward me.

He sat down beside me, his body close but not quite touching.

It was like he was giving me the space to open up, but I wasn’t sure I could.

He reached for my hand, and for a brief second, I considered pulling away.

The distance between us was still too fresh, the hurt too real.

But I didn’t.

I let him take my hand, his fingers threading through mine in the most familiar, comforting way.

But I could feel the weight in his touch, the uncertainty that had settled in his chest too.

"Why have you been pulling away from me?" he asked gently, his voice carrying a soft sadness that made my heart ache.

I glanced at him, feeling a lump form in my throat.

I had been trying to bury everything inside, trying to make it through without having to confront it.

But now, here we were, facing the truth of what had been building for weeks.

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

I had to look away from him, unable to bear the rawness in his gaze.

“It’s just... everything that’s been happening with you and Valentina... I can’t help but feel like I’m losing you. I don’t know if I even matter anymore.”

The words left me in a rush, tumbling out before I could stop them.

The weight of them felt like a confession, a cry for help.

Pedri’s eyes softened as he took a deep breath, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders as he gently cupped my cheek with his hand.

“Cariño,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“You matter more to me than anything in this world. I hate that this has made you feel like you don’t.”

His words wrapped around me like a lifeline, but they didn’t take away the pain.

I had watched, day after day, as the rumors built up.

The comments. The speculation.

The way people thought they knew something about us that we hadn’t even shared.

“It just hurts,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again.

“Seeing those pictures. Reading the comments. Watching them ship you with someone who isn’t me... It’s like you’re slipping away, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Pedri’s thumb brushed against my cheek again, wiping away the tear that had fallen this time.

“I never wanted you to feel like this. I never wanted you to feel invisible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He moved a little closer, pressing his forehead against mine.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt like you had to hide, or that you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me, Y/n. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, just taking in his words.

They were exactly what I needed to hear, and yet... something was still missing.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but the fear of making it worse held me back.

I took a shaky breath and looked up at him.

“It’s not about not being enough. It’s just... this whole situation. The rumors. The fans. They have this image of us, Pedri. And it’s like I’m not even in the picture.”

Pedri’s eyes darkened with frustration, and I could see the anger brewing beneath the surface.

But it wasn’t directed at me.

It was directed at everything else, the media, the fans, the narrative that had been spun around us without our consent.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, his voice unwavering.

“You’re not on the sidelines, Y/n. You’re the most important part of my life."

"I can’t stand seeing you hurt because of something that’s not even true.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart starting to settle just a little, even though the ache hadn’t completely gone.

“But what are we supposed to do? How do we fix this?”

Pedri looked at me with such intensity that I felt like I was being pulled into his world, where nothing else mattered except us.

“I’m done hiding, cariño,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

“I want the world to know about us. I want everyone to see who you really are to me. You’re not a secret, and I’m not going to let the media or anyone else make you feel like you are.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I could hardly process what he was saying. It was so big, so bold, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world coming from him.

He wasn’t just speaking out of anger or frustration; he was speaking out of love, and it made everything in me feel like it was finally falling into place.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“This is... this is a huge step, Pedri. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

His eyes softened again, and he reached out to touch my cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said.

“I don’t care about what the fans think. I care about you. About us. And I’m done hiding us.”

I felt tears well up again, but this time, they weren’t from hurt.

They were from relief, from the overwhelming love that suddenly felt so certain, so real.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” Pedri replied, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against mine.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like we were finally back on the same page, ready to face everything together.

pedri posted on Instagram!

Liked by yourusername, gavi, ferrantorres and 112,452 others

pedri El amor de mi vida.

View all comments

yourusername Love you the most 🩷

pedri Yo también te amo mi amor ❤️

ferrantorres 👏👏👏

pedri 💪

pedri_and_me6 I’m honestly shocked! Didn’t see this coming Pedri and his girl look cute together 🥹

barça_love_89 Pedri be scoring on and off the pitch dayuum

pedriclosetclothes8 Forrealll he bagged a baddie 💅

pepilvr8frv Wow I thought Pedri and Valentina were really together this is so unexpected but I’ll always ship Valentina and him. 🤷‍♀️

frbtogethergavi30 Girl stfu you don't even know them 🙄

brcculer8 Not you rooting for something that doesn't exist 🤦‍♀️

blueredlyy7 I just know it stinks girl get out of here 🥱

lvlybarca8630 Pedri that's our girlfriend now 🤭

delulu4pedri8 Ew he deserves better 🤢

chichiclassypepi8 Really living up to the name

fnzygvi6 He isn't going to acknowledge you stand up sis 😒

The end

#pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri fluff #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri x you #pedri fanfic #pedri x y/n #pedri angst #football x reader #football imagine #football fanfic #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #pedri gonzález x reader

466 notes · View notes

mya-valentine · 7 months ago

Note

Can I request a fic for Kinich x fem reader please? during the archons quest IV (spoiler‼️ for people who didnt do the archons quest) reader almost died in one of the bases but traveler and Paimon (doesn't matter who tbh I love the twins) was able to save them just in time and Kinich hugged her not letting her go until he knew she was real and safe in his arms

Not a huge fan of angst but I'm okay with angst with comfort (happy ending)

From the Edge of Darkness

The Abyss Order had been relentless in its attack on Natlan, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. With the nation in ruins, every base became a battlefield, and the resistance fighters were pushed to their breaking point. The Traveler and Paimon, desperate to help in whatever way they could, had been moving from one war-torn base to another, always hoping to arrive in time to save someone—anyone—from the onslaught.

This upcoming base felt different, though. As they neared the next base, an eerie silence filled the air. No sounds of clashing weapons, no cries for help. Just silence.

Paimon’s voice quivered as she spoke, “Traveler… something feels wrong about this place.” The suffocating tension in the air made it hard to breathe.

When they finally reached the base, the scene that greeted them was nothing short of horrifying. Destruction had torn through the camp like a hurricane. Blood stained the ground, mingling with the ashes of burned tents and scattered debris. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, broken and still. Each life extinguished in a brutal fight to protect their homeland.

The Traveler moved quickly, scanning the area, their heart sinking with each step. Please, let there be someone left alive. They silently begged the universe, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.

And then they saw you.

Amidst the carnage, there you were—barely alive. Your body was crumpled against the remains of a wall, blood trickling from a wound on your side. Your skin was pale, your breath shallow. You were hanging on, but only just.

“There!” the Traveler gasped, rushing toward you. They dropped to their knees by your side, frantically checking your pulse, their hand trembling as they felt the faint, uneven beat beneath your skin. “She’s alive, but not for long!”

Paimon’s eyes widened in horror. “We need to get her out of here! Now!”

The Traveler didn’t hesitate. With great care, they lifted your fragile, unconscious body into their arms. They could feel how weak you were, how close you were to slipping away. Every second counted. “We’re taking her to the stadium!” the Traveler barked. “That’s where the medics are.”

Paimon nodded furiously, her tiny body flying ahead, guiding the way. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”

The journey back to the stadium felt excruciatingly long, each second a battle against time. But the thought of losing you—of arriving too late—drove them forward.

The stadium came into view, its towering walls offering a brief sense of relief. Inside, it was the last haven for those who had survived the Abyss Order’s attacks. It was bustling with medics, warriors, and refugees, each one desperate to protect what little was left of their world.

The Traveler barely made it through the gates before shouting for help. “Medic! We need a medic!”

The closest group of medics rushed over, their eyes widening when they saw your condition. Without wasting a moment, they took you from the Traveler’s arms and laid you on a stretcher.

The Traveler stood back, their chest heaving with exertion, watching helplessly as the medics tried to save you. Paimon hovered close by, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. “Traveler… do you think she’s going to make it?”

The Traveler swallowed hard, unable to answer. “I don’t know, Paimon… I don’t know.”

---

Not long after, the stadium doors burst open, and Kinich, the man you loved, stormed in. His usually calm and stoic demeanor had crumbled, replaced by pure, unfiltered panic. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for you, the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world.

When he finally spotted the Traveler, his heart lurched. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the grim set of their jaw. He knew something was wrong. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice shaking.

The Traveler’s expression softened with sorrow as they pointed toward the medic tent. “She’s there. It’s… not good, Kinich. I’m sorry.”

Kinich’s breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the tent. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with dread as he rushed toward you. When he reached your side, his worst fears were confirmed. You were pale and still, your chest barely rising with each shallow breath. Bandages covered the wound on your side, but you looked so fragile, so close to death.

“No…” The word came out as a broken whisper. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. He grasped your hand in his, holding it tightly, as though if he just held on hard enough, he could pull you back from the brink.

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he bowed his head over your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

His body shook with the force of his grief, the tears falling freely now as he pressed your hand to his lips, praying for some miracle, some sign that you would wake up and tell him everything would be okay.

Hours passed, but Kinich never left your side. He couldn’t. The world outside the stadium continued to burn, but nothing mattered to him except you. He sat by your side, holding your hand, watching for any sign that you would wake. Every breath you took felt like a lifeline, fragile but present.

The medics came and went, their magic stabilizing your condition, but Kinich’s heart remained heavy with fear. He whispered to you the whole time, his words soft and broken. “I love you… please come back to me…”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Kinich’s tear-streaked face hovering above you, his hand tightly gripping yours. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with pain and exhaustion, but you were alive. You were still here.

“Kinich…” Your voice was a soft, rasping whisper, but it was enough to break through the haze of Kinich’s grief.

His eyes widened, a sob of relief escaping him as he surged forward, pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as though he feared that if he let go, you would disappear again. His body trembled with emotion as he held you, his face buried in your hair.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re really awake…”

You nodded weakly, your arms coming up to wrap around him, though the movement was slow and painful. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but reassuring. “I’m going to be okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and relief. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, though it was weak and tired. “I’ll try not to.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Kinich simply held you, his heart finally beginning to calm as he felt the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. You were safe. You were alive.

And as long as you had each other, nothing else mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice softer this time, but no less sincere.

“I love you too,” you replied, your words filled with warmth and gratitude.

The world outside was still in chaos, but in this moment, as you lay in Kinich’s arms, you knew that everything would be okay. You had survived, and you had each other. And that was enough.

Masterlist

#kinich genshin #genshin impact kinich #genshin kinich #kinich #kinich x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin

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ceesimz · 8 months ago

Text

the love you have is better spent in some other place

knowing love and accepting love are two different things.

despite the menacing title+summary, it's not all doom and gloom :)

The funny thing about Alexia Putellas is that she's the version of herself she always imagined to be when she was younger. Yet, at the same time, she's nothing like she thought she would be.

