#Mejores Street

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Chun Li by Sophie Valentine

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La última declaración de patriomonio de Cristina Kirchner la posiciona como la mejor inversora de Wall Street del mundo 

La líder kirchnerista en retiro llamó la atención con su declaración jurada presentada ante la Oficina Anticorrupción, declarando un crecimiento real de su patrimonio que deja eclipsado hasta a Warren Buffet. La dos veces presidente y una vez vicepresidente de la Nación, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, declaró hacia el final de 2023 tener un patrimonio La dos veces presidente y una vez…

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🔥Mejores Street Fashion ~ Hottest Chinese Style Street Fashion 2023

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ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she looks at her phone. 

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

You: Estoy aquí!

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

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

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

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

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

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

Her eyebrows raise. 

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

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is full. 

The room is…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jo…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

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

“Your father would love her.” 

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

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

“She is very…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Dance with me!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

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

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

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

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

But, she values your presence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

The tour ends. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not subtle.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“England has a women’s team.” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

“You’re not answering my question.” 

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“She is… classified.” 

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

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

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

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

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

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

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

They will resonate. 

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

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

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

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

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

Gio: The publicity plan. 

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

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

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

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

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

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

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

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

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

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

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

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

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

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

It goes like this for months. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

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

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

“No, that was last month.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

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

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

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

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

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

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

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

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

“I hate watching football with you.” 

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” 

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

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

“No.” 

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

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

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

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

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

“But you already—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

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

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

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

“Manches–”

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

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

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

“¡Vamos!”

…

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so nosy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

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

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

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

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

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

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

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

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

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

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

“A horse?” 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is another hour left.” 

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

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

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

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

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

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

“One of those massive bars?” 

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

Your contractions get closer together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.” 

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

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

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

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

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

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

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

…

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

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

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

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

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

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

She is going to fall apart without you. 

[the-other-art-blog]

SOPHIE NEVER ASKS BENEDICT TO CHOOSE HER OR MARRY HER.

I can talk endlessly about Sophie Beckett. She is one of my favorite characters ever. And I was thinking the other day how Sophie never asks Benedict to choose her or marry her. There's no "pick me" moment at all. She never gives him an ultimatum, a "marry me or I leave" kind of threat. She simply wants him to leave her alone.

How amazing is that? And how strong she was to do this and stick to her decision?!

Sophie, as romantic as she is, has a very realistic view of society and her future. She leaves her dreams to be dreams and takes life as it is, without sugarcoating it.

She refuses to be Benedict's mistress no matter how much she loves him, and he has no intention of marrying her until the last chapters.

In Mexico, we have a saying "mejor sola que mal acompañada," which translates as "better be alone than with bad company."

It's not that Benedict is bad company per se, but the life he offers her only works for him (and not even that really, not in the medium or long run). As a mistress, she would feel shame for the rest of her life adding one more disgraceful label to her name AND she would subject her children to the same shame and pain she endures every day. She will never be a Bridgerton, and the family will never accept her as they accepted Kate and Pen.

So she chooses a lonely but dignified life. Even Benedict tells her how lonely she will be:

And honestly, kudos to her because it's easier said than done. I mean, it sucks to be alone and everyone is afraid of it (this also applies to friendships too, and even family). Look at social media, everybody is lonely or afraid of being lonely. It's a rational fear, but it traps people in bad relationships. How many people have partners that do not support them or pose obstacles to their growth, some even mistreat them physically and emotionally. And they stay because they don't want to wake up to an empty bed.

When you take all the Bridgerton paraphernalia, you have a very current issue at the core, a very relatable woman (probably the most relatable one for the 99%) who just wants to stay true to herself. She's a woman refusing to be mistreated because she knows her worth and protects her dignity. She's not in the streets carrying cardboard with feminist messages, but she's fighting for herself and that's enough because it keeps an overprivileged man from ruining her. In the end, Benedict understands this fully and loves her all the more for it.

This also reminds me of all the posts here and on tw that say something like "I would be Benedict's mistress" or "my love for Benedict is dangerous for feminism." I know it's a joke and it's fun BUT when you think of it, Sophie could have said this, Benedict wanted her to say this. She could have accepted his proposal to enjoy the luxuries but she didn't.

I was going to post this until we have actual official confirmation that Sophie will be Sophie. But I am confident we'll have her. For 3 seasons the writers have demonstrated their love for Benophie with foreshadowing like no other character has had. And if we still have to wait more weeks to have casting news, then this post is still true to the book. I love Sophie so much 🥰.

[diorsluv]

feather , part 21

“ send a pic ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

_quinnhughes

liked by jackhughes, mackie.samo, yourusername, and 61,963 others

_quinnhughes went out with jack and our luke replacement 🙏

tagged: jackhughes, yourusername

view all comments

trevorzegras sleepy girl lmaooo

→ _quinnhughes fr this kid brought a whole body pillow in my car

→ yourusername they dragged me out of my bed at 5 in the morning 🙄🙄

rutgermcgroarty “luke replacement” is wild

→ _quinnhughes she agreed and he didn’t

→ yourusername more like they could drag me into their car but they couldn’t drag him

→ lhughes_06 i’m just a little hurt

username13 their relationship with her is the cutest thing ever

yourusername photo proof that jack enjoys my “green juice”

→ jackhughes yeah yeah whatever

→ markestapa HEY YOU NEVER MADE IT FOR US

→ mackie.samo YEAH WHERES OUR GREEN JUICE

username45 the sleeping mask is so relatable

username98 quinn’s pics are so cinematic

adamfantilli does she just sleep in everyone’s car

→ _quinnhughes yes

→ markestapa sprawls all the way out in the backseat

→ jackhughes sprawls out in shotgun too

→ trevorzegras she’s like a starfish

→ _alexturcotte she smacked me in the face once

→ yourusername I DID NOT.

→ mackie.samo she’s fallen asleep with her legs in my lap too many times 😒

→ lhughes_06 she’s fallen asleep with her head in my lap too many times 🙄

→ edwards.73 ok luke i see u

username34 jack LMAOOOO

username11 don’t do my girl like that she’s more than a luke replacement 🙄

→ yourusername 🗣️🗣️

luca.fantilli lil drizz needs to give us the fit check rn

→ _quinnhughes don’t obsess over her in my comments 🙄

→ yourusername shush quinny

→ yourusername and also it’s mark’s hoodie, target sweatpants and my sleeping mask 😈😈

→ luca.fantilli that’s not a fit check send me a pic

→ yourusername no

→ lhughes_06 MARK’S hoodie??

markestapa yo that’s my hoodie ask her where she got it from

→ jackhughes she said and i quote “your dresser”

→ yourusername oops

→ lhughes_06 YOUR hoodie??

dylanduke25 hughesy is no bueno

→ jackhughes i’m muy bien

→ _quinnhughes estoy más o menos

→ yourusername don’t use google translate that’s cheating _quinnhughes

→ lhughes_06 muy mal, no me gustan mis hermanos ni uno de mis mejores amigos porque ellos son pendejos y los odio

→ yourusername lukey babes we know you used google translate too 😭😭

→ jackhughes he and quinn are the same

yourusername

liked by dylanduke25, edwards.73, rutgermcgroarty, and 82,964 others

yourusername adam fell asleep questionably and luca straightening my hair should prob be a fire hazard but i finally spent sum time w my fav boys 🫶🫶

tagged: adamfantilli, luca.fantilli, rutgermcgroarty, mackie.samo, edwards.73, dylanduke25, markestapa

view all comments

luca.fantilli oh my god i’m a fav boy

→ yourusername only because you didn’t burn the house down with my straightener in your hands

trevorzegras where’s moose

→ yourusername gone

→ edwards.73 he ditched us 😒

→ missseraphina with me!

