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wosofutbolfan · 4 months ago

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When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

A story of a lifetime spent growing together. To what end?

Songfic

WC: 17k. Check TW inside.

TW: Bullying based on disability. Death of a parent. Angst. Grief.

Hi Guys.

This has sat in my drafts for months and inside my head for even longer. There is no part 2 planned. This is angsty with fluffy moments. Be warned.

I think we can all agree the most heart wrenching media moment of all time is Toy Story 2 and the below song.

If you don't agree. Move along this is not for you.

Reader calls Alexia, Alex throughout this fic. That's based on this video. Cause I have never heard someone refer to that and I thought it was cute. Alexia refers to R as 'Conejito' as a literal translation of bunny - I have since realised there's a more vulgar translation of this which I'm ignoring. Ha.

Spoiler Alert - This story deals with the death of a parent. Which I went back and forth on writing. Something about it still feels ick to me because these are real people. I may delete. Everything within is based on my own experience of parental loss. And it comes from no place of malace or weirdness.

This also deals with a severe speech impediment - which again, I do not suffer from myself but have experience with and hope I have done the struggle justice for anyone who may suffer.

My spanish is google translate because I am an ignorant English speaker. Apologies.

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart

It was raining on the day that you met her.

That was strange. For Barcelona. The rain.

You found yourself where you usually could be found, to anyone who would take notice. Which wasn’t anyone to your knowledge except for a few observant teachers. In the art room, in the back corner, working relentlessly at an easel that your favourite teacher would set up for you.

You had transferred into the school part way through term, and for the first few days as with most schools you were the new and shiny thing. At 12 a lot of the kids in school had known each other since birth and you were new fresh blood to entertain them.

That didn’t last too long though when they realised you weren’t actually that interesting.

Shy and quiet as you always had been, you kept yourself to yourself. Its not that you didn’t want to make friends. You did. You so desperately did. But you just didn’t know how.

You had a stutter. That never helped. Kids could be cruel. And with the move from your hometown to Mollet for your mum's job it had only gotten worse.

Words felt like lead in your mouth, your jaw felt tight and you struggled to get your words out. They stuck in your throat and refused to move from there.

The teachers were kind. Your peers were not. Your speech therapist was helping. You spent more time than any 12 year old should thinking about sentence structure and breathing techniques.

You knew your parents worried about you. Waiting for you to get home from school every day with worried glances and eager smiles; “Did you make any friends today niña?” your dad would ask, pretending to be casual, flicking through some book or another. “Not today Papi.” You would reply, never wanting to lie to your family, before happily jumping the couch next to him and starting to scribble in your notebook.

“Maybe tomorrow niña. There is always tomorrow”.

Well. Turns out dads are clever.

Because there was always tomorrow. And on an unusually rainy day for Mollet tomorrow came.

“Putellas!! Get back here! Pute-...”

The door to the art room quickly opened and slammed closed. The noise jolts you out of your peaceful reverie. A tall brunette girl smashed her back against the door and a hand quickly flicked out to turn the lights off to the room.

She clearly hadn’t noticed you huddled in the corner as she slid down the door onto her butt. Closing her eyes she let out a deep sigh and rested her forehead on her knees.

You didn't know what to do.

You knew who she was. Of course you did. She was Alexia Putellas.