She's as good at football as she knew she could be. All the titles one could want, she has them under her belt. There are all kinds of awards scattered around her apartment, as well as her family home in the care of her mother. Stadiums chant her name in the same way she witnessed at Camp Nou with her father's hand in hers as a young girl. The combination of her name and number is spotted on the back of nearly every Barcelona shirt around the world, treasured near and dear to millions of hearts in the same way she cherished her Xavi shirt.

Her wildest dreams had come true when it came to her career. But in her personal life, things weren't quite the same.

Alexia had known from a younger age than most that she would end up marrying a woman rather than a man. That she would be the best spouse she could possibly be for her own wife. And when that opportunity seemed to arise, having a partner to love who is at her side throughout everything, it came at the most inconvenient time for her.

She acknowledged that, but failed to be the greatest version of herself for the woman of her dreams. Just as she was back from her injury, after winning the most notorious trophy of them all with her country and feeling like the world was hers, it all came falling down. The timing of it was exceptionally awful.

Football wasn't quite the same for her. Something was off. Her knee felt heavy, and it was evident in the way she played. Every game, it got worse and worse. With that came the anxiety, the doubt, the shame that she wasn't who she once was. And maybe she never would be that version of herself again.

That's when you came in. A saving grace, almost. Just one day in November weeks before her arthroscopy, the last attempt to recover and reinstate her name into the sport she loved, you and all you were walked in and flicked the lights in her desolate heart back on. You were a reminder of who she could be, you gave her a reason to change her ways, and if she never returned to football again, at least you never knew that part of her. She could take the fresh opportunity with you and grow into it, without having to face the embarrassment of no longer being the dominant figure of European football.

But she couldn't change her ways. Despite the fact that she didn't have to shy away from who she was, despite the fact she recovered and the surgery was as successful as it could be, she couldn't change her ways.

If Alexia had known about the deep-rooted problems she had surrounding love, she wouldn’t have put you through those first few months of your relationship. That time of her life was a dark one, where she hated the world just as much as herself, until you came along. Like the light at the end of the tunnel, she headed towards it, but with each step she took, the light never got any closer. It stretched on, slipping between her fingertips like water. The affection you gave her was there, but she never quite accepted it for herself. And it ate her up inside, gave her even more reason to loathe what her life had become.

In no way was it your fault, she knew from the moment she left you the night of your first date that there was so much wrong with her. Instead of working on those things, she chose to be selfish. She wanted you, despite the fact she didn’t want herself, and sure, maybe it did work out in the long run. But if time travel became a thing, it wouldn’t take her longer than a second to decide to go back and change her whole approach to falling in love with you. For her, that period of time was tarnished by her internal torment, when she should have given in to the desire to fall into your arms with no second thought rather than ruminate on all the wrong-doings she had been through.

Something had to change, she had to change, to ensure that didn't happen. She just didn't know how. How does one fix something that's been broken for years? Where does she even start?

Love was something everybody chased, whether that be platonically or romantically, and it was a bizarre concept, really. Was it a universal thing, or just something that occurred in this world only? What happened on the other planets? If there is life out there, what do they chase? Love, or something else?

Alexia began to think it was the latter, and that there was something so deeply wrong with her for her to reject such a beautiful idea when it was all anybody longed for. Almost as if her problems were alien to everyone else, because even her friends and family looked at her in utter confusion when she first stated she didn’t intend to go on a second date with you. Underneath the facade, there was nothing she wanted more than to chase the love you had to offer. She needed it, like food, like water, like oxygen. Why couldn’t she accept it for herself? It was something she wasn’t able to understand, and it felt unnatural to reach out and tell you how much she enjoyed the evening with you when her skin crawled at the hands of the devil on her shoulder, spewing all kinds of hate and insecurities in her ear.

She did it anyway, and it had worked itself out eventually. That’s how she had got here, months later, laying on her sofa with your arms around her and her head on your chest, finally at a place where she could accept your love with no second thoughts. However, the guilt still ripped through her whilst you were none the wiser (or so she thought), and she wanted that to change. That filled her with fear, approaching a topic she could barely stomach thinking about, but you had stuck around all this time and if it scared you away now, she was the only one to blame that she couldn’t have relished in your love longer.

—

The first time that you noticed something might be amiss with Alexia was after the third date. You’d known each other for a number of weeks now, and spoke near enough everyday. It was hard for the footballer to find time in her schedule to fully dedicate her time to you, which is how you ended up texting each other almost all day every day. But on the fourth date, when she joined you for breakfast one morning, she walked in like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Each time you had seen her, there was a look in her eye that drew the image of a dark cloud following her wherever she went, but as soon as she settled into your company, it went away. She smiled, she laughed, her eyes creased with unfiltered joy when she was with you. Yet, when it was time for you to go your separate ways, that cloud loomed again. It weighed so heavily upon her, it was almost as if you could feel it too. Still, that didn’t deter you from falling in love with her.

There was something different about her though, on that fourth date. It was hard for you to not feel a little anxious when she sat down and that cloud didn't drift away like it usually did. The thought consumed you; maybe she was growing tired of you, since you didn't seem to have the same effect on her anymore. As it turned out, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Just as you were about to leave for work, she reached out to take your hand as you bid each other goodbye outside of the café, and she leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t the first kiss you had shared, but for some reason it felt like the last. There were too many emotions tied into it, and instead of getting that fluttery, lovesick feeling you got when you kissed her, all you felt was dread.

However, before you could ruminate on that thought, she saved you the anguish and pushed through the mental roadblock that tried to stop her from being honest, and told you what was on her mind. She went against her instinct and opened up, for your sake.

“I am having surgery after Christmas. It’ll be some time before I can go on a date like this with you again and I don’t expect you to wait for me. So… I am giving you an out.”

The look in her eyes had darkened, a facade built to temporarily shield her from the pain of hearing you agree and watching as you walk down the street, out of her life. Because how could you be with someone that was putting their weakness on show? How could you want to stay with someone that’s admitting there is something wrong with them? It went deeper than just a medical procedure, this surgery, it ran so much deeper and Alexia knew that you understood that, it didn't take a genius to piece the puzzle together of what was weighing her down. That’s why she was giving you an out.

You didn’t want an out. You wanted to stay. And you would go to the ends of the earth and back to make sure Alexia knew that.

“No. I don’t want an out. I want you to let me in, to let me stay.” You told her definitively, taking a step closer and looking up at her with concern etched all over your face. If the way she leaned into the hand that rested on her cheek after that was anything to go by, you knew she was fighting tooth and nail to keep her emotions at bay. “I don’t want to go. I want you, Alexia, and all that comes with having you. And most of all, I want you to believe me when I say that.”

Everything in her body told Alexia to refute that, to shake her head and to walk away for you. She knew she couldn’t be the partner she wanted to be, with all that came with having surgery, and she adored you too much to sit there and watch you shrink into yourself as a result of her own fatalistic miserableness.

However, she went against her instincts once more, and simply nodded once as her lower lip quivered. That gave her away; her whole demeanour cracked then, as you wrapped her up in your arms and hugged her tightly. It didn’t last long, Alexia wouldn’t allow that for herself, but it was enough for you. You’d take it for now.

Even despite the confirmation from you, Alexia didn’t believe you would stay. That wasn’t a problem because of you, it was because of her. The blonde thought the world of you, but not for herself. She had been labelled the best in the world countless times, but the events of the past eighteen months had caused her to strip herself of that title. In her mind, she wasn't worthy of your time and care, you deserved better than the grumpy version of her that she would be until she heard back about her surgery results.

And to no one’s surprise, it was her insecurities that underestimated you. Because you showed up the day after her surgery with open arms and love in your heart.

Alba had somehow gotten your number whilst Alexia was in the operating room, and had formed a plan with you. The younger Putellas had heard about you very briefly from her sister over the last weeks, and though she couldn’t pull more information from her sister no matter how hard she tried, it was unfortunately a gene in the Putellas-Segura family that everyone held their true feelings in their eyes. It just didn't help that Alexia wore her heart on her sleeve too.

Alba thought of herself as somewhat of a professional when it came to reading Alexia, and she could see it in Alexia’s eyes how much she adored you. That point was further backed up by how Alexia, under the influence of some strong pain medication, spoke about you so lovingly as tears trailed down her cheeks. She spoke quietly, because even when she wasn’t sober, her subconscious knew what a sensitive topic it was for her, despite how the doubtful voices had been silenced.

And it was then that Alba had snuck out of the hospital room and called you, forming a plan for you to visit Alexia and inject some light back into her life as she recovered. It would be some time before the results of her arthroscopy were clear, and Alexia was anything but patient especially when it came to football. Everyone close to her knew she would be miserable, stuck at home on the couch or in bed, and there was hope that you would cheer her up.

You did. Though it took some time to extract that truth from her, you did cheer her up from the moment you walked in. Alba greeted you when you first arrived, speaking in a hushed voice for a few moments outside the front door to update you and ask how you were, before she left the two of you alone.

“Hey Ale.” You smiled, slowly making your way over to where she was sat up on the sofa with her leg resting and bandaged.

“What are you doing here?” Alexia asked in a slight grumble, though that same dreamy look in her eyes made an appearance for just a second. You caught it and instantly felt reassured by that one small notion, a little more confident.

“I thought I would come and surprise you. Cheer you up a little bit.” You told her, sitting down beside her but being mindful of leaving a space so as to not overload her.

“But it is Christmas. You should be with your family.” You just shook your head at that.

“The woman I'm falling in love with just had surgery. I wanted to come and check on her.” A glimpse of a smile appeared then as you shuffled closer and gently took one of her hands.

“Falling in love, huh?” Alexia teased after a quiet moment with a smirk, dropping your joined hands into your lap and squeezing yours.

“You're not? I think you would be leading me on then.” You grinned shyly, giggling as she rolled her eyes and tutted.

“I… I am. You do not need to worry about that.”

You could live off of that admission forever. The little moments like that, the small gestures, you quickly learnt that they were how she showed her adoration. That was her being vulnerable, as much as she could, and you could handle that then. When some might have been deterred by it, you gave her a chance. You had a near infinite amount of patience for this woman, because she deserved the world and more. Your goal was to help her understand that.

She had her reasons for having her walls so high, for struggling to let people in, but you had gotten this far already and you'd be foolish to give up on her.

During that day, you were able to identify something about Alexia. And as the hours went on, it only became clearer and clearer. Even though she was the one hurting, mentally and physically, she would only have it so that she was the one holding you. If you tried to reverse the positions, she didn't let it happen. She would wordlessly reject the idea and carefully move you back to how you were, with no explanation. No matter how many times you tried, she just didn't let it happen.

Even when you tried to make dinner for her, she urged you to sit back down as she tried getting up and cooking instead. That was your final straw. You had patience, sure, but you weren't perfect.