→ trevorzegras please god no

_quinnhughes i don’t understand how my brother can get what he’s wanted for years while also simultaneously fucking it all up

→ yourusername fr it’s crazy

→ jackhughes LMAOOO he showed me ur comment and started whining

rutgermcgroarty i really struggled carrying you down that street

→ yourusername are you saying what i think you’re saying 🤨

→ rutgermcgroarty WHAT NO

→ yourusername i think ur just weak! 🙄🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty I WAS RUNNING

username67 i love these little dumps when she hangs out w them

username9 the titanic recreation is amazing

username27 if you really think about it we could ship her with any of them

→ username12 mcdrysdale??? IT SOUNDS LIKE A MCDONALDS MEAL LMAOO

→ username78 drystilli

→ username35 drystapa ofc

→ username66 dredwards 💀

→ username90 dukedale (or drysduke??)

→ username4 dryskevich.. wth why does it sound like a normal last name

→ username51 dryshughes 🔛🔝

adamfantilli IT WAS REALLY COLD

→ yourusername so u disregarded the blankets on the other couch and stole everyone’s pillows

→ adamfantilli yes

→ yourusername i understand

→ luca.fantilli she has a soft spot for u she replaced all the pillows and gave u like three blankets 🙄

markestapa eddy the jack to my rose 😘😘

→ edwards.73 marky the rose to my jack 😘😘

→ yourusername stop flirting and get out of my comments 😐😐

→ markestapa no i don’t think so ‼️‼️

→ edwards.73 stop being a hater yourusername 🙄🙄

→ mackie.samo i feel left out i wanna join 😞😞

→ yourusername aww ofc mack 🤗🤗

→ dylanduke25 me too 😊😊

→ yourusername i mean i guesssss 🙂🙂

→ lhughes_06 can i join too 😇😇

→ yourusername no 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

lhughes_06 damn wish i could’ve joined

→ dylanduke25 😐

→ markestapa 😑

→ edwards.73 😐

→ yourusername is that supposed to be the emoji blinking

→ mackie.samo 😐😑😐 yourusername

→ missseraphina yeah but you had more fun with me!

missseraphina 🙄

→ username63 uh… you do realize you’re PUBLICLY commenting right 💀

colecaufield is that girl harassing you

→ yourusername no it’s so funny lmfaoooo

→ jamie.drysdale bro she’s dming ME

→ yourusername u should see my dms 😭😭

next chapter notes ) yes seraphina is a certified delulu girl! i don’t wanna antagonize her terribly but she needs to cause enough drama so we’re going down this road and ik i haven’t been uploading recently but i’m too busy being an academic weapon 🙏

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys

[goldsainz]

THE ERAS TOUR — one shot.

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

MASTERLIST.

NOTE: this is fully to ignore the fact that i probably will not see taylor in argentina bc the chances of getting tickets are insane, which is okay (i already cried my eyes out) — still doesn't make it hurt any less — but i have hope another opportunity will come! nicki is amazing and after yesterday’s race (forza ferrari fr) all ferrari fans need a pick me up. enjoy this random fic!! this is kinda all over the place, but we move (italics = translation)

iked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift and 1,476,038 others

yourusername QUE?? chicos yo no puedo creer esto... ABRO EL SHOW PARA TAYLOR SWIFT!! esto es un sueño cumplido y mucho más... les dejo esta foto de cuando me enteré sobre esto hace unos meses 🙃

WHAT?? guys i cannot believe this... I OPEN TAYLOR SWIFT'S SHOW!! this is a dream come true and so much more... i leave you this picture of when i found out about this a couple months ago 🙃

view all 22,140 comments

taylorswift You are gonna kill this!!! 💕✨😁

⤷ yoursername estoy llorando!!! te amo 🤍 i'm crying!!! i love you

ynfan1 I LITERALLY DIED DEAD

taylorfan1 when world's collide... i need tickets rn

ynfan2 argentina >>

charles_leclerc So incredibly proud of you ❤️ ps: I took that picture while she face-timed me 😉

⤷ yourusername let's all thank charles

⤷ ynfan3 thank you!!

charlesfan1 don't know how ¡'m gonna get tickets... but i will

ynfan4 im broke but never broke enough for taylor and y/n

ynfan5 verla irse internacional me pone contentísima seeing her go international makes me so happy

liked by taylornation, mariabecerra and 1,392,674 others

yourusername méxico, fuiste mágico! siguiente parada, argentina 🇦🇷 no puedo esperar para cantar en mi país!! los amo tanto, esta oportunidad sin ustedes no sería posible ❤️‍🩹

mexico, you were magical! next stop, argentina 🇦🇷 i can't wait to sing in my country!! i love you so much, this opportunity would not be possible without you ❤️‍🩹

view all 20,891 comments

ynfan21 KILLED IT!!!!!!

charles _leclerc Even though I couldn't make it, I always go where you go, this time it was by watching every clip I could find. Words cannot describe how proud I am of you, amour

⤷ yoursername i'm so lucky to have you!! te amoo i love youu

charlesfan21 the fact that taylor played ciwyw, sweet nothing and cornelia street for her and charles... now that's true love

charlesfan22 missing her at the races

ynfan22 PODER VERLA FUE LO MEJOR QUE ME PASO!!! BEING ABLE TO SEE HER WAS THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME!!!

charlesfan23 charles's comments keep my hope for true love alive

ynfan23 LA AMO I LOVE HER

charlesfan24 need to see her live

liked by ynfan31, charlesfan31 and 28,576 others

ynupdates Y/N at the Monza Grand Prix 03/09

view all 429 comments

ynfan32 SERVING LOOKS

ynfan33 best couple ever cause she’s on break and still travelling to see charles

user31 her and rosalia together is everything to me

charlesfan32 i need pics of them together NOW.

user32 rauw being cropped is killing me

ynfan34 mother is mothering fr

charlesfan33 her presence is the good luck ferrari needs

liked by ynupdates and 1,037 others

liked by scuderiaferrari, carmenmmundt and 2,185,703 others

yoursername CONGRATULATIONS!!! it never fails to amaze me just how talented you are, the year started rough but you pushed forward!! P1 is everything you hoped for and more, but no matter the result, i will always cheer you on

view all 32,785 comments

user41 IF MY PARTNER ISN'T THIS SUPPORTIVE, I DON'T WANT IT

scuderiaferrari Thank you, Y/N, for your endless support!

charles_leclerc Thank you for supporting me and letting me hug you when I'm soaked in champagne!

yoursername always, mi amor 🫶 my love

ynfan41 THE CARDIGANS ARE SOOO CUTE

charlesfan41 the fact that when y/n goes he drives like there’s no tomorrow

ynfan42 idk but y/n ignoring ferrari's comment is kind badass…..