The Alexia Putellas. Futbol superstar. Well… the 12 year old playground version of that. The coolest girl in school. She oozes confidence. Was always surrounded by a gaggle of your peers. Never without a ball at her feet or in her hands. But she hadn’t noticed you. Arm still raised working on the canvas in front of you, vision now impeded by the dark she had forced onto the room by turning the light off. You froze. Mouth slightly agape and hand starting to sweat. You watched as she rocked her forehead side to side on her knees. Your arm became tired in its upright position and the noise of you plopping the brush back into the water jar seemed to jolt her out of her stupor. Her neck snapped up and you met her wide, hazel eyes that bore into you. “Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone else was in here.” She was met with silence. Your stutter affected you terribly on a good day. Nevermind your safehaven suddenly being invaded by the coolest girl in school. Who you had idolised from afar since arriving in Mollet. Her head tilted curiously as she took you in. You felt her eyes drift to the canvas behind you. “Did you paint that?” She stands to her full height, still keeping her distance from you. “Why are you painting in the dark…?” She asks curiously. Head still tilted. Faced with a direct question you couldn’t put it off any longer. You couldn’t delay the inevitable. “Y..y…you, tu…tu….switched off….” Changing the words you intended to use halfway through was a coping mechanism that your therapist had tried to get you to work out of your system. She called it masking. You called it getting by. You raise your hand and point to the lightswitch that she had flicked when she entered the room. She looks at you harder now. You feel her eyes boring into you and wait for the inevitable laughter. The pity. Maybe even the cruelty that you are used to when people hear you speak. You cast your eyes down, waiting for the blow. But you just hear a flick of a switch, and the darkness behind your eyelids lifting. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have switched it off if I had known. I was just trying to get away. I kicked a football at Senorita Lopez by accident in the gym. They won’t let me play outside in the rain. Idiotas” You lift your eyes at her gentle, lilting tone as a smile teases your lips. She's moved closer to you now. “You didn’t answer. Did you paint this?” Her hand comes out to hover over the lines of your still-wet painting. Carefully. Again, you’ve been asked a direct question. “Si.” you reply, quietly. You don’t struggle so much with single words. “By yourself?” she asked, aghast, wonder taking over her features. You nod in reply. “This is so cool! Show me!” A grin overtakes your features as you nod more enthusiastically. Glasses slipping down your nose. Pulling out a fresh canvas for your new friend. “Lo siento, I haven’t told you my name. My Papa says it's rude not to introduce myself…” she stands tall and thrusts out her hand. Very formally. Very practised. “I am Alexia Putellas Segura.” You pause for a moment, looking at her outstretched hand. You wipe your clammy hands on your jeans. And shake her hand. “A…A…” you grow frustrated with yourself, the words getting stuck in your throat. You pull your hand away but Alexia keeps her grip firm and nods at you encouragingly. “Al…Alex… Alex.” you give up. Eyes downcast. Maybe you can tell your papa you nearly made a friend today. “Alex! Cool! I’ve never had that nickname! Most people call me Ale. But it can be our thing. I know you, you are y/n I remember Senora Perez making you stand at the front of class. Show me how to paint! Please? ” Alexia was not a good painter. She quickly got bored and distracted by the newspaper on the desk intended for a paper mache project which she screwed up together, fashioned into a football and then spent the rest of the wet lunchtime kicking around the art room aiming for various targets that she would shout out to you.

You dutifully cheered at every successful hit of the target. That night as you climbed onto the couch next to your papa and he asked; “Did you make any friends today niña?”. You couldn’t wait to reply; “Si! Alex.” You missed the way his newspaper dropped ever so slightly, and he caught the eye of your mami who was in the kitchen. “Ah, Si? Alex should come for dinner! We would love to welcome him!” He replied, his delight even obvious to you. “No tonta… Alex is a girl!” you let out. In that hilariously moody way only 12 year olds can. You became inseparable. Alexia was your best friend. Complete and total opposites. She would spend wet lunches in the art room with you. She would drag you to the playing fields after school and on break and you would be a goalie for her. Which was really just you standing complaining about where you found yourself and you dived away from balls as she cackled out a laugh. She came round for dinner with your family most nights. You spent every weekend at the Putellas household, travelling to her football games, strapped up next to Alba in the back of the Putellas family car, scribbling away in a notebook as you drew landscapes that you passed. On the way home you would sketch and sketch, only slightly hindered by the weight of your gangly best friend as she slept on your shoulder. Your art would sit on both family fridges. Alex’s football boots would litter both entrance ways. Your mami would pick Alba up from the junior school if Eli got stuck at work. Joint family dinners were the norm.

Your relationship evolved through the years. Easily. Blissfully. You grew together. You became taller, however still paling in height compared to your best friend. You got braces and had them removed, You wore contacts most days now instead of your thick rimmed glasses. Though you still could usually be found in the art rooms.

Alexia filled out, she became less gangly and more strong, after years dedicated to football and training.