“Alexia, let me take care of you, okay? Let me help, let me be there for you. I'm not above begging, so just let me be a good partner, please?” You sighed in exasperation. A flash of hurt consumed her eyes, but like always, she disguised it in an instant. But it struck your heart like a dagger, knowing you had accidentally targeted her most insecure spot. You couldn't tell if she realised it came from a place of love or not.

“Sorry. I'm sorry.” The blonde muttered under her breath before clearing her throat, her eyes dropped to her hands on her lap.

Exactly what you were trying to stop, you had made worse.

“Ale.” You murmured softly, placing both hands on her face to get her to look at you. Yet, she still found a way to keep her eyes averted. “Ale, look at me.”

“Do not apologise. You don’t need to.” One of her hands came up to rest on your forearm as her voice cracked and trembled. She sounded so dejected, it tore your heart in two. “I am difficult, I know that. So please… do not apologise. I do not deserve it.”

“What?” You whispered uncertainly, taking a moment to process what she had said. When it clicked, you frowned as you stroked your thumbs over the lines of her cheekbones. “Why would you say that?”

“The way I am, it… it is making you doubt what a good partner you are. But you’re not good, you’re the best I could ask for. And I am pushing you away.” Alexia fretted so quietly her words were almost intelligible. Key word almost.

“No, you are not pushing me away. I am right here, aren’t I? I told you, I’m here to stay.” You paused for a second, a silent moment that caused Alexia’s anxiety to spike. Your next words didn’t exactly help either. “I’m going to ask you a question, okay? Let me ask you something.”

“Okay.” Alexia nodded dutifully, hoping you didn’t see the nervous gulp that followed.

“I want to be your girlfriend. Will you let me be your girlfriend?”

You gazed at her, eyes full of hope that this would be the moment she let you in. It wouldn't be smooth-sailing from here, you were more than aware of that, but this could be the start of something that would improve both your lives for the better. The start of a life together that could make you better people.

“Sí. Sí, quiero que seas mi novia. I would love nothing more.” Her reaction was better than you could have wished for.

In an instant, she melted into you; her forehead dropped against yours and tension you didn't even know was there in the first place left her shoulders. You offered your arms out and she leaned forward into you with no second thought. You hoped that was a sign of things to come.

As you expected, though, it wasn’t always that simple. Some days, she was still distant. Not in her affection or attitude, it was just that she was stuck in her own mind more often than you had expected.. Being able to spend more time with her as her girlfriend meant you came to spot the signs, and despite the fact that you didn’t yet live together, things were even more noticeable than before.

Like, for example, when she was especially struggling, but she tried with all her might to hide it. Sometimes, when she was going through a tough week, you could see in her eyes of course the turmoil that dragged her down more everyday. It wasn’t all doom and gloom, there were countless occasions where she was smiling up into her eyes and the two of you were happy together, but for the footballer, joy wasn’t a permanent thing. It wasn’t her average mood.

Her physical fitness could take her up the highest mountains, but over the years her mental stamina had been stamped on, it had reached its limits, and it couldn't quite break out of the confines of her insecurities. They had no boundaries, they showed up when they wanted and silently tore through her. Those eyes you adored, more often than not, were weighed down by burdens that you probably didn’t even know half the truth about.

There was one evening, a while after her surgery when she was flying through rehab, that everything reached its peak for her. You decided to surprise her by being at her flat when she got home one day that week – what you were met with was far worse than you could have predicted.

Your excitement at the sound of the door opening and shutting was swiftly replaced by overwhelming concern at the sound of sniffles that followed. You left the kitchen where you had just ordered Alexia’s favourite takeaway and headed in the direction of your girlfriend’s footsteps that went straight towards the bedroom. Seemingly she hadn't heard you, a curiosity instantly proven true by the sounds of choked cries coming from the figure that was slumped over, her fists leaning on the bed as her chin was to her chest whilst she cried.

Not for a second did you hesitate rushing over, coming to stand by her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She startled, unsurprisingly, and moved to hastily wipe the tears away in an attempt to mask the emotions coursing through her nervous system at that moment in time. It was too late, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her.

“Q-qué haces aquí?” Alexia asked, her voice stuttering and shaking as she spoke. Your arm stayed around her, your other hand wiping her tears with a tenderness too soft for her, she thought. “No, por favor.”

“Ale, talk to me. What’s the matter? Please let me in, please don’t shut me out when you’re like this.” The pleas fell from your mouth before you could properly think of what you were saying. It wasn’t the best thing to say, adding guilt to the list of things she was struggling with wasn’t your smartest idea.

“I can’t do this, amor.”

The statement shocked you, the ease of which it left her mouth was unusual. But the shock wore off quick, making way for the worry that sprung to your mind because that short sentence was enough to signify just how terribly she was feeling.

Her voice was uncomfortably rough as she spoke too, despite her only saying five words, you could tell that she had spent the drive home forcing back her cries. It takes a lot of energy to break down and release everything in sharp sobs, but it takes even more to hold back all that emotion. Forcing back tears hurt, and it wasn’t a surprise that her voice was hoarse and hardly there at all.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You weren’t sure if something specific had happened that day or if this was a build-up of everything, but no matter what it was, you urged her into a tight hug, ensuring she was engulfed in the love you held for her. “You will be okay, Ale, I promise.”

It took some time for her to calm down enough to talk, but whilst she did, you moved the pair of you onto the bed so you could hold her properly. She didn’t even put up a fight when you urged her to lay on top of you, your arms wrapped securely around her back as she hid her face in your neck. All she did was cry out the mass of emotions that were consuming her, and you just prayed that being there for her as she did so was enough to ease it, even if it was only a miniscule amount.

Feeling concerned for her wasn’t a new experience for you – feeling downright devastated and grief-stricken for the woman sobbing in your arms was new. Never before had you seen her like this, and it scared you to death. All the possibilities that could be making her feel like this seemed insurmountable, like they were too big a challenge to tackle.

That didn’t matter to you. You would try for her, always.

“Do you feel like you could try to talk to me? Getting some of it off your chest might help.” You said softly, one of your hands slipping under her shirt to trail your fingertips up and down her back, something you knew soothed her. She gave a minute nod, which you felt more than you saw, and it gave you a brief feeling of relief. “Okay. In your own time, Ale.”

A few quiet minutes passed by, the footballer on top of you allowing herself some time to relish in the infrequent position she found herself in. She loved it. And it only gave the insecure voice in her head more ammunition to use against her; why can’t she allow her girlfriend to do this? She can never bring herself to accept it, but the day’s exertion had battered her defiance and left a hollow shell of her persona. If she looked in a mirror, she would probably be unrecognisable to herself.

Sometimes, in her weakest moments, she thought you were better off without her. Better off not being dragged down by her miserable nature. You, the definition of beauty and light, with someone that exudes negativity and weakness. Someone that is the embodiment of imperfection with a person that is priceless. It didn’t make sense to her still, she wasn't sure it ever would.

“Every… everything is just so hard.” She spoke, letting out a shaky breath into the skin of your neck. You hummed sympathetically, giving her the space to elaborate whilst acknowledging what she had said. “Rehab is so tiring and I do not know why. I am not being given the space I need by the team to recover, they still expect so much from me and there is so much pressure. People online, the media and the fans, are talking about me a lot more than usual, which I do not understand because I am not even on the pitch. Some things that are being said are bad. And… I think I am not what you need, or deserve.”

Her face stayed hidden in your neck whilst she spoke, and you let her do that. Being vulnerable and open like that was hard, you didn’t underestimate that, and you would take it in any form because it was progress. You weren’t happy with what she had said because it broke your heart, but it was the first step of her opening herself up to help.

“Alexia, it is okay to feel overwhelmed. That sounds a lot like what you are feeling right now.” You started, your hand still slowly trailing up and down her back. “I’m so glad you told me, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this. There’s things that can be put in place to help you.”

You plant the seed, subtly, that she can get help. But really, all you can focus on is the fact they are all things you can help with. With the majority of her admission, they are things that can be changed to lessen the load of her newfound daily life after her second surgery. The last part, you know you can help with indefinitely. It won’t be quick, nor will it be easy, but reminding her of how much you value her is something you planned to do for the rest of your life anyway. Perhaps you just had to do it a bit more than you initially thought.

“You can talk to the team, tell them exactly what you need. They’re sensible, you know that, they’ll do whatever you need them to do. You just need to have the bravery to ask for help, which is a difficult step in itself, but I know you can do it. You’ve told me what’s on your mind and that’s something I’m not taking for granted because I understand it doesn’t come easy to you, and for that I’m so proud of you. So proud. And if you want me to help you come up with a plan of what you need or what you will say to the club, I can help you with that.”

“You will help me?” She murmured, lifting her head up to look down at you with red, tired eyes and tear streaks down her cheeks. You smiled up at her and nodded, unwinding an arm from around her to brush the damp tracks away.

“With anything. Anything at all, I promise.” You told her, hoping the mixture of your words and the sincerity in your voice conveyed all that you wanted her to understand. “I also think you would benefit from a break from social media and most things online. Why don’t you ask someone on your team to run your accounts for you for a little while? Or ask your agent to hire someone to do that? I think it will be good to step away from that so you can focus on the important things.”

“I have thought about it before.” Alexia revealed a moment later. “I will do that. I should have done it a long time ago. I am thinking about going to see the psychologist for some… help. I will book a session with her tomorrow.”

She seemed to be doing better than she was when you first walked in on her. Her voice wasn’t so rough, it no longer sounded like it was taking every ounce of energy to get her words out, and her breathing was a lot more even than it was a few minutes beforehand. Accepting help didn’t seem so terrifying when the words were coming out of your mouth.

Where before, she was deterred by the idea of reaching out, too focused on her shame to find a way out of her turmoil, now she didn’t feel so scared by it. For so long, the world seemed like a tunnel with no end, but now there’s a crack, however small, giving her a glimpse of what life she could live without being restricted by her burdens. The idea that help is available felt foreign to her, and though she might still be uncertain about the path that had been offered to her, in your arms comforted by the thought of having someone to guide her down it, she found that she could breathe a little easier. There’s a sense of possibility, of no longer having to walk alone.

Hope was beginning to brew inside of her, and she felt compelled to reach out and grasp it with both hands. There was a quiet flicker of warmth that took the place of the cold numbness that once lived on inside her. Neither of you had all the answers in that moment, change doesn’t happen overnight and you both know that, and because of that there is a delicate balance of fear and relief that settled between you.

It’s the first time since Alexia can remember that she felt like maybe things could change for the better.

“Good. Both those things will be so good for you. I’m so proud of you.” You said, turning to kiss her forehead.

“It’s not up to you to decide what I need or deserve. I do need you, and I do deserve you. You’re the only one I could ever want, now that I’ve met you I know I could never be with anyone else again. You are struggling, and that’s okay. I’ll be here at your lowest, I’ll be here at your highest, and I know you would do the same for me. You know I love you, right?”