⤷ charlesfan42 after all the shit they put him through it's well deserved

charlesfan43 THERE IS HOPE FOR FERRARI AFTER ALL

ynfan43 alguien que me consiga una relación asi someone get me a relationship like this

charlesfan44 y/n is just like us fr, ignoring ferrari and loving

liked by sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 2,504,781 other

yourusername que ciudad tan mágica que es buenos aires! nunca me sentí tan amada en mi país como en esas horitas que compartimos!! gracias por las pulseritas de amistad que me dieron, no me las saco nunca más 💞💞

what a magical city that is buenos aires! i never felt so loved in my country as i did in those hours we shared!! thank you for all the friendship bracelets you gave me, i will never take them off 💞💞

view all 37,568 comments

charles_leclerc Never met someone that made me feel the things I feel, you are the one for me. Cannot wait to see you after so long and have you in my arms, watching a livestream to see you perform will do for now. I love you, so much, mon chéri ❤️

⤷ yourusername i just shed a couple tears... te amo tanto 🫶🥹 i love you so much

ynfan51 charles's comment... the highway looks so nice rn

ynfan52 REINA LA ROMPISTE!!!! QUEEN YOU KILLED IT

charlesfan51 lover is actually about them, taylor told me herself

orianasabatini llore cuando te vi!! sos una genia, hermosa 🤩 i cried when i saw you!!! you are a genius, beautiful

liked by yourusername and 26,930 others

charlesfan52 CHARLES YOU BETTER TREAT HER WELL

⤷ ynfan53 after the comment that he left there is no doubt

user51 entre que la vi a taylor y a ella 2 veces, mi vida esta completa!! between seeing taylor and her 2 times, my life is complete!!

ynfan54 nothing will ever top seeing her live

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

YOUR COLOURS

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Request:

I need any kind of soulmate AU , Bruno Madrigal X Reader

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

When you were little, your mother told you millions of times about the day she met your father, and you, loving that story, asked her to tell it to you millions of times more.

She recounted that one day, during a walk with some friends, the wind blew away the shawl around her neck and a young beautiful boy picked it up for her, as soon as his hand touched the small piece of cloth, the silk became light blue.

Until a person finds their soulmate, their eyes can only be seen in black and white, but if one of the two predestined touches the same thing in a short amount of time, the object and the world around will slowly become colourful and their love would be strong as a mountain.

The years passed and you got tired of seeing the world only in black, white, grey and all the combinations in between.

One day, you were helping a new married couple, the Mejors, to move from their parent's house to the one their friend Luisa Madrigal had built for them.

Balancing two large boxes in your arms, you crossed the street with your field of view so limited that all you could see was cardboard and because of this one of your feet caught an uneven stone.

You were prepared for hitting the floor, but someone in front of you managed to avoid your fall and with your eyes still closed in fright, you thanked the stranger and entered the couple's house.

"Where do I put these?" You asked.

"In the bedroom, please" Mrs Mejor answered.

You placed the boxes on the floor and as you were about to leave, something caught your eyes.

The bottom box, the one you actually held in your hands was slowly changing colour, from a place grey to a light brown, the tone spreading from a handprint on one side.

"Oh Dios mio" you shrieked.

"Did something broke?" Señor Mejor told you.

"No! The box... The box is changing colour, I can see its colour!" You shouted.

"One of you saw the man that helped me before?" Saying so you walked outside but there was no one to be seen.

"Y/N, that means he is your soulmate. Do not worry, Encanto is not so big" the lady tried to cheer you up.

"I know..." You murmured.

You returned home distraught and with your head in the clouds, you had waited so long for that moment and due to an unfortunate case you were not able to see him.

Not having even eaten a single bite of your food and seeing you down in spirits, your family asked you what had happened, so you told them everything, they were happy for you but sorry that you had missed that very special moment and like Mrs Major, they were confident that you would find him again.

Laying in your bed you trashed around for a while but since sleep wouldn't come you schemed and planned how to find the mysterious man.

You thought of going to the main square and touching as many surfaces as possible hoping that passing by, your soul mate could touch them in turn in a short amount of time.

You soon discarded the idea.

So you imagined of purposely losing a shoe with your name written on it and-

"Ew, that's lame! Who goes around losing shoes without realizing it?" You grunted.

Several days later you informed your father that for the whole day, you would have to help with the decorations of the village in preparation for the Spring equinox.

"Buenos Dias, Y/N" the old lady that lived in front of your house greeted you.

"Buenos Dias señora! ¿Qué se dice de bella hoy?" You asked.

"You did not hear? Bruno Madrigal returned home!" She whispered.

"The one with precognition powers? Mama told me about him once but I was just a kid back then"

"I saw him going that way, be careful, he cause misfortune!" And she pointed the direction with one of her bony fingers.

You lined the streets with decorations and flowers of which colours you could not even imagine, helped by the only member of the Madrigals that could actually create flowers out of nowhere.

The ebb and flow of time seemed to slow to a halt, even the slow setting of the sun took you by surprise and climbing down from the ladder you were on, you saw a stranger talking with Isabela.

He was strangely fascinating and you found yourself staring at him for a few moments until you managed to disenchant yourself.

The man had long curly black hair with grey streaks and looked like he hasn't had a day of sleep in months since his prominent eyebags were impossible to ignore.

He wears a ruana two sizes bigger that has seen better days over a shirt, pants, and a pair of sandals.

"Hello! I'm Y/N, nice to meet you" you said greeting him cheerfully.

You extended your hand but looking at it he took a step backwards, staring at you in disbelief.

"You don't know me?" He demanded.

"No, that's why I'm presenting myself" You responded perplexed.

"I'm Bruno Madrigal, you certainly have heard about me and what I am" told the man fidgeting with his oversized ruana.

"I have, nevertheless, I'm glad to finally meet you" you smiled gently.

He was about to reach for your hand when a cascade of flowers dropped on your head, Bruno tried to catch them but they just brushed his fingers.

"I'm so sorry," Isabella said sincerely "one of the big flower decorations just broke right above you!"

"I'm fine! No need to worry " you laughed but Bruno was walking away.

The flowers on the floor became blue and bright pink, the ground became dark brown and all the rest of the world took finally colour, but as beautiful as it was you didn't care about that.

"Bruno wait!" You called after him.

"No, please. I don't know what you're seeing but there's a mistake." He blurted walking faster.

"We're seeing the same thing! Slow down!" You ran in front of him and blocked his way extending your arms wide open.

"I'm probably older than your parents, don't do this to yourself..." He tried to convince you.

"I've waited all my life for you! Now that I find you...you don't want me, do you?" Your eyes were filling with tears and your heart was hammering in your chest.

He softened a bit "You're my soulmate...I think I'm in love with you, even before you introduced yourself, actually...I've been seeing colours for days, since the time I helped you to not fall."

"You what?" It was your turn to be frightened.

"You touched my clothes, maybe you didn't realize it. Suddenly I was seeing the world as it is and...I ran away." He admitted.

"Why? Tell me why you didn't tell me about it" You implored, grabbing him weakly from his clothes.

"You are so beautiful and young...I didn't make it. I believed there was a mistake. I never had happiness so I thought I wasn't worth it. Or worth of you" he explained, looking down at his sandals.

"Worth of me? We're destined to be together from the day we were born, Bruno. Somewhere in the universe is written that you're made for me as I'm made for you" you said placing your hand on his cheeks, rubbing the skin lovingly with your thumbs "You're perfect and if you'll look into our future, you'll see me always by your side"

Bruno was positively crying at that point, hiding his face in your neck as you held him tight, he was mumbling apologies between sobs and you shushed him gently until he recovered.

"Colours are beautiful, aren't they?" He questioned letting you go and still sniffing a bit.

"Yeah, but nothing compared to you." You responded, stealing a quick peck.

Bruno reddened like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar, so you stole another kiss but that time he reciprocated.

"I believe my family would love you" he expressed taking one of your hands in his.

You brushed a curly strand from his face, marvelled at how gorgeous were his features and the colour of his eyes.

"You know what? I want to meet them!" You informed him.

"I have to tell you, sometimes they are a bit too much" he wanted you, walking on the way home.