Your speech improved. Your stammer only comes out rarely and you know your triggers. You worked hard every week with your speech therapist but you always credited Alexia. She gave you confidence.

No one at school would roll their eyes or laugh at you when Alexia was by your side. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t finish your sentences. Nothing was more formidable within your school walls than if Alexia had found out someone had made fun of you, or not been patient with you. She got in trouble countless times defending your honor. Even if the teachers hated punishing her for it.

You maybe realised on some level that you were as important to Alexia as she was to you the day that caused her to miss the U15 School Championship final.

One of the more idiotic older basketball boys had caught you in the hallway. Trying to impress his gaggle of followers he had tripped you up as you were on your way scurrying into the art rooms to finish the sign you had made for Jaume to wave at the upcoming championship final. You had fallen flat on your face, quickly moving onto your back and pressing yourself against the wall. It had been a while due to Alexia's influence but you had dealt with bullies your entire life and you knew you had to just make yourself small and wait it out. “Oh s-s-s-s-s–s-s-oooorry it w-w-w-as an a-a-a-a-accident!!” the boy taunted you, leaning over you and exaggerating your stutter.

His spittle hitting your face and making you wince. He brought himself to his full height, which was impressive for a 16 year old and turned to his friends. “Honestly, how is she even in this school, she is so estupida!” His guffaw was matched by his followers however their faces quickly dropped as they looked behind their ringleader. “What did you just say to her?” a cold, terse voice entered the conversation. You didn’t see his face drop but you could imagine it.

He quickly turned and looked at Alexia standing in the doorway. Sunshine behind her darkening your view. As she stepped into the halfway you took in the thunderous look on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her as angry.

You barely recognised her. “I-i-i sai…” This time he wasn’t impersonating you.

He knew he was fucked. She moved quicker than you had ever seen her move on the football pitch. The tall boys friends quickly scattered as she grabbed him by his shoulders. He may have had at least two foot of height difference on her but that quickly diminished to nothing as she kneed him squarely between the legs. He doubled over in pain as she landed blow after blow to his stomach. “Alex… stop.” you instructed, gathering yourself to your feet.

Your voice cut through her rage and she immediately stopped her punches. He scurried off as soon as he was able to, no serious damage done apart from to his ego… and maybe his balls. She turned to face you after shouting some choice expletives to his back, face immediately morphing into one of concern, eyebrows furrowed as her hands cupped your face. “¿Estás bien?” She asked, seriously. Hands moving to check you over.

“Si, Si, estoy bien.” you replied. “You shouldn’t have done that Alex.” you regarded her with sceptical eyes.

Her brow furrowed further, “What should I have done then? He’s un maton, he hurt you. I taught him a lesson. I would do it again. I would. I am not sorry.” she said firmly as she moved your head beneath her chin and wrapped her strong arms around you.

You tried to pretend that the butterflies in your stomach erupting at her protectiveness were a normal reaction to a friend.

Right? She repeated the same platitudes the next day, but this time with Jaumes hand on her shoulder as she sat in the headmaster's office. The boy she had humiliated so happened to be the son of one of the school governors. The headmaster told the footballer and her father that if Alexia apologised to the boy then she would go unpunished, otherwise, he would be forced to stop any of her extra-curricular activities, including the interschool championship final. Which, as headmaster, he really didn't want to do when his school had their first chance of winning in over a decade. She refused.

She was banned from playing.

The team lost.

Badly. The guilt ate away at you as you both watched from the sidelines as the 5th goal against your team went in.

She grasped your knee, and still watched the game. “Stop feeling guilty. I am still not sorry. There are more important things than football conejita.”

You took a breath and placed your hand on top of hers. You turned to look at her incredulously. “I mean, very few. Football is still in the top 2. Food is 3.” she continued, deadpan. Forcing a laugh out of you. You asked her once, years after first meeting, one sleepover when you were both lying side by side on the Putellas trampoline looking up at the stars. Why was she so patient with you? When no one else was? She looked at you, dumbfounded, genuinely confused by the question. “You have a voice y/n. You deserve to be heard.” she replied. Moving into her favourite position which was pulling all of your weight completely on top of her. Your head rested over her heart. You could hear the thump thump thump against your ear. You hoped she couldn’t feel the fluttering of yours.