At your declaration, especially the last part which she had heard a few times now, her heart clenched as she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to sob again, but out of pure happiness, because regardless of how many times you would say it to her over your lives, it would still be the most important statement to her. Hearing it at that very moment was so important.

“I do. I really do, amor. I just… sometimes I do not understand why.”

You pursed your lips at her response, wondering why the world had to treat her so poorly that her self-worth had been reduced to something so unimportant to her. You know for a fact there’s probably millions of people out there that idolise her, think of her as a hero, the perfect role model, but you also know that the insecurities she had weren’t on Alexia Putellas’ behalf. They were on Ale’s behalf. There were two versions of her, and the powerful woman that adorned the armband day-in and day-out for the club she’s committed her life to wasn’t the one combatting all these issues. It was just Ale, your girlfriend, her mother’s daughter, her sister’s older sibling, her aunt and uncle's niece, the ever-reliant and trustworthy companion of her friends.

Alexia knew that, and you did too. You couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult that must be to juggle for Alexia, leading two extraordinarily different lives in one lifetime. You hope, with the right help, she can learn to allow them to co-exist together and not be so far away from each other. She had expressed similar thoughts to you before, how difficult she finds it switching between the two everyday, though you knew she probably hadn’t even scratched the surface about how much it affected her.

You were content with not being fully clued in, because there were some things that people preferred to keep private, and for Alexia one of those things was her thoughts. Your mission was to help her deal with those healthily, unlike how she had for the past god knows how long. Whatever worked for her, worked for you.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m secure in my love for you, and that’s enough. I know you love me too. That’s all we need.”

After that day, it was as if a switch had been flicked. There was a distinct difference in her, in all aspects of her life, and she seemed truly happy. You had come to understand that you couldn’t wholly fix her, especially not just with words. All you could do was love her, which you would do for as long as she would let you.

So you met her defiance with kindness, her feigned confidence with support, and her insecurities with reassurance. And slowly, you began to see the progress in her. Truthfully, it might be one of the most beautiful things you'd ever had the privilege to witness. Allowing yourself to feel every ounce of your joy made it easier for Alexia to grow and settle into that prospect of living too.

Not only did the counselling help her mental health, it made her better at communication, understanding, and just about every other thing that you didn’t even think needed improving in the first place. Each day, you adored her more and more. It takes a lot to accept help, but it’s an entirely different thing to wake up every morning and get out of bed, knowing what lies ahead was unexplainably difficult to overcome but facing it head on anyway.

However, the biggest evident difference came when she was cleared to play football again. With each milestone, came a newer, happier version. First it was being substituted on, stepping foot in a game after months of waiting, and straight after, it was her first goal back. The rain couldn’t dampen her spirits that day, nothing could, because thought past-Alexia would be disappointed with how scrappy the goal was, the new version of her was just happy to have a ball at her feet and making a difference for her team. Maybe past-Alexia would be angry with that fact too, at how overjoyed she was with a goal like that, but she didn’t dwell on that for too long. She was trying to change and she was making better progress than she could have dreamed of, she wasn’t going to stop that.

Her hard work was clear to see in the ache in her cheeks from the amount of time she spent smiling, something she didn’t even realise she had missed. Months down the line and she was in the best place mentally than she had been all her life. With that realisation, came the understanding that sometimes things have to fall down before they can be rebuilt again. She had that moment where she broke, in your arms, and since then she had rebuilt her life. The bad goes in hand with the good, and the highs are undoubtedly worth the lows.

Though, she still wasn’t perfect, no matter how badly that irritated her. Every part of her had improved, apart from the one thing she did it all for. It did happen less often, but she still doubted her capabilities as a girlfriend. She still worried she wasn’t good enough for you. The cloudy days of anxiety were nowhere near as frequent as they used to be, but they didn’t magically stop. That was still something she had to come to terms with.

—

A particularly harsh bout of anxiety hit one day, something that filled her unease because she thought these kinds of days weren’t supposed to happen anymore. Yet, here she was, lay in your arms as the toxic cycle of doubt circled endlessly in her mind. She tried, with all her might, to shove the thoughts to the side, to rebuke them and not let them ruin her evening, but they came thick and fast and there was simply no stopping them.

Something her psychologist had told her was that sometimes she just has to sit and let those feelings be. Thinking about how much she loathed them wouldn’t help, that would probably just make them worse. And taking the doubts and fuelling them by ruminating wouldn’t help either. But sitting there and letting them consume her as she did nothing to stop didn’t feel useful. So she let them come, and she took each knot of insecurity and made them bigger.

Nearly every moment of the last few months was tainted by the regret she felt. She really would give anything, she'd sacrifice it all, to go back and show her affection and appreciation more. From the moment she saw you, she knew you were special. She felt like she did a terrible job to show that, to the point where she wondered how she even found herself here right now with you.

Alexia had never really experienced impostor syndrome before, and she wasn't exactly sure that was the right term for the cloud of anxiety she was experiencing. She didn't doubt her love for you, in fact she was sure she had never loved a human as much as she loved you. It's just that, even after all this time, she still didn't think she deserved to be on the receiving end of such an idyllic thing, especially at your hands.

Her biggest fear, after all this time still, was losing you. Out of all the emotions that she had experienced in the past months, there was one that reigned superior throughout: disappointment.

Disappointment that was aimed entirely at herself. Disappointment that had so many things tied into it, she could hardly keep up. Guilt, shame, embarrassment, when she dumbed it down it all led to that same disappointment she just couldn’t get rid of.

She knows where she’s gone wrong all this time, she sort of knows why now thanks to her psychologist, but she has no idea how to stop that pattern of thinking, that she doesn’t deserve you. And because of that, a certain feeling of distaste for herself had grown over time, and it sat nestled in the back of her mind. It’s there, always, and it’s not afraid to make itself known. In the most unsuspecting moments, it comes seeping through the cracks of her mind, weaving its way into each and every aspect of her life, whether that be her memories or the present. Another fear of hers was that this disdain wouldn’t ever leave, even with hours spent in counselling and working on herself.

Like now. Even when she’s in your embrace, all she could think about is the guilt she had harboured for so long now, that at this point it felt like a tumour she had ignored for too long, one that had grown so big that it was now impossible to remove without causing more damage than good.

“Ale? You okay?” Your voice brought her back into the room, adding another crack to the fragile glass box Alexia kept her thoughts inside. The blonde felt like that box could shatter again anytime soon, and that would mean all of them could come spilling straight out. And that would be the end of it all, for good this time. Not like the other occasion where you welcomed her with open arms. Surely you would finally recognise you were sick of her when she inevitably falls apart once more.

“Hm? Sí, bien.” She smiled, a tight-lipped one that didn't even come close to reaching her eyes.

You knew what that was a sign of.

“Ale.” You said softly, hoping you didn’t have to fight her for her to admit there was something wrong.

“I’m okay, mi amor. I’m just going to go to the bathroom, I will be back soon.” She rose to her arms, surging forward to leave a kiss to your lips before you could protest. Then, she was gone, rounding the corner of the lounge into the apartment corridor, leaving you confused.

Five minutes passed by and you let her be, giving her her privacy. But then five minutes turned to ten, and ten to fifteen, and you couldn’t hold off any longer. Just as you expected, when you passed the main bathroom, the door was open and the light was off. It was then, when you looked to your left, you saw Alexia through the crack left by the ajar bedroom door, sat on the edge of the bed facing away. Her shoulders were slightly slumped, her elbows were on her knees, and she was looking out of the window across from her. The only positive was that you couldn’t hear sniffling coming from her this time.

The door creaked as you lightly pushed it open, but the blonde didn’t acknowledge it. At that, you stepped in and kneeled on the bed, making your way to sit behind Alexia and wrap your arms around her as your legs fell either side of hers whilst your cheek came to rest in between her shoulders.

Neither of you spoke; you didn’t want to pressure her into speaking just yet, and Alexia was building up the courage to finally get the last plaguing insecurity off her chest. It’s late evening, the sun growing ever-closer to the horizon, and the only light in the room was the orange haze of the sky, softening every feature of your girlfriend’s face with a golden touch. The light added to her vulnerability, acting as a lamp that displayed the most beautiful artwork you could imagine in a gallery.

For some time, there’s no movement within the room. Alexia doesn’t tear her eyes away from the sunset before her, though the look that’s embedded in the hazel and amber there is distant, lost in a maze of her own mind that she desperately tried to escape from so she could give you the answers you’re hoping for. The only movement you make is the sporadic kisses you dot over her back, as well as the soft, comforting movements of your thumb over her ribs where your hands sit.

The silence was weighted, though not with awkwardness or impatience, but with understanding – a silent invitation to speak without any pressure or expectations. In the quiet space you've provided, no words are needed, only the steady warmth of your body against hers that offers a subtle, grounding reminder that Alexia is not alone, and she never will be. You would always be there to give that to her.

“I love you.” Alexia broke the silence but not the bubble of serenity, producing a sentence that was far more layered than anyone outside of this room would ever understand.

“I know.” You reminded her, hugging her tighter back against you.

“I wish I could go back and redo it all.” She stated, a heaviness to it that had you smiling sadly.

“Redo what?”

“Our relationship.” The footballer didn’t miss the way you tensed ever so slightly, nor did she miss how you lifted your head up from its place on her back. “I am so happy I met you. I feel so lucky that you love me, that you chose me, even when I have been a mess. I would only change how I acted, because I feel like I have not properly shown you how much I love you. How special you are. I wish you had got the love you deserved rather than the coldness I showed because… I don’t think I have been a very good partner to you.”

Some time ago, you had guessed this was a part of Alexia’s anxiety, and that point had been proven when she admitted a few months back that she felt you deserved better. But you didn’t know that it troubled her to this extent. She believed the doubtful voice in the back of her mind so much that she truly thought she wasn’t worthy enough of this relationship. That killed you, because she had been nothing but perfect, despite her personal struggles, from the moment you met her.

“You were not cold, Alexia.” You started, kissing the back of her neck before continuing. “You were the opposite. You were warm and kind-hearted. You were compassionate and honest. I look back on those days so fondly because of how you made me feel. From the very first date, you allowed me to be myself and that was something that meant so much to me. And since then, you still surprise me all the time with how amazing you are. To put it simply, Ale, I wouldn't be here if you were cold or a bad partner. There is nobody else for me, it's only you and it'll always be you.”

Maybe this was the one inadequacy you could fix with your words.

“You really think of me like that?” Alexia asked in a sheepish whisper, turning her head slightly to look at you over her shoulder. You smiled brightly, nodded, and shuffled to sit beside her. One hand came up to rest on her cheek as you leaned forward and kissed her, soft and tentative, to convey all you could never find the words to tell her.