"They seem wonderful, just like you," you said with a laugh.

As the sun disappeared behind the high mountains of Encanto, you walked hand in hand with your soulmate and just at that moment you realized that it's not finding the right person that makes you see the colour of the world all of the sudden but love and being loved surely does.

[maeby-cursed]

SOMETIMES I'M NOT MYSELF, I LOOK FOR A BETTER DISGUISE…

𓂃 DANCING TILL THE POWER GOES OUT.

a/n: following with my songfic series, this one is inspired by valiente by vetusta morla (the original lyrics are "a veces no soy yo, busco un disfraz mejor / bailando hasta el apagón") ! this is also an angst fic but the vibe in this one is a bit more pungent. i apologize for making toji like this, i will get back to my soft!toji program soon ♡ (this one is vv weird, btw, and i wrote it while suffering from a headache, enjoy)

✧ synopsis: you met toji seven months ago and since then, the only thing you've both agreed on is how much you cannot stand each other. now it's time to go; even if it means giving up trying, and leaving a familiar warmth behind.

✧ pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

✧ wc: 1.6k

✧ rating: angst ! pure angst, discounted and at a good price ! angst and pain; two for the price of one ! of the richest quality and endless suffering !!

✧ cw: toxic relationship, toji suffers from toxic masculinity, a bit of an age gap (toji is early 30s, reader is implied to be early 20s), mentions of toji's shitty ass economy, heavy cursing.

There’s a storm inside your house and it is made of cries locked within the walls of your lover’s apartment.

You and Toji have been arguing for six months out of the seven you’ve known him.

Apparently, May flowers brought November showers (or better said, downpours), as well as a thick darkness, because since last week, Toji's entire street has been without light, water or electricity. 

A desert in the middle of a flood, seems almost biblical.

Both of you are in the kitchen – distressingly narrow and painted in a gloom shade of indigo –, in the midst of your fifth discussion this week. The fridge door is open while you talk, but neither of you cares, all of its contents are already wasted, anyways. The light doesn’t even flicker.

You don't know exactly how this particular fight started.

Toji had arrived at his apartment – his, exclusively – late, with a bag of fast food in hand. An individual order. When he’d arrived, he’d looked at you and asked you what you were doing there, and everything had gotten out of hand from that point on.

After six months of waiting for him in the same place, in the same position, in the same corner of his grimy sofa, you'd thought he might remember you, might remember that you are a constant in his life.

Not the case.

The fight escalates to such an extent that you find yourself shouting and gesticulating aggressively.

What starts badly ends worse, your grandmother used to say.

(And yet, it ends).

So now you stand barefoot, in your white slip, looking at him with all the fire you can fan into your eyes. 

"I have no fucking idea what is it that you want, Toji Fushiguro, but you need to stop looking for it in me. Either take me as I am or leave me, it's as simple as that."

He looks back at you, his gaze shallow. He always stares at you like this, as if instead of seeing you, he were trying to evaluate you; like you’re nothing but a mere statue to him and he’s looking for a spot where the artist could’ve slipped his chisel. 

But you don’t cower before him. Although his height seemed imposing when you first met him, he now seems ridiculous to you. A child hidden behind a brick wall.

"Could you stop talking in code for two fucking minutes?"

"I want you to stop treating me like shit. You caught on now?"

He laughs unfunnily.

"I think I treat you pretty well, girl."

"Really?" you smile. There's a part of you that cringes at the gesture; he's been souring you since you met. Now you're fed up, but you know you'll never be able to return all of the blows he’s knocked you out with. "You think coming home and taking me to your bedroom for five minutes of grunts and sweat is treating me well?"

"Our bedroom."

That does make you laugh.

"Fuck, Toji, I don't live here! You never asked me to move in with you. And I've waited for you but I'm..... I don't even know what I am. Disappointed, maybe?" Your mood begins to shift as you search for him with your stare. You want to see some sort of reaction, something that isn’t a performance, something that doesn’t act as a mirror. 

Something that tells you he cares about you.

"I thought I was dating an adult,” you continue, softly now. “That we could talk about it but... God, you're exactly like all the men I've been trying to avoid. All savages, the lot of you; too barbaric to be able to say you feel anything, even if it’s pure lust."

He raises a brow, closing the refrigerator door with a slam and leaning against the countertop with a click of his tongue.

"You want me to tell you that you make me horny?" he asks, with an ironic smirk.

"I want you to tell me that there's something that goes with the sex. Something that can last."

He doesn't say anything, just exhales loudly, huffing with annoyance.

And for some reason, the gesture takes you back two decades ago, when your father used to do that to you. A puff of air like cigarette smoke whenever you wanted something he didn't feel like giving you; mostly his time.

You don't know where the memory comes from, but it hurts. It burns and coats your throat with bile.

"There’s nothing," he whispers, at last. 

Now you really have to make an effort not to vomit.

Silly girl, you say to yourself, you already knew that. But it's no use.

"And I had to dig that out of you with a spoon, baby," you tell him, dripping with sarcasm.

He doesn't notice how you pale, how you grab the skirt of your dress and bite the inside of your cheek. He doesn't smell your despair, nor the copper drops emanating from the wound you've caused yourself by biting on your skin.

Toji's not a bloodhound, no matter how much he resembles one. He's just an asshole.

Your words make him frown and stick out his jaw. You recognize his hint – you’d recognize him by taste alone –, it's the gesture he makes before he fights.

"And what the fuck did you expect? For me to telepathically figure out whatever shit you’re thinking?"

"No, Toji. I just wanted an answer." That’s it, you suppose.

You sigh, unclenching your fists without relaxing your shoulders, and head for the bedroom. Except for your cell phone and a pair of nightgowns, you have almost nothing here. Let him keep the panties, if he gave them back to you, you'd burn them anyway. 

He follows when you pass him by on your way out of the kitchen, and, for once, he looks incredulous.

"What? You think we’re done chatting?"

"I don't even feel like looking at that asshole face of yours anymore."

Every word that comes out of your mouth stabs him in the spleen. He's never seen you like this.

You have nothing left to care for, nothing left to protect from the storm, nothing to hope and pray to see bloom. Your land is infertile and all you feel is frustration, so there's no more measuring yourself.

To hell with all this.

"Yesterday it was all about cuddling and today you're leaving,” he says. “What did you expect?" At that, he smiles with malice, one that, unfortunately, is not unfamiliar to you. "That we were going to fall madly in love? That this was about more than sex? Oh, but you're just a little girl. I've been with a hundred of the likes of you."

He's lying. You know he's lying. 

This man has never loved a woman in his life – you pity his mother – but he's not a manwhore either. He wears things out until he’s outgrown them.

It's funny — he’s always looked too big on you.

Your head turns around, but you stay frozen where you are, kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of his nightstand. On your knees, you almost look like you're praying, but your eyes condemn a truth that hurts him. It burns and coats his throat with bile.

"I never expected you to fall in love with me, Toji. I'm not that stupid," you look at the drawer again, taking clothes and shoving them carelessly into your bag. "I'm just young."

“I may be young, but give me time.” Those words, the ones you told him when he met you, a little over half a year ago, ring in his ears. “I can take a hundred men like you.”'

He remembers them now, gall climbing up to his uvula. Your smile back then clashes with your current tears. You have aged seven years in seven months.

He can see it in your posture, in the expensive fabric of your dress and the way you tie your hair back. He can see it in the depth of your cupid's bow, in the care with which you hold your hands.

You know how to handle dynamite now, but you can't stop gunpowder from blowing up.