It was that simple to her. “Plus you looked like a rabbit in the headlights when I barged in, you were too cute. Mi pequeña coneja”.

Your Alex.

You transitioned from best friends into girlfriends at 16 with no fanfare. A shy kiss after a win at Alexia's latest championship sealed it. Her grin splitting her face. Yours matching when you realised your dreams could become a reality. Hands held tentatively in the backseat of Jaumes car as he smiled at the scene through his rear view mirror. Days later, as you both stood in front of your mami and papi shyly holding hands you realised, squeezing the trembling hand in yours, that it was the first time you had seen Alex nervous. In all of your years of friendship.

Alexia still had her weirdly formal streak, the same as the day you met her, so you let her do what she felt she needed to.

“Senor y Senora y/l/n… “ she started, taking a breath. “Mi and y/f/n…”

Your parents caught your eye, dumbfounded. She never used their titles. They rarely heard her use your name. You were always conejito.

“Alexia… estimada…” your mami started, with kind eyes. You could tell she knew what was coming. You shook your head at her slightly, Alexia too caught up in her own moment to notice. Your mami let her speak.

“Mi and y/f/n…”

Your papi, however, was not as emotionally in tune as your mami, “Monito, what is going on? Why are you being muy loca? Have you got mi mija pregnant? I know you're an overachiever bu…” “Papi!” you screeched out, interrupting him.

Alex stood mouth agape, face flushed as she looked to you for help. “Papi, Mami, Alex is tr…try…tryi… telling you that we’re together together.” you let out, raising your joined hands. Your mami let out a laugh behind her hands, your papi however stood and exclaimed, “Was that some sort of secret!? Dios Mio of course you are! We thought you had been for years! You made me change your bedtime story from princesses to football-playing princesses on the day you met! Why do you think your Mami makes you keep your door open when this one stays, Mija?”

Now it's your turn to blush as your mouth drops open. As he passes Alexia he gently smacks her upside the head, ruffling her long brunette hair. “Now come on cabeza de bola, me and the guys from work are starting a 5 a side. I need your help on penalties…” You huff out a laugh as your girlfriend is dragged away, confused look stuck on her face - eyebrows adorably drawn and mouth furrowed and clinging to your hand until distance forces her to let go.

Your mami settles her arm across your shoulders. “I’m happy for you Mija” she mutters, in her gentle tone as you fall into her embrace. “You’re going to marry that girl one day.” Even after everything that would happen and the hell you would feel, you thank God for the unseasonal rain in Barcelona that day in junior school.

And when she was sadI was there to dry her tearsAnd when she was happy, so was IWhen she loved me It wasn’t long after you made your relationship official that you had your first real test.

You knew something was wrong with your girlfriend probably before she did. You knew her like the back of your hand. Though it finally came to a head one early evening at the Putellas household.

You had both picked Alba up from school, and you had set out to making dinner in the Putellas kitchen whilst Alexia's parents were both stuck at work.

It was standard practice, occurring at least once a week. You moved through the kitchen with ease. The ease is what alerted you.

Usually, on nights like these, Alba would huff off to her room like any other pubescent teenager, head stuck in her phone and earphones firmly in place. Alexia however, would usually be found attached to your back, arms wrapped around you as you cooked, or sat at the breakfast bar, swiping chopped veggies til you hit her with a spoon to make her stop, rolling your eyes as she insisted she was a growing girl and she needed the extra.

No, this was too easy, you thought, as you moved around, you missed your big inconvenience in the kitchen and you made sure your pasta sauce was bubbling nicely and went to search for her.

You find her in the living room, her large frame draped over the sofa, eyes mindlessly watching the TV. But you can tell she isn’t watching whatever is on. Ale isn’t a big TV-watcher. She's very rarely sitting still for long enough to concentrate. The exception being if you're in her lap, where she entertains herself by playing with your hair or tracing the lines on your palm. “Hey, amor, estás bien?” your voice brings her