“I do think of you like that.” You whispered against her lips, foreheads together as your thumb lightly brushed over her lower lip. “And I hope one day you can look back and not see your flaws, but instead see the woman I fell in love with.”

She nodded because quite frankly she was speechless. And then there were tears filling her eyes that neither of you expected, which had you moving again as you slotted yourself into her lap. Her head fell to your chest, pulling you against her in a tight embrace. Your arms came around her neck, one laying across her shoulders and the other resting on the back of her head.

Your words slowly began to sunk in, finally, which was a weirdly cathartic feeling for Alexia. She wasn't sure why it was this specific moment that something snapped inside of her, but it did. What was once a topic that consumed her, took over her every thought and switched it with a venomous onslaught of overthinking suddenly started forming into a thing of the past.

All along, Alexia had no idea just how deep your understanding ran about her insecurity with the love she has to offer. She thought you weren't aware of the guilt she felt and the struggles she experienced, but you were. That, and more. She could never repay you for that. All she could do was love you for a lifetime and hope that was enough.

Half a year ago, you were just two people getting to know each other. You liked her and she liked you. You looked into each other’s eyes and saw a future together. Then, you both took that hope, nurtured it, and made a life for yourselves, together.

To anyone on the outside, this wouldn't seem like such a huge milestone. But to you and Alexia, this was a major turning point, for the better. Something like this wasn't expected when you first met, but that's the thing about love, isn't it? Nothing good comes easy, a part of life that Alexia had come to accept. Because it was so, so worth it in the end.

—

this fic was a little different but i hope it was good. first one that i have posted in the midst of my writing anxiety so i may or may not be terrified of posting this but well it's out now anyway. hope you enjoyed it <3

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso fic #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

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moonlight-records · 1 month ago

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And The Winner Is... | T. Wolff (pt III.)

pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

summary: tickets? secured. outfit? set. now, it's time for the big day! first thing on the list: securing a good VIP number at a good...like...four in the morning

warning: age gap! suggestive, uhh yeah i think that's it?

fc: none!

a/n: we're like, sort of back???

wc: 2.2k

part 1 | part 2 | current

Teaching Toto proper concert etiquette in a world where concert culture has become so toxic was surprisingly a lot easier than you had thought. Then again, it seemed the Austrian hasn’t been to many concerts in his life which was a bit of a shock but thinking more on it Toto has always been more of a party guy when he’s not at work, so, it made sense. Still, you were over the moon while quizzing Toto for the past couple of days and him answering the questions correctly. Now was time for the hardest part of it all.

Getting a good number in the VIP line.

Honestly, you thought you’d be doing a mini camping trip before VIP was opened by yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time. Hell, you’ve camped out of the box office for some artist so this was going to be a breeze. You have your concert camping backpack which consists of a blanket, your phone, iPad, headphones, sweatshirt, snacks, and water. You were dead set on soloing it and having Toto meeting you about an hour beforehand so you two could have numbers right after one another. You were explaining this to Toto at 3:55 in the morning as you tripled checked your backpack. Turning to Toto, you blinked seeing Toto groggily tossing the covers off of him.

“What are you doing?”

“...Getting dressed?”

“Why?”

The two of you stare at each other like the other grew three heads before finally Toto speaks, “To join you?”

“Oh.” You look surprised.

“Why do you look surprised?”

“It’s just usually I go by myself so,” you explain as you shrug softly.

Toto stares at you in slight shock. “What?” He asks, “why would I go back to bed while you’re going to be camping outside the stadium. At,” he checks his phone, “4 in the morning? By yourself?”

“Oh well, I just..thought you wouldn’t want to join me. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to wake up.” You admit.

Toto makes his way over to you while looking down at you. “Schatz,” he murmurs softly, lifting your chin to look at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to go with you? Yes, it is early in the morning for a bracelet.” Toto starts. “But, this is something you do often and this is something you enjoy. I told you before and I will tell you again. I don’t care what we’re doing, if it makes you happy and well it’s safe, I want to be there with you for the experience. Besides, if you think I am letting you sit on a sidewalk for roughly…” he pauses, “five hours? On the sidewalk? In public? By yourself? While I’m at home sleeping? Absolutely not. I would much rather be cranky outside knowing you’re safe than tossing and turning constantly checking your location to make sure you’re safe and yes, I know you’ve explained that other people will also be camping for…will call and these bracelets but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go by yourself. Not while I’m here.” Toto kisses your forehead, “now let me get change and we can go.”

You stare up at Toto and you swear you’re about to cry. You’ve never had a partner that actually wanted to camp out for concerts before. Hell, most of your ex’s didn’t even want to go to a concert with you unless it was the artist that they liked. Not once has anybody actually been willing to do stuff like this with you though Toto had completely proven you wrong. Truly, you weren’t sure how you scored so god damn lucky with him but you will be fucking damned if you fumbled this relationship. “Okay.”

It takes Toto about five minutes to get dressed once you reassure him that he can go in sweats. That probably wasn’t the best decision because even though it was so early in the morning, your eyes were drawn to the gray sweatpants that Toto was wearing as the two of you made your way to the arena. You swore he did it on purpose as a minor punishment for deciding to go out so early in the morning to camp out. Though, was it really a punishment?

“Oh my god,” Toto whispers as you two walk up to the arena. There’s a line that was already halfway down the venue. Judging by all the times you’ve done this, you estimate that a good 100 people have already lined up. “Is this the line we’re getting on?” Toto asks, looking at you both in shock and horrified.

“Oh, no,” you laugh gently, “that’s the box office line. Those are the folks that don’t have tickets and are trying to score tickets for tonight’s show.”

“Didn’t you say that it was sold out?”

“I did because technically it’s true. According to online, the show is sold out. Though they don’t sell all the tickets. They save some for box office and other tickets go out to different like…charities and companies that do like a lottery deal,” you explain as you two walk past the line and round the corner. You keep walking as you see some barricades set up. You start going through the winding path spotting before putting your things down. “This is where we go and we’re even the first ones in line,” turning to Toto, “do you want to get coffee or anything? I ca–”

“I’ll get it,” Toto cuts you off, “just text me your order.”

“I thought you didn’t want me being out here by myself,” you tease gently with a smile as you put your backpack down and dig through for your blanket.

“I did but there’s a local coffee shop that’s 24 hours just up the block. Besides, I feel a bit better knowing there’s a line of people around the corner in the off chance something does happen, you can go there.” Leaning down, Toto kisses your cheek, “I’ll be back.”

You smile and nod as you settle down on your blanket texting Toto your order before taking your iPad. Opening Netflix, you toss on some trashy reality tv show you had downloaded while you waited. You look up when Toto comes back, smiling as you accept your iced coffee. You adjust your iPad when Toto sits so the two of you can watch, curling into his side as you both silently watch.

Though about halfway through the third episode, you let your eyes wander back to the gray sweatpants that Toto was wearing. You couldn’t help but stick your tongue out slightly to wet your lips as you let your mind wander. It was a rare sight to see Toto in sweatpants out in public and you knew damn well why. Man was already tall and hot with an accent but add in a great dick and know how to use it too? Man was lethal and everyone’s wet dream and suddenly you sorta regret not sticking to your guns because you didn’t need to fight all these girls off but you would just to prove a point.

“Schatz?”

“Hm?” You hum while still staring at Toto’s crotch for a moment before looking up at Toto.

Toto leans into your space smirking slightly, “Is there something distracting you?”

By some miracle, you hold your ground even though your breath hitches slightly. You force yourself to keep his gaze, ignoring the heat spreading through your cheeks and down your neck. You purse your lips together as Toto smirks even wider. “Well?” He murmurs, “you never answered my question.” You clear your throat and sit up a little straighter. “No,” you feign confidence even as your voice cracks slightly. You force your gaze back to your show, rewinding to the halfway point and settling back in your spot. You hear your boyfriend chuckle as he settles in next to you.

The hours fly by as more people trickle in after you which makes sense. No reason to really camp out overnight considering between the VIP tiers there's only 300 VIP total, which secures you at least the first two rows and third row being the absolute worst. You glance at Toto and giggle every hour as more people trickle in behind you two. By 8 am, you stand and stretch, groaning softly because wow you were really stiff. You pack your iPad up before gently nudging Toto off the blanket and shaking it out before you two fold it up.

“How much longer are we waiting?” Toto asks as you two stand in line.

“An hour roughly. Doors are opening as close to 9 as possible, we get our VIP and number along with our general admission ticket and then we can go home, nap, eat, change, and be back around 2:30 to start lining up.”

“Another line?”

“Yes. It’s for the VIPs to get in. They’ll separate us and I’ll show my ID and we’ll get our little goodies before scanning in and going upstairs for the party. Then they’ll line us up and take us downstairs for the concert. That’s where the numbers come in. Since we’ll be the first two, we know we’re front of line so we can get our corner.”

“Corner?”

“Yes. The corner that Sabrina typically picks on who to arrest. Now granted that you’re tall you might have to stand a row or two back but,” you shrug, “it’s fine. Play nice with the other girls around, most of us are short. Offer to film things for them. Or drinks if they can and they’ll be so thankful for you.”

“I might as well bring a foldable chair and sit till it’s time.” Toto jokes and you laugh because honestly. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you could get away with that. “That would be the dream. You know,” patting his arm gently, “easy on your poor knees.” You grin as Toto feigns shock due to your audacity. Toto leans down, murmuring in your ear, “Pretty sure my knees were just fine last night when I got down to eat you out.” Your face goes completely red and you smack Toto’s chest gently, murmuring for him to hush.

When 9am rolls around, excitement and anticipation is in the air. You rock gently on your heels while Toto keeps an arm around you. You snicker when Toto jumps slightly as security arrives outside and a lot of people in line cheers before hushing down when security starts speaking. Tickets out via the Ticketmaster app so the workers inside know which wristband to give you though the tables are labeled. Opening your app, you show the security guard and he lets you two go in.

“Good morning,” the worker says as you head over to the VIP table. “Good morning.” You respond with a smile as you show the app. You offer your wrist as she puts the hot pink wristband on and writes ‘1’ on it. You watch Toto copy you after and that he’s ‘2’. “Okay. All VIPs are lining up outside the front around 2:30 to go inside. They’ll separate you two after. Make sure whoever bought the tickets has their ID ready as they will check. Also, on the side entrance they’re doing early merch shopping if you want to get that done now.” The worker explains.

You smile and thank them before heading outside with Toto. You look up at him as he glances down and gestures. “Well, are we shop–” You cut him off by grabbing his wrist and immediately start heading off to the side entrance because yes of course you guys are shopping now. No reason to wait on the lines if you can get it over with and get it home safely. You greet the other security worker when you find the entrance before your bag is checked quickly and you go through a metal detector before waiting for Toto. Your eyes widen with pure excitement when you’re inside and softly squeal as you practically bounce over to look at everything. “Buy whatever you want,” Toto hands you his card and you stare at him. “God I’m going to suck your soul out your dick when we get home.” You leave Toto completely stunned as you head to the front to really see everything before finally buying.