Toji is speechless. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's already worn you out, you've already woken up from your reverie. He hasn’t outgrown you yet.

When you get up, your cheeks are covered with tears. You wipe them away carefully; you would’ve never done that back when he met you.

You were free then; of wild smiles and clumsy hands, of loud cries and smell of freesias. Young with bravado, a shell of the sea.

Seeing you like this, knowing you're going away, turns his stomach. This is the last time, and you don't smell like freesia anymore. You're all orange and lavender, unmistakable and silent.

Toji raises a hand and brings it up to you. For a split second of madness you think he's going to slap you, but he simply catches a strand of your hair; only instead of tucking it behind your ear, he lets it curl around your cheek.

His hand falls to his side – he wasn't raised to be like this. He wasn’t raised to get you to stay.

"Get out," he murmurs, the timbre of his voice low and plangent.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to find his image behind your eyelids; smiling and defiant, with a glass of champagne in his hand and kohl-stained eyes.

The tide inside washes away everything else.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

What starts badly ends worse, you think. 

(And yet, it ends).

© 2023, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

(reblogs are appreciated !!)

[luceracastro]

Teacher’s Pet

Part 3

Esteban Kukurickza x reader

Summary: After a few months of starting your literature course you seem to find it harder with time to ignore your professor, little did you know you were driving him crazy as well.

Warnings: nothing much, some knee/thigh touching but it’s all innocent (or that’s what Esteban says🤭)

Masterlist

You felt dead and you didn’t know if dead was even a sufficient word to describe how you really felt in that moment, your head was spinning and pounding, your arms and legs were sore to even move and your back pain was unbearable

Your eyes were swollen and sleepy from the lack of sleep you had been getting as of late and the sun peeking through the crack of the curtain was no help either “carajo” you groaned rolling your body over to your night stand

Now you knew you would take up on Esteban’s offer for the after school hours lecture after putting it off for weeks, you had grabbed you phone opening the email app and you had started a new email, you had reread it and made sure it was professional enough

You had the sent him the email and as soon as you put your phone down you were out like a light.

The next morning you looked over your phone, the day before you had taken the day to take some pain killers, drink tea, sleep and relax yourself which was very much needed but now you sent Esteban a email confirming you could meet up today

He had pitched in the idea to work at a secluded coffee shop where no one really went just so you both could work privately and with no suspicions from students or nosey professors

You had to get yourself together, you smelled like coffee and your hair was a tossed mess so you hopped in the shower, you did your hair, makeup and got dressed. You gathered your stuff and left your small flat locking the door and walking downstairs, you took the bus, it was easier and there was no way in hell you would ever walk

No you didn’t have a car, your dad did try to buy you one but it would just add on to expense and you didn’t really go anywhere except school and a small market right down the street at times the library but the bus was an easy fix for all of that, you had looked through your phone until the bus came to a stop and you stepped off finding the coffee shop down a little ally

After searching up about it, it was supposedly a underground calm little coffee shop with good coffee and treats, you had entered and looked around and there he was sat down looking through his computer and you stood there for a minute looking at him, you then walked over and he looked up a soft smile appearing on his lips as he saw you “hola linda, como te sientes?” He asked and you nodded a soft sigh escaping your lips “bien, mejor, gracias por preguntar” you said

“Si como no, ven sientate aqui” he patted the spot beside him and you nodded sitting beside him, this was the first time you ever were dangerously close to him, your knee touched his and you could feel his breathing against your skin which gave you chills

The lecture was based off of theoretical framework and through the lecture he was attentive in explaining everything and making sure you understood and you both worked on some exercises together which you did great on, your insight on the lecture made him sure that you understood it

Such a smart girl, he thought “quieres ordenar algo?” He asked and you nodded “ahorita nomas ordeno un cafe” you said as you looked over something on your notes “si quieres yo te lo ordeno” he said and you shook your head “no por favor ya no quiero molestarte” you smiled “no es ninguin molestia, tu nunca vas a ser un molestia para mi” he said and you smiled a soft chuckle escaping your lips

“Bueno esta bien, gracias” you thanked him “no hay problema nena” he had gotten up and you looked down working on the last few exercises making sure your work was double checked, “ten linda” you looked up and grabbed a hold of the medium sized coffee cup “gracias” you the realized he paid for your drink, “ten para la cafe” you handed him a five dollar bill since the coffee was only 3$ you saw it on the small menu stuck to the table

He shook his head “no nena esta bien” he wouldn’t accept your money and you gave him a look “por favor, ten” you tried to give him the money and he took it to put it back inside your bag and you gave him a frustrated face which made him chuckle and you couldn’t help but smile “Esteban ten” you tried to give him the money again as you playfully whined

“No, no voy acceptar tu dinero” he shook his head and you rolled your eyes “ahora me siento mal” you said and he shook his head “no nena por que?” You gave him a look “nomas es un cafe de 3$ linda” and you chuckled “ahora tienes que dejar que yo hago algo para ti” you said and he nodded

“Bueno, vamos a comer” he said and you tilted your head, your eyes slightly widening “yo se que no has comido se te ve” he said and you sighed a small smile on your lips “entonces quieres ir a comer?” You asked and he nodded “y que quieres comer?” You asked “te gustan las hamburguesas?” He asked and you nodded “Si” he picked up both of your things

“Bueno vamos nena” he said and you stood up “ahorita?” You asked and he nodded “si, se nota que no has comido, vamos” he didn’t give you room to protest as he already made his way out of the coffee shop and all you could do was follow him

He had been kind to open the car door for you making sure you were inside completely before closing the door, you sighed watching as he went around the car and entered the drivers side “bueno, vamos”

The car ride was calming with some of the night wind seeping through the car windows which were slightly rolled down, the radio which was turned down but loud enough for background noise, “eres muy calladita” he said chuckling a little as you smiled shaking your head

“Bueno la verdad no se que es algo apropiado que puedo hablar de con mi professor” you said looking over at him only to see that his eyes were already focused on you, “lo que sea?” He said shrugging with that same damn dreamy smile on his lips “y si digo algo malo? Mejor no” you giggled “bueno miralo asi, yo te doy la libertad de hablar me como si yo fuera cualquero, ahorita no me tienes que ver como tu profe, vale?”

You looked at him as he looked at you, the moment felt intimate in a way and you could only nod “Vale” you said in a whisper almost “bueno nena, dime” you thought for a moment, what could you even tell him? Your life wasn’t too eventful besides work and school “la verdad es que yo no tengo una vida tan emocionante” you laughed

“Bueno no hay que tener una vida llena de cosas asi, te digo algo, yo casi ni sali de mi cuarto cuando era joven” he said and you chuckled “tenias que haber salido” you said not believing a word he said “no, me la pasaba haciendo tareas, escribiendo, o viendo peliculas” he said and you raised a brown”y que no tenias amigos or una novia?” He nodded “si, si tuve pero nomas hablabamos en la escuela despues de eso era como que si no nos conocieramos” he said

“De verdad?” He then nodded “y tu no tienes tus amigas?” He asked “bueno si pero siempre estoy haciendo mis tareas o trabajando que ya no salgo tanto como antes” you admitted “y novio no tienes?” You looked at him then back at the road shaking your head “no, o sea tuve pero quebramos despues de que el se fue de España” you said

“Y estas bien?” He asked and you nodded “si, si poco a poco” you sighed and felt chills at the feeling of a rough hand resting on your knee, you looked down and saw his hand just on your knee and you watched as it slowly slipped up to sit on your thigh and you looked over at him, he was normal about with a smug smile on his lips while you panicked on the inside