Wandering over with two gigantic bags while grinning ear to ear, Toto glances up from his phone and immediately pockets it to take the bags from you. “Meine Liebe, did you buy one of everything?” Toto jokes. You stare at him and his chuckle dies down as his features shift from playful to a bit of shock, “Y/N.” You purse your lips out before offering a sheepish smile, “You said buy whatever you want, and some are city exclusives that would’ve sold out!” Your shoulders relax when Toto starts laughing. “Okay, you got me there. You’ll have to show me when we get home.”

“After I suck your dick.”

“Y/N.” Toto warns.

“What? God forbid a girl has a hobby.” You roll your eyes as Toto blinks, trying to understand what it meant. You wave it off, deciding to save that explanation for later before grabbing his hand to walk outside with him. “Though seriously, we have to get home so we can change and get ready.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

“In more ways than one.”

“Strike two.”

You just look with a smile, “Worth it.”Toto scoffs, “move it.” He gently smacks your ass and you squeak, giggling while looking at him before leading the way back to the car so the day could really begin.

#moonlight records releases #and the winner is...#part 3 #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfic #toto x reader #toto wolff suggestive #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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b14augrana · 11 months ago

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Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

#fc barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #fcb femení #woso #woso community #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso fanfics #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #fcb femeni #woso angst #fcbfemeni #futfem #ad astra per aspera

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brockkboeserr · 9 months ago

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somehow still stuck on you

navigating the realities of your post break up friendship with quinn is exacerbated by how much you’re not over him

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

warnings: a bit of exes to lovers angst

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hi @boqvistsbabe i’m your fic exchange writer, i’m sorry for the wait but i hope you enjoy!! i was feeling mad regret over not signing up for the fic exchange so when @wyattjohnston asked if i wanted to step in as a pinch hitter i said duhhhhh. this is as much a love letter to vancouver in late july as it is a quinn fic

Quinn’s back in Vancouver.

It’s not exactly revolutionary given the millions of dollars and the capital C handed to him by the Vancouver Canucks, but it is noteworthy given the timing.

Training camp doesn’t start for another month, which makes it highly strange for Quinn to be back in the city already. Last you heard he was having a Brat Summer in Michigan.

Not that you were keeping tabs on your ex-boyfriend-turned-just-friend, of course. It’s not a crime to click through the first five Insta stories when you open the app, even when it showcases how much fun he’s having without you.

Although it might have felt like it when you were dating, the sun and moon didn’t rise and fall at the behest of Quinn Hughes. It was just easier to remember that fact when you weren’t faced with him—quite literally faced with a giant banner of his likeness leaving the Stadium-Chinatown SkyTrain station. The start of the regular season would be bad enough with his name on every one of your coworkers' lips.

All this to say you thought you had more time before he re-entered a position at the center of your universe.

Summer had been kind to you, giving you the time and space needed to move on and heal. Even with the colder than usual June, you’d managed to sneak away to Osoyoos a couple weekends with the girls. Your skin? Glowing. Your hair? Shining. Your thoughts? Totally devoid of one Quinn Hughes.

Until you’d been swiping through the aforementioned stories and spotted one of your favorite walking spots in his story. Very much downtown Vancouver and very much not Michigan.

It wasn’t a terrible break up and you’d been friends long before ever getting together, so it’s not unreasonable to receive an invitation to get the gang together for drinks and dinner in Gastown to celebrate the return of Quinn and others in your friend group to your city.

The time and place all but guarantees you have no way of getting out of it, and truly you are happy to get together with everyone, so you have no choice but to react to the “thumbs up if you’re coming” message.

All the healing and the positive thinking in the world can’t stop you from dressing a little better than you ordinarily would for a casual hang or spending a little more time on your hair.

You’re glad for the extra effort when you stroll in right on time. Everyone is loitering around the entrance, clearly waiting on an open table. It kind of foils your plan to slip into an empty chair, thereby avoiding the initial how are you hug train. Before you can even think of another way out of it, you find yourself being passed along from one friend to another until you reach Quinn, fumbling into a quick and stilted hug.

“Awkward,” Sienna hisses but all you can do is shrug pathetically.

You’re saved from much more embarrassment by the hostess informing your group the table is ready and you’re so grateful you could almost kiss her. The long table means you’re not sat immediately beside Quinn which is a blessing because you’re not sure you could take any more close contact. Conversation flows easily around you, the usual topics of work, families, and shitty roommates.

Everything is going well until the conversation turns to Quinn’s summer in Michigan. The distance between the two of you isn’t large enough for you to miss the way Quinn’s eyes flicker over to you when someone asks him if he��s seeing anyone.

It’s not fair the way your vision briefly turns to black, your heart constricting in your chest. The feeling of almost betrayal that floods your veins isn’t fair either—it’s been months since you broke up and you’ve been on your own fair share of dates. Failed dates to be fair, but dates all the same.

Sienna is your saving grace in the form of a clenched hand around your forearm, hauling you to the bathroom with some fake excuse you don’t hear.

“Are you okay?” she asks outside of the table’s listening distance

You can only shrug pathetically, all words failing you now.

She waits a solid three minutes before leading you back.

“Crisis averted!” she declares when you both return, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

The conversation has turned away from romantic endeavors, circling back to someone’s work drama.

You get the sense that Quinn is trying to meet your eyes, but you don’t dare look in that direction until it’s time to leave. Your exit is hasty, the excuse of needing to catch the sky train in the next eight minutes excusing you from any further contact. In the sea of goodbyes, Quinn’s is the clearest.

It’s not technically avoiding if your workload has you so busy you barely see your roommate, let alone your friend group, right?

There’s a major deadline coming at work and it feels as though you’re wasting money on rent when all of your time is spent at the office. Wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat.

It’s easier to just mute the group chat, rather than be bothered by the buzzing of your phone.

Easier until Sienna ends up bursting through your door after work using the key you’d given her for emergencies only.

“This is an emergency,” she says before you can speak—caught red handed knee deep in an episode of Love Island UK and a tub of ice cream.

Neither of you speak as she grabs a spoon from your drawer and burrows into the couch beside your pathetic cocoon. It’s born of burnout rather than heartbreak, but you’re aware of the optics of it all.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” she says while some hot blonde cries in the confessional on TV.

“Have not,” you rebut, unceremoniously pulling the tub of ice cream away from her so that she scoops up air instead. “I’ve just been so busy with work. I haven’t even had the time or energy to go grocery shopping, hence the ice cream for dinner.”

Her eyes flicker down to the tub in your hands but she doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. That there’s more to the unconventional supper than just laziness.

“Come to fireworks this weekend,” she says instead, her motives for the impromptu visit finally becoming clear. “You missed last weekend and yesterday. I’m asking in person so you can’t ignore the group chat message like the last two times.”

“If I say yes will you be quiet and let me watch my show?” you ask. She nods emphatically, apparently proving that she can in fact be silent. Truthfully the festival of lights is a highlight of your summer, and watching the last two shows through other people’s stories isn’t your favorite way to view them.

“Fine.”

She squeals and throws her arms around you. You want to ask if Quinn will be there, and the look on her face says she’s waiting for you to, but you don’t.

At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if he’s going to be there or not. Exes or not, he was one of your best friends and will always be a major part of your friend group. There’s no separating the two and the sooner you get over it and everything returns to the way it was before you started dating the better.

She doesn’t push any further, content to sit alongside you and soak in someone else’s love drama on screen rather than your own.

“Remember a sweater!” are her parting words to you, notorious for always neglecting one.

You forgot a sweater.

It’s not until you’re sitting down on the 99 beside an old lady that you realize. You’re already running a little behind schedule and it would double your transit time to head back, so you settle into your seat and hope it doesn’t get too cold later.

By the time you reach the beach the group is already together, sitting on a couple beach blankets lined up end to end. You spot Quinn’s unruly dark hair before you even realize you’re looking for him.

“Look who finally showed!” someone says, and you roll your eyes as you drop down on the only spot available, right next to Quinn.

“I’m at the mercy of Vancouver transit, we all know this.” You’d rather rake your naked body over hot coals and then confess your lingering feelings for the boy beside you in front of everyone you know than waste time in traffic and pay the outrageous inflated parking price on a night of fireworks.

Quinn doesn’t tease you like the rest of your friends, and you wonder if he’s thinking about how the last time you saw fireworks together he’d driven. Or how he kissed you for the first time after driving you home from a different fireworks show.

The late afternoon passes by with an impromptu game of frisbee that you don’t partake in—there’s way too many people at the beach for it to be enjoyable and you’re more content to people watch and gossip while picking at the charcuterie spread someone else brought. The active rest of the group seems to reach the same conclusion you had and someone breaks out Uno.

By the time the sun sets, you’ve considered murdering both your friend to your left and your ex-boyfriend to your right. It’s bad enough you’re walking around with a still broken heart, now they’re ganging up on you with draw four cards and Uno reverses. The group is spared by the darkness making it too hard to play.

If circumstances were different, Quinn likely would be teasing you about being a sore loser, offering to kiss it better until someone inevitably fake gagged and told you to get a room.

Instead he’s silent as you turn your back to him in order to face the direction of the show about to start. The sea breeze hits and you can’t hold back your shudder.

“Did you seriously forget a sweater?” Sienna asks. “I told you.”

You spin around. “Yeah yeah yeah.”

Quinn is quick to pull off his hoodie, offering it to you with an outstretched hand. “Here.”

It feels too personal, too heavy, too full of implications and so you start to shake your head. “Oh, that’s okay.”

“You’re literally shivering,” he says. “Take it.”

It’s warm and soft and smells just like him. As you pull it over your head you’re taken back by just how right it feels. Like if you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend things were different.

The train of thought is broken by the first firework, and you spin back to watch.

The fireworks are beautiful and you sit in awe, ‘ooh’ing and ‘ahh’ing along with the crowd around you.

Someone up ahead stands up to take a photo and Sienna has no problem heckling him. “Sit down!”

They do and you just shake your head at her antics.

It turns out that sitting on the sand on a blanket isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. Mid way through the show, you find yourself shifting and leaning back to find a better way to situate yourself. In the process you brush your hand against Quinn’s, quickly pulling it back like you’d been burned.

“Sorry,” you murmur over your shoulder, unsure if the blush coating his cheeks is just your imagination.

When it’s over, you help everyone pack up and follow the group through the beach, quietly bitching about the sand getting into your sandals.

Everyone starts splitting up when the sand gives way to pavement. Sienna lives close, within walking distance and she gives you a tight hug and heads off in the direction of her house.

You’re turning away to start towards the bus stop when Quinn grabs your arm.

Thinking he wants his sweater back, you begin to pull at the hem but his words have you freezing in place.

“Do you want a ride home?”

Your place isn’t the exact opposite of his, but it’s also certainly not on his way home. Call it masochism, call it a desire to return to the way things were before you loved and lost, you agree with a quiet ‘yes.’

The walk to his car is quiet, and you resist the urge to ask him how much he paid for parking tonight, not sure you want to break the silence first.

That silence continues in his car, at least between the two of you. Something soft and acoustic plays through the car speaker as the lights of Kits turn into downtown.

When you get home, he offers to walk you to your door. Once, it was his way of making sure you got in safe. Then, it was his way of trying to prevent the night from ending.

Now, you’re not sure of his reasoning.

You get to the door, and he doesn’t say much more as you unlock it and step in.

“Do you want to come in?” you find yourself asking despite yourself.

He hesitates, hands in the pocket of his shorts. It kind of looks like he’s contemplating between stepping inside and running away.

It makes you angry, that bitter edge of hurt you haven’t quite gotten over yet surfacing.

“What do you want? You need to use your words, Quinn. Because your actions are confusing me!”

You have a very formulated argument prepared, full of evidence and conflicting actions—the result of hundreds of mini one sided arguments playing in your head since he’s been gone and since he’s been back. Arguments that don’t come to fruition because the look on his face is dangerous.

He cups your face in his hands and presses his lips solidly to yours. You don’t even have enough time to fall into the kiss before he’s pulling apart. “How’s that for confusing?”

There’s no answer from you, not verbally at least. Just the momentum of you throwing yourself at him, crushing your lips to his.

Words can wait.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #shelb writes

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ur-mag · 2 years ago

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Barcelona UNABLE to rebuild Nou Camp yet despite already demolishing iconic football stadium | In Trend Today

Barcelona UNABLE to rebuild Nou Camp yet despite already demolishing iconic football stadium Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

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#Barcelona UNABLE to rebuild Nou Camp yet despite already demolishing iconic football stadium #Celebrities #Money #Motors #Politics #ShowBiz #Sport #Tech #UK #US #World

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dreamcubed · 2 months ago

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paper rings | fred weasley x reader

song; paper rings [taylor swift] pairing; fred weasley x fem!rich!pureblood!reader genre; forbidden love, s2l word count; 4k timeline; goblet of fire —> order of the phoenix warnings; swearing, strict parents, fake friends, references to severe injury, slight discrimination of muggle-borns summary; you and fred were from different worlds, and in your family's eyes never should have crossed paths— but after a surprising interaction, an off-script story unfolds

this is the penultimate piece of the lover anthology!!

masterlist

"i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings."

———————————————————

One of the many luxuries that your family's status and wealth could provide was coveted seats at the Quidditch World Cup when it took place in England. And, after indulging in the enthusiasm of the crowd and countless souvenirs, you made your way back to your spacious tent with your parents feeling rather giddy. You were camping— although, with the quality and amenities of your set-up, it was more like glamping— in a more expensive and less crowded section, along with other wealthy families. So, as you settled into your double bed, you were confused at the sense of unease rippling inside of you. Still, you brushed it aside as adrenaline from the match, and finally cosied into a somewhat restless sleep.

When you woke up to the sound of screams and explosions, you realised that your instincts had been spot on, and shot out of bed to find your parents. They were hurrying out of their separate rooms just as you did, and your father quickly moved to peek out the door.

His face quickly paled, "Death eaters," he said hoarsely, and your mother gasped.

While your parents would probably never allow you to marry a muggle-born, it was not to say they didn't consider them as true witches and wizards. They were completely against You-Know-Who and his disciples— they simply didn't want their centuries-old bloodline tainted. In itself, it was still questionable, but you knew that you were lucky compared to other status households.

"Y/N, grab your wand," your father ordered, "We have to leave."

Your mother interjected, "We're pure bloods, they won't—"

"It's dark outside, they won't stop and assess who each person is," your father snapped back, moving to fetch his own wand, "Besides, they're starting fires. Wands, now."

You did as your father said, and pulled your shoes on in the process, readying to leave.

"Head towards the stadium— they're coming from the campsite entrance. Stay with us, Y/N."

The three of you left the tent and began the sprint towards the woods, your parents frequently using shielding charms as stray spells were flying all over the place. Soon, you were more protected within a crowd, but it became difficult to stay close to your parents as panicked people surrounded on all sides. As you broke the threshold of the trees, you were separated from them, and in frenzied fear you found yourself getting knocked over and rolled over the ground. Some people trampled over you, until a silhouette stopped above you and held out its hand.

"Come on, quick," you heard him say, and you took his hand and let him pull you up, stumbling to begin running alongside him.

"Thank you," you gasped out, as your legs moved as quickly as they could, now aware that it was one of the Weasley twins, from the year above.

"Don't mention it," he yelled back, slowing down slightly to match your pace.

You felt bad, and hurriedly said, "You don't have to stay with me."

"No, I don't." But he did.

Whichever Weasley twin it was seemed to somehow rejoin with his siblings, pulling you along with him. Your ears were ringing so much that you didn't see when Harry Potter and his two friends, one of them being a Weasley, disappeared, instead blindly following the twins and the only Weasley girl. That was when a horrifying yet grand formation of the Dark Mark appeared in the sky above you, making you grip the arm of the twin who had saved you. In spite of how terrifying such a symbol was, it seemed to have a positive effect, as the screaming stopped and spells were no longer being thrown around.

"They're retreating!" someone yelled, and relief washed over you.

"We should head back to the tent," the other twin said, then remembered you were there, "Where's yours?"

"Uh, in the— I'm in purple camping," you felt embarrassed to admit that you were in the wealthy campsite, especially in front of the Weasleys, who were well-known for being incredibly poor.

None of them commented, however, and the same twin continued, "Fred, you take her back there, I'll take Ginny back to ours."

Fred Weasley was the one who saved you.

***

When you arrived back at your tent, you didn't hesitate to call for your parents, "Mother? Father?" you shouted, but heard no response. Your tent was heavily fire-damaged on the outside, but perfectly fine on the inside— yet there was no sight of them. Anxiety began to rise within you again.

"I'm sure they're okay," Fred rushed to assure you, "They just haven't got back yet. I'll wait with you."

You nodded, and sat down next to him.

"What's your name, by the way?"

"Y/N," you said quietly, "Y/N L/N."

You saw his eyes widen at your last name, but he said nothing, "'M Fred— Weasley, but you probably guessed that."

A small chuckle emerged from you, "I know who you are."

"You go Hogwarts?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, I suppose we're quite famous there, me and George."

You agreed.

The minutes ticked by, and you were becoming increasingly worried.

"Look," Fred said, "My family will be getting worried about me, so I need to head back. You can come with, of course— maybe leave a note or something?"

With panicked breaths, you stood up and muttered a charm that displayed words in the air in front of your tent.

'Mother, Father— I'm safe. I am in the main campsite with the Weasleys.'

And with that, you followed Fred to where the majority of the tents were, and watched as what appeared to be his elder brothers hugged him.

"George told us where you were, but you took a long time," one of them said, as they all noticed you, "Your parents weren't there?"

You shook your head, "I left a note saying where I'd be."

He nodded, "'M Charlie, this is Bill— we're the oldest Weasleys."

"Y/N," you replied with a forced small smile.

"Any idea where the others are?" Bill asked.

Fred shook his head, "Haven't seen 'em since we were with George and Ginny."

"Shit."

Thankfully, only a few minutes later, Harry Potter and his friends returned with the Weasleys' father, who was sporting a grim expression. A discussion concerning death eaters and the Dark Mark ensued, somehow involving a house elf, but all you could do was sit there quietly. It wasn't until the conversation finished that the new arrivals noticed you. "Who's this?"

"Y/N. Y/N L/N," Fred said, "Found her in the woods."

"Where are your parents?" Mr Weasley asked.

You shrugged, "I have no idea."

The man's eyebrows furrowed, "Rich pure bloods missing," he said slowly, "Peculiar." His suspicion of you was evident.

"They're not death eaters," you said quickly, "I've— I've seen their bare arms a countless number of times."

"She's right," Bill said, "The L/N family don't exclusively wear long-sleeves like all the families who were suspected of it."

Mr Weasley seemed to ease up at that, "Sorry, just being cautious, I'm sure they're here somewhere."

***

As it turned out, when your parents had been separated from you, they had gone back to look, and gotten severely injured in the process. They had both been admitted to St Mungo's, where they wouldn't be able to leave for a few weeks. You were grateful that they were alive and seemingly mentally sound, but your large house felt even emptier than before without them.

To pass the time, you wrote a letter to Fred, thanking him profusely for saving you from being trampled to death, and informing him of your parents' situation. You handed it to your owl after pressing your family's wax seal on the envelope, before heading to the household library.

You never told your parents what happened to you that night, mainly because they hardly gave you a chance to speak as they fussed over the fact you were alive and unharmed. It was strange, how this was a secret that you kept all to yourself, at least from the people in your social circle. Complete strangers knew where you were when the death eaters attacked, but your closest friends and family didn't. Not that anyone asked— your friends knew that you went to the quidditch game, and they would have heard about what happened, but not a single one had reached out to check on you.

***

The first bit of post you received was not from friends, but from Fred Weasley, in reply to your letter. He told you that any decent person would have done the same, and that you probably would have been fine without him. He also said that he looked forward to seeing you when school restarted, before asking how your parents were. So, for the first time since they had been hospitalised, you told someone of their injuries, and how long their recovery would be. You briefly alluded to how alone you were in your house, and how he was the first person to ask about you.

Your correspondence continued right up until you boarded the train to Hogwarts, walking down until you found your friends. As you entered the compartment of your fellow Ravenclaw girls, they gave you scornful looks.

"What?" you said instinctively, confused and hurt by their reactions.

"Go away, death eater," Janice, the girl you would have considered your best friend, spat.

You furrowed your brows, "What are you talking about?"

"Your family were at the Quidditch World Cup and haven't been seen the attack," another of your friends stated accusingly, "It's pretty fucking obvious that they're in hiding."

"No, we're not— they're not— they're in the—"

"Save it," Janice cut you off, standing up and walking towards you, making you back up out of the compartment. "We aren't friends with death eaters."

"My parents are in—" but Janice had slammed the door shut and locked it, glaring at you through the glass as she sat down.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and as a result you made no further effort to talk to them, instead continuing down the corridor in hopes of finding the one person who you knew wouldn't turn you away. It wasn't long before you found him in a compartment with his twin brother and Lee Jordan, known for his quidditch commentary. You gently tapped on the glass, making them turn their heads.