“Bueno aqui estoy por lo que sea” you nodded “gracias” he didn’t move his hand, it’s still there and you weren’t complaining. You both pulled up in front of a small food truck with two fold up tables set up and what not, you were distracted looking at the food truck to even notice Esteban rounding the car to open your door “gracias” you smiled at him as he nodded, you both stared at the menu which made your head hurt, you didn’t know what you wanted

“Ya sabes lo que quieres?” He asked and you looked at him “si, lo que tu ordenes” you said and he chuckled “segura?” He asked and you nodded “bueno” he had ordered for the two of you then led you to sit down, it was getting cold again and you forgot to bring a jacket only having a long sleeved top to protect you

“Tienes frio” it wasn’t a question more like a statement “no estoy bien” you said but the subtle sound of your teeth clattering and your shaking body were a dead giveaway, “mentirosa” he chuckled shrugging off his jacket and holding it for you to slip it on “Y tu?” You asked “yo voy a estar bien nena, ten” he slipped the jacket on to you and sat back down “como sabias que querias ser maestro?” You asked him “Siempre queria ser, aunque no lo crees o no se nota siempre supe que iba ser maestro” he said

“Y tu nena que quieres hacer?” He asked and you thought if you should even tell him or not “autora” you said sipping on the soda he had bought you both “eso si es algo bueno, maravilloso” he said “y yo se que lo vas a lograr, veo los papeles y los trabajos que haces y yo se que vas a ser la mejor autora” he said and it made your heart genuinely happy that he thought that highly of you

“De verdad crees eso?” You asked with a wide smile on your lips “Si como no?” He smiled “eres una buena escritora” he said “gracias, me siento muy feliz a saber que tu piensas eso” he chuckled “nena todos en el colegio sabemos que vamos a ver tu nombre en los libros mas populares en el futuro” he just knew what to say

“Aye ya me vas hacer llorar” you laughed “no no nena” he smiled placing a hand over yours, for a moment your eyes met and it was just you two for a while until the booming voice of the man working the food truck yelled your order and he stood up going to get the food then he came back and sat down, the burgers looked great

“Prueba la” you smiled holding the burger and took a bite, he watched you carefully waiting for what you have to say about the burger “esta buenisimo” you laughed and he smiled “eso esperaba” he said and you laughed as he did too before taking a bite of his burger “de verdad esta hamburguesa es la mas buena que yo habia probado”

“Que bueno nena, sabia que te iba encantar” he said popping a fry into his mouth “y entonces como eras de nene?” You wanted to know more about Esteban, what was he like? What did he enjoy? “Un niño muy differente” he said

“Y como era ese nene differente?” You asked smiling taking another bite of the burger “un niño que se la pasaba afuera jugando fútbol o en casa viendo peliculas” he said making you smile “y como se veìa ese nene?” You asked and he sighed taking out his phone with a little smile as he swiped continuously on his phone

He showed you his phone screen he looked to be a little boy in the picture but he looked like the sweetest boy ever,“aye que lindo” you giggled “hermoso de verdad” you said and he chuckled “gracias nena gracias” he then let you hold his phone as you fawned over the picture “y aver, tu como eras de nena?” He asked and you sighed “una niña que hacia libros con papel y crayolas y le encantaba las caricaturas” you said and he smiled

“Que niña linda entonces” you shook your head smiling, while eating you both continued talking about childhood and more or so his and his teen years which you doubted he had, sometimes you found it hard to believe he once was young

Once you both had finished Esteban was nice to pick up your trash as well as his to throw it out, “nomas pago y nos vamos” and you shook your head giving him some money for you meal “mi parte” you said and he shook his head “perdon nena pero no” you gave him a look “Esteban por favor” you insisted yet he made no move to get the money from your hand

“No” he said once more and you slightly frowned “por favor” he sighed getting the money but what you didn’t see was him tucking it in his pocket and paying for both your meals himself, he thanked the woman then went to get you “vamos” he said and he helped hold your bag, you walked in front of him not seeing him tuck the money you gave him back inside your bag

“Ten linda” he gave you your bag and you thanked him as he carefully closed the door for you, he had driven you home the tiredness was getting to you and you could tell he was tired too by the sound of his yawn and his sleepy eyes

Stopping in front of your apartment building which he seemed to remember you sighed “gracias, por todo de verdad” you smiled at him and he smiled too “no es nada querida, lo que sea para mi alumna favorita” he said and you chuckled nodding “bueno, gracias otra vez, tenga buen noche y con cuidado por favor” you said getting your stuff and opening the door

“Si claro, gracias nena buenas noches” he said smiling and you smiled once more before closing the door and again he didn’t leave until you fully entered the building and after that he drove off, you entered your apartment smiling like an idiot as you put your stuff down and kicked off your shoes and you noticed you still had his jacket on and you took it off and looked at the dark brownish jacket it was warm and it smelled like him even from afar

You grinned about to walk over to your room to get ready for bed but something poking out of your bag caught your eye, the money you gave Esteban to pay for your food and you sighed a smile on your lips, how did you know it was your money? The folding on the bills “carajo” you chuckled putting the money in your bag and then going to your room.

Esteban entered his apartment and kicked off his shoes putting his things down on his table, he heard meows and purrs as he felt fluff rub against his legs “hola hermosa” he cooed as he scratched his cat’s side, the black cat had purred as her tail swirled “vamos lunita” he called her over making his way to his bedroom

Luna, he named the cat which he got three years prior, he fell in love with the little cat he would occasionally feed and he noticed she lacked a collar and had no where to go so instinctively he picked her up and took her to the vet doing everything he could to take her home and have her healthy.

The next morning you had woken up early to be able to stop by a coffee shop and get a big black coffee with a muffin, you weren’t going to let Esteban off that easily, you just had to do something for him, you entered class and it was empty except you saw Esteban sitting down at his desk going over some papers “buenos dias” you said making him look up his once serious expression turned into a smile “Buenos Dias nena” you smiled putting the coffee cup and paper bag holding the muffin down

“Ya se que no usaste el dinero que te di ayer” you gave him a look with a small smile and he leaned back a smug smile on his lips as he shrugged “por eso te traigo esto y te lo vas a comer y tomar” you pointed at him and he nodded “bueno bueno nena me lo como” he gave you a smile “gracias” he took out the muffin and took a bite “esta muy bueno, ten” he ripped it in half keeping the half he bit

“Pero si lo traje para ti” you said and he gave you a look “ya se que no comiste todavia ten” you took the bread playfully rolling your eyes and taking a bite “gracias por esto nena, de verdad te lo agradezco” he said and you nodded “si de nada” you smiled down at him.

As students began to come in you moved to your seat and sat down, the last thing you needed were rumors that would get both you and Esteban in trouble.

A/n: So sorry for taking so long to update my loves!!!! I swear I didn’t want to take this long but school was kicking me in the ass lol, but I do hope you all enjoy the read and this fic<3 and if you’d like to be tagged let me know!

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but not mandatory just enjoy the story my loves 🫶🏼

Taglist: @madame-fear @theoslove @catiwinky

[olee]

My Bad | Simón Hempe

Part II

s*x scene & spanglish

A long silence lingered between you and Simón. It was late in Barcelona, and you were quite intoxicated, though feeling slightly better thanks to Simón providing you with a bottle of water and some painkillers. Unsure of what to say to him, considering he was your ex who had left without explanation, you now knew the reason behind his departure. Yet, there was a lingering sense that there was more to the story, something he was keeping from you.

After the long silence on the bench, in the middle of the Barcelona street, you looked at Simón and said,“Simón, llevame a casa, por favor. Estoy re cansada, y capaz no quiero hablar del pasado.” Simón replied, “Dale, vente. Yo te llevo y tú me dices por dónde es.”

You gazed at him, silently pleading for his support to lift you up, and he understood, wrapping his arms around your waist and shoulders. Together, you walked through the street for about ten minutes until you reached your building. Beneath the glow of a yellow street lamp, the atmosphere felt oddly romantic. Despite your inebriation, you resisted the urge to take things further, but deep down, you longed to embrace him and kiss him as you once did.

Beneath the street lamp 's light, Simón looked at you with concern and said,“(Y/N), perdón, sé que lo que hice no estuvo bien, y la verdad es que siempre te he amado, todavía pienso en vos. Pero necesito saber si sentís lo mismo que yo. Estoy tan confundido. Necesito que me digas, quizás no ahora, pero si podemos hablar mañana o tomar un café o algo así.” As the light illuminated him, you found yourself falling in love with him all over again; he looked so beautiful.

Suddenly, you kissed him, but he didn't respond, gently stating, "(Y/N), estás tomada. Será mejor que hablemos mañana." Shy and embarrassed, you agreed.

Yet, you told him, "I understand, I'm intoxicated, but I can't resist, I need and want you to kiss me, just like you used to when we were together." Simón looked at you with concern and asked, "(Y/N), you don't know how much I want to touch and kiss you, but... I need your permission, and you're intoxicated." You replied, "I don't care that I'm drunk, I want you to touch me, I want you to make me feel good. I miss how you touch me." With respect, Simón approached you, gently held your face, and drew closer to you, face to face, as if connecting with you intimately. You said to him, "Kiss me, please, Simón, I can't wait, just do it." Then he told you, "Yes... if that's what you want."

Drawing closer to your lips, he breathed you in and kissed you passionately and tenderly, softly and wetly, like delicately touching your lips. It was so soft and warm, you both enjoyed it, longing for his magnificent kiss.

Then he says, "Take me to your room, (Y/N)," and you lead him by holding his hand, ascending the stairs to your apartment. When you were about to open the door, Simón asked, "Are you sure?" And you reassured him, saying, "Absolutely." So, you opened the door, and he immediately began to kiss you, removing your clothes. You guided him to your bed, and he undressed, then started to kiss you passionately. You removed his boxers, and then he continued what he started, touching you deeply in circles, and you relished in the sensation, loving how he did it. When he stopped because you were feeling overwhelmed, he began to kiss you and touch you in every way, giving you tender kisses, and asked, "Do you feel better?" You replied, "Much better," and he said, "That's good, mi amor." You rested your head on his chest, and both of you slept soundly.

Fin.

[tthatsonme]

I wish u roses, by molly.

This is not unisex!! Can be used by MTF + this is lgbtq friendly.

— You’re pure temptation to everyone that you meet, most people know that they should probably steer clear of you before they want you too much. Obviously, you can’t attract anyone that you don’t want, but that doesn’t mean that half of the population of the gender you’re attracted to doesn’t want you, you’re truly too attractive for this world, people wonder if you’re either an angel that fell from heaven or a siren that traded her tail for legs and is now living as a human woman in disguise. They may never know. You have the same sex appeal as the songs Angel and Fue Mejor by Kali Uchis, So high and Streets by Doja Cat. You have the same amount of sex appeal as Margot Robbie, Ana de Armas, Alexa Demie, Kali Uchis, Doja Cat, SZA, Angelina Jolie, and Sydney Sweeney. Even though you’re as equally sexy as them, you’re mainly interested in sensuality over sexuality, you don’t need to be nude to be attractive your face was enough in the first place.

— You’re as sensually attractive as Sade and Alexa Demie, you’ve mastered the art of sensuality, you’re the embodiment of the songs Like a Tattoo by Sade and Leopard Limo by Alexa Demie, you’re like my “Leopard Limo” subliminal come to life, you’re everyone’s type even if they don’t think you are, everyone wants you in some way, you’re the dream girl of anyone who lays eyes on you, whenever someone dreams of a nice girlfriend or wife they immediately think of you, people always associate you with sugar and honey because of how visually and physically sweet you are, you’re the definition of “eye candy”. The Kardashians WISHED that they had the same amount of influence that you do, you’re constantly influencing people because they want to be just like you, you don’t necessarily make people “jealous” but they may be a little bit envious of you. You don’t care that people copy you anymore because why wouldn’t they? Someone like you (someone who’s not a basic b) is bound to set a trend for two.

— You’re like the perfect mixture of Alexa and Maddy, on one hand you’re sweet and peaceful but on the other you’re overly confident and a “c*nty bad bitch” as they say + you hold as much influence on others as they do. You basically run the school that you go to, it’s like you’re mysterious yet popular, every time you walk into school it’s like a slow motion scene of the hot girl walking in in a 2000s movie, everyday is like one of those scenes. Everyone can’t help but stop and stare and check you out, people genuinely fw your confidence, your confidence is always through the roof, you could walk through a huge group of boys and remain unfazed. Kind of embarrassing, but people really are doing the most just to get you to look at them, they don’t even care what they have to do to get your attention, they’re at a point where they’re making a complete fool out of themselves just to make you smile. A very small but important detail about you is that you’re completely immune to peaking in high school or college whatever you’re in if you’re still in school that is, you’re completely immune to being social unaware or socially awkward, one of the many things that people love about you is your quick responses, people love your personality and how you’re so good at talking to people.

— Your face is physical perfection, whatever you don’t like about you face is now being changed permanently. Your face and bones are being forcefully shaped and morphed to become whatever you desire + all of the benefits from Opia’s desiredful 1 and 2 (body affirmations looped twice). And personal affirmations for desired, long, thick and beautiful hair, hair type, pattern, thickness, and colour. Your hair turns into a 1A hair type/texture whenever you straighten/flat iron it + it moves, looks, and feels like natural 1A hair.

[sgiandubh]

Just another Sunday?

Clearly an important day of sorts:

It immediately brought to mind what probably is one of their first joint bantering apparitions ever:

Waiting for this to be dragged via Anon to the Amateur Eugenicist, across the street in 3, 2... Must be really sad, being you.

Also, I am very surprised that his last Instagram follow hasn't been already connected to him visibly being in London, today. After all she is exotic, blonde, young, seksay, loves tequila as a true connoisseur and in London too, as recently as yesterday, I am told.

I wonder what kept you. I would have been thrilled, if I were you.

Oooh. Oooh. Way off your three obsessive tropes? Migraine in California and a difficult Sunday morning? Internet blackout in Batavia?

You disappoint me greatly, Mordor. I definitely expected más y mejor and you give me nothing. Yet lo and behold, you had at least half a fanfic chapter just there, readily available and so easy to cobble for an unsuspecting audience:

Wanna bet the farm she was one of the next on *urv's list?

I'm throwing a gauntlet, here. Who would dare? No cojones? No problemo, and we shippers know better: it's all about the shamrock, I'm afraid.

[louisupdates]

Life sounds better with Tomlinson

The former One Direction sweeps the Morriña Fest with a long-awaited concert by his followers, who slept at the entrance of the port to be in the front row

Ana Carro| @Anisni | A Coruña|27·07·24|06:01

Dozens of people slept on the street at the gates of the Calvo Sotelo pier, to see, up close, from the front row— Louis Tomlinson's concert. Life is better with the former One Direction, who conquered the public with his live show, which continued to develop at the end of this edition.

His fans were made to wait, but for many it was worthwhile. An audience came from all over Spain and even from abroad, to enjoy songs such as The Greatest, the one that started the concert, but also with songs from the band that he shared [as One Direction]. A real spectacle. Many screams and applause were heard, many mobile phones were seen high to record and smiles, hugs and jumps were repeated throughout the performance. As is beginning to be usual in this type of performance, some people devoted their free time to making small posters to send messages to the artist. Tomlinson had already conquered A Coruña before going on stage. Now, more.

the physical paper:

[swimmingismywholelife]

Joy

Summary: João decides to take you around the city of your dreams during the most wonderful time of the year.

Warnings: fluff

WC: 1.3K

A/N: 🎶On the sixth day of Ficmas my writer gave to me, a João fic that's really fluffy 🎶 I apologize for the lack of posts! Life got in the way and I'm trying my best to keep up with the schedule. I promise I'll still give you guys 12 different fics for 12 different people by the end of the year (and hopefully a few bonuses to make up for it!). Anyways, I've been in love with João these days and it's kind of a problem so yeah here's me being in love with him for however many words this ends up being!

Link for the Song: Joy

"I hope love spreads all over the world

I pray to the heavens

That this night can shine with the song of angels."

~~~

"Are you ready, amor?" you heard your boyfriend calling from down the stairs.

"Almost!" you shouted back, quickly putting your earrings in. "Give me a minute!"

You could feel João's eye roll as you looked over at yourself in the mirror for a final time. You wanted everything about this day to be perfect.

João had a busy schedule despite it being the holiday season. He had several games approaching including a friendly in America a few days before Christmas. Even still, he always made time for you. This was your first Christmas together and he wanted to do something special. You told him you didn't need anything fancy and that just his company was more than enough. João refused, claiming it wasn't good enough

"Que linda," João said breathlessly as you walked down the stairs. "Come here, give me a spin!"

He took your hand gently and twirled you around, staring at you with admiration. He brought you in closer and lightly kissed you, making your heart skip a beat.

"I'm not even dressed in anything special," you whispered against his lips. "It's too cold to be fashionable."

"You're beautiful in anything you wear," he replied, kissing you again.

You playfully pushed him away, attempting to hide your blushing cheeks.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

"Mhm," you said. "It's been my dream since I was a kid to see Barcelona during this time of year."

"Then the adventure awaits you, princesa," João said, kissing the back of your hand. "Our ride is here to take you on the best date of your life."

"To the city!" you grinned excitedly.

Ever since you'd seen a picture of the Catalonian city as a kid in one of your mother's photobooks, you knew you had to be there one day. She lived there briefly for school, and she fondly told you stories about her experiences and how she fell in love with the city. After you finished school, you knew that you wanted those experiences for yourself. So you made your way to Barcelona, where it turned out to be better than you could've ever imagined.

But more than anything, you'd always wanted to spend Christmas in Barcelona. Your mother always described it as one of the most magical places she'd ever been to. The people were kind and friendly, the food was always amazing, the music was lively, and the lights were out of this world. You just knew you had to be a part of that.

It was João's idea to visit the markets for your date. Since you didn't want anything fancy and he wanted to do something special for you, it was a happy medium that you gratefully accepted.

You gasped as your taxi drove closer to La Sagrada Família, your face moving towards the window to get a better look. To say the sight was enchanting would be an understatement. It wasn't that dark out yet, but even still your breath was taken away. Garlands and wreaths filled the streets of Barcelona, greens, golds, and reds decorating almost every part of the city. Everything was covered in a light dusting of snow, making it look like a scene straight out of a movie.

"Esto es Barcelona," the taxi driver said, noticing your awestruck face. "Es la mejor ciudad del mundo."

(This is Barcelona. It's the best city in the world.)

"Sí," you agreed. "Es como un sueño."

(Yes, it's like a dream.)

João stared at you fondly. You were generally a bubbly person, but seeing the twinkle in your eyes as you took in everything made his heart stop. He'd never seen you so happy and it made him fall in love with you even more.

The taxi arrived just outside the markets. You made a move to open your door before João whacked your hands away.

"No!" he said. "That's my responsibility!"

You giggled as he quickly ran out the car to open your door like a gentleman. Even though you knew he was being dramatic, he still managed to make you blush anyway.

"Bienvenida a Barcelona, princesa," he said, sticking his hand out for you to take. "Espero que tengas la aventura de tu vida."

(Welcome to Barcelona, Princess. I hope you have the adventure of a lifetime.)

You took his hand and humored him.

"Thank you my love," you said as he kissed the back of your hand.

"¡Muchas gracias, Señor!" you said, peeking your head back into the taxi.

"De nada," he replied. "Disfruta de la ciudad."

(You're welcome. Enjoy the city.)

"Es increíble," you said, your attention now fully on the city in front of you. "It's better than any of the pictures in my mother's photobook or any of the stories she told."

"What should we do first?" João asked, also amazed at the hustle and bustle of the market. "You pick."

Your stomach made a loud noise, making the both of you laugh. "I guess eating would be a good idea."

You made your way to the different food stands, squealing softly at the sight around you. The sun was now beginning to set, meaning the lights around you slowly started to grow brighter. Each stand was decorated in its own unique way, giving them a distinctive and beautiful feel. Barcelona's culture and heritage was really shining through as people from all around you walked from stand to stand.

João couldn't have been more in love. He'd been fortunate enough to live out his dreams, playing for a team he'd wanted to be a part of since his childhood. And he was even more fortunate that he got to meet his dream girl at the same time. And seeing you so happy made his heart swell. He knew that he had to keep the smile that was permanently etched onto your face every day for the rest of your lives.

"Muchas gracias," you said to the street vendor as they handed you food. You happily munched on your different, taking in the scenery around.

"Is this everything you've dreamed about?" João asked.

"Es mejor que mis sueños," you answered, your cheeks puffing with food.

(It's better than my dreams.)

He couldn't help himself, leaning over to quickly kiss your cheek.

"What?" you said.

"You're just cute," he said, "and I love you."

"I love you too," you said.

You stopped by as many of the shops as you could, stuffing your faces with both local and foreign cuisines alike, while also buying trinkets to remember your trip. You were so warm with excitement that you couldn't feel how much your feet hurt from walking or how cold the air was. It was a world that had only been a part of your imagination for as long as you could remember, but it didn't compare to the real deal at all. And being with João only made things even better.

João checked his watch. "Baby, let's go find a place to watch the light show."

"Sounds good to me!" you said, throwing out your trash. "I wanna be able to see everything!"

The light show was probably what you were most excited to see. The sun had completely disappeared, the twinkling of the Christmas lights illuminating the streets. The cathedral had a special Christmas show planned and you couldn't wait to see what they had in store.

"Thank you for taking me here," you said to João softly as you sat in the perfect spot. You leaned your head onto his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you. "I really appreciate it."

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you in closer. "Any time, princesa. Was it everything you wanted it to be?"

"It was even better because I have you," you answered shyly. "I was already in love with the city, but being here with you makes it even more special. I'm here in the city of my dreams with the love of my life. There's nothing more special than this."

João hummed in agreement. "And you deserve it all. Thank you for letting me be a part of this."

"I love you, João."

"And I love you, Y/N."

Nothing more needed to be said. And underneath the moonlight and the sparkling lights of La Sagrada Família in the company of each other, you truly felt the magic of Christmas.

Taglist: @shadowscorch @nyctophilic0vitnir @thoseboysinblue @neverinadream @notsoattractivearenti @lovelynikol16 @chilwellspulisic @pulisicsgirl @lizzypotter14