As you waved, attempting to swallow your sobs, Fred quickly slid the door open and smiled at you.

"Y/N! Good to see you," he beamed, only to notice your quivering lip, "Are you okay?"

You nodded with a sniff, "Can I come in?"

"Of course, take a seat," he moved aside to allow you entry, resuming his sitting position.

You gently lowered yourself, playing with your hands nervously. The three boys were watching you carefully.

"What happened?" Fred asked carefully.

"My friends- uh- they accused me of being a death eater."

"What the fuck? Why?"

You met his eyes slowly, "Because my parents haven't been seen since the attack."

"But they're in hospital?" George spoke up, relaying information that Fred had evidently told him.

"I tried to tell them that."

"That's fucked up, man, they're not good friends," Lee said.

"Well, we know you're not a death eater," Fred moved to sit next to you, "You can hang out with us. Right, guys?"

His brother and friend immediately nodded.

"I mean, c'mon, you were with us that night and just as scared as we were," he continued, "Even if your parents were, that wouldn't necessarily mean you are."

"Yeah, try telling that to them," you muttered bitterly.

"I would, but I don't think it's worth it."

"Yeah, if they were your real friends, they would've given you a chance to explain," George added.

"You think?"

"One hundred percent," Lee said, "They had no solid proof, they just made assumptions."

You couldn't help but smile at their instant support of you, which was exactly when the train's whistle went off, signalling departure. The three boys quickly settled into a conversation of upcoming pranks and creations, surprising you with their incredible ideas: they were a lot smarter than they let on.

"Oh, by the way, this shit is top secret, yeah?" Fred said to you, "Don't tell a soul."

"My lips are sealed," you replied, just as the trolley lady appeared outside the compartment.

"Anything from the trolley, loves?" she asked after sliding the door open.

You nodded, "Three chocolate frogs and jelly beans, please," you requested, and turned to the others, "Do you guys want anything? On me."

"You don't have to do that," Fred replied.

Reaching in your pocket, you pulled out a few galleons, "I insist. It's no trouble."

You felt guilty when their eyes widened at the sight of the coins, but less so when they started ordering things.

"So good," George commented as he chewed on a jelly bean.

"Got lucky with the flavour, then?" Lee laughed.

He hummed, "Strawberry."

"Knowing my luck I'll get bogey," Lee sighed, but popped a jelly bean in his mouth anyway, before immediately spitting it out, "I was right," he gagged.

You all erupted in laughter.

***

Not a single soul had expected the announcement that came during the welcome ceremony: the long-banned Triwizard Tournament being re-introduced, and the impending arrival of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Soon, you were sat with Fred and George in the courtyard as they discussed their plans to enter, despite the fact they weren't old enough.

"An ageing potion?" you raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "You truly believe something so simple will get past a barrier that Dumbledore set?"

"Have some faith in us."

You rolled your eyes, "Whatever. Don't come crying to me if it fails."

"Oh, but what if I so desperately need your comfort?" Fred teased, draping his arm over your shoulders.

"Then tough shit, Fred."

"You're mean."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm realistic."

"Just you wait."

***

"So, this is what I was waiting for?" you suppressed a laugh as George and Fred walked towards you with full beards and long hair.

They rolled their eyes in sync, but could not stop the smiles on their faces-- they had never been the type to get embarrassed, and that in itself was refreshing. Fred sat down beside you, and asked, "You have a razor, by any chance?"

Somehow, you found yourself roped into cutting their hair back to its normal length, and then using a charm to turn it back to their iconic ginger roots.

"Thank you, love," Fred muttered at the end, which created a warm feeling in your chest, but you ignored this.

"Is now a good time to say I told you so?" you chuckled, standing before both of them.

"Yeah, yeah, you were right, we were wrong, you're so smart, Y/N."

"I know," you beamed, ignoring the sarcasm.

***

It was hard to miss the scornful glances that your ex-friends threw your way, especially as you still shared a dormitory with them, but it was elating to watch them see you with the Weasleys, and, by consequence, Harry Potter. They were evidently too proud to admit that they were wrong about you, despite such blatant proof of associating with famous anti-Voldemort individuals.

"What lies do you tell them?" Janice scoffed one night as you entered the bedroom.

You chuckled to yourself.

"They'll drop you just like we did when they realise the truth."

With a hum, you replied, "Yeah, the truth that my parents have been in hospital since the Quidditch Cup."

Janice's eyes widened, making you remember that you never quite got around to telling her such a vital piece of information: you had been so busy with the Weasley twins that you hardly thought about her anymore.

Still, she doubled down, spitting, "What a convincing lie."

"Go to St Mungo's and check for yourself, Jan," you shrugged.

"Maybe I will."

"Do what you want."

***

On a fateful and agonising Wednesday after the Yule Ball had been announced, you realised that you very much wanted Fred to ask you-- in fact, you genuinely feared that you might die if he did not, and went with someone else. You felt hints of jealousy towards Angelina Johnson, who had been nothing but lovely to you, but was quite close with the twins.

As if to spite you, the universe then sent a Hufflepuff boy asking out a Slytherin girl before you, the latter saying 'yes' very eagerly. The thing was, you should not want Fred to take you to the Yule Ball-- while your parents would have no problem with you befriending someone working class, they would never allow you to date, let alone marry one. Marriage was viewed as a transaction in the pure-blood society: one married to solidify status and continue the blood line. Although, Fred was a pure-blood, so maybe your parents would allow it?

You shook your head-- you were being delusionally hopeful, besides, Fred had done very little to indicate romantic affection towards you. All of these thoughts were moot points.

It was when you were sat on the Gryffindor table with Fred and George, that such a mindset changed: the twins were bickering with their brother, Ron, when the topic of insult turned to Yule Ball dates.

"Well, where's your date then?" Ron said bitterly to Fred.

Your crush rolled his eyes before turning to you, "Y/N, you, me - Yule Ball?" He made a motion of ballroom dancing as he asked, making a situation where all you could feel inside was butterflies comedic.

"Al- Alright, then," you replied as calmly as you could.

Fred then winked at Ron, who rolled his eyes.

You felt ecstatic happiness for the next hour, until it dawned on you that Fred may have only asked you to prove a point to his brother, and you happened to be the convenient option. That was a painful perspective, that you were simply convenient-- a space-filler until he found the right person.

What did it matter anyway? Your parents would never approve.

***

Admiring the baby blue ballroom gown that had been personally crafted for you upon the notification that ballroom attire would be required at the end of Summer, you could not help but feel pretty. You had spent ages on your hair and make-up, and even taught yourself how to walk in high heels, all for this fateful night. All, shamefully, in the hope that Fred would compliment you.

So, when you emerged from the Ravenclaw tower, to find Fred waiting patiently outside for you, your nerves spiked to dangerous levels. A lump grew in your throat as you approached him, unable to even force a small smile.

He whistled, "Well, love, you are a stunner."

Only then did a smile crack through your anxious visage. "You're not so bad yourself, Weasley," you said quietly, grateful that your foundation covered your blushing.

"Shall we?" he presented his arm to you.

"We shall."

From dancing with Fred to stuffing your face with the buffet, from laughing with your arms around his neck to watching George dance with Angelina-- it was, by all definitions, a perfect night. Never had you felt more alive, more care-free, which could only explain why when Fred when to kiss you as you ran from the Great Hall with your heels in your hand, you kissed him back without reservation. Without a single thought for your parents' approval. Without a care towards what was expected of you.

As he pulled away, he said, "Your parents probably wouldn't approve."

Quickly, you placed a finger over his lips, "To that, Fred, I say fuck it."

***

The Christmas holidays arrived, and your parents were still in St Mungo's, so you spent Christmas Day at the hospital with them, chatting amicably. As much as part of you wanted to keep your secret, you knew that you had to tell them-- not for their sake, but out of respect for Fred, and the fact you were not ashamed to be with him.

"Mother, Father-- how would..." you took a deep breath, "How would you feel if I married someone poor, even if he was of pure blood?"

They both went silent, your mother's lips even pursing, "We would not be... pleased."

"You know what marriage means for families like ours," your father added, "It is not a decision we make based on feelings."

You exhaled slowly, "Well, I do not think power and status is more important than happiness."

"You are young and naïve. You don't know what to think," your mother said calmly.

"I know that you both aren't happy."

"Watch your mouth," your father said harshly, "You don't even know what happiness is."

"I know it's not only seeing your spouse at the dinner table," you snapped back, surprised that you were standing up for yourself.

You observed your mother's eye twitch, "It sounds a lot to me like you are seeing an impoverished young man."

"Maybe I am."

"You will cease such relations immediately," she replied, "Our family's reputation is at stake if you are seen frolicking around with a respectless house."

Angrily, you stood up, "I see that reputation is more important to you than your own daughter." And, with that, you stormed out of the room.

***

After that Christmas, you stopped sending letters to your parents, and delved even deeper into your relationship with Fred.

"Am I really worth losing your relationship with your parents?" he asked one Summer afternoon as you lounged by the lake.

"Yes," you said without thinking.

"I just don't want to be a cause for regret for you."

"Even without you in the equation, I would still be angry about the principle," you sighed, "Their values are not in the right places."

He hummed, "I don't want to hold you back."

"Fred, everything in my life has been dictated for me-- which classes I took, what I could wear, who I could consider dating-- this is the first time I have made a decision for myself. Don't try and take that away from like they did."

Wrapping his arm around you, Fred smiled, "You're right, I'm sorry. I just care about your wellbeing."

***

ONE YEAR LATER.

***

"Will you come with us?" Fred asked you, after explaining his and George's grand exit from Hogwarts during exam season, "It's completely up to you, of course, don't feel pressured."

"My parents will hate me even more."

"So?"

"Rowena knows I'll probably be expelled."

"You don't have to."

"Yet, for some reason, every bone in my body is screaming for me to go."

Fred smiled, "You will?"

"Fred, I would go to the end of the earth if it meant being with you."

"Is that a yes?"

You grinned from ear to ear, "Of course it is, silly."

"Okay, okay, great-- because this leads into my next question."

"Oh?"

Shock coursed through your veins as Fred kneeled down before you, delicately taking and kissing your hand, "Y/N, I know your parents disapprove, I know we're only young, I know I can't afford a ring-- and I know this is a stupid decision, but nothing makes me happier than making a stupid decision with you."

You gasped.

"Let's get married, let's elope, even."

"Oh, Fred," you said softly, "Nothing makes me happier than making stupid decisions with you, too."

"So, will you marry me?"

You laughed, leaning down to whisper into his ear, "Fuck it."

***

Dearest Mother and Father,

You will be disappointed to know that I just married an impoverished man.

Kind regards,

Y/N Weasley

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written; 03/01/2025 —> 22/03/2025 published; 22/03/2025 edited; —/—/——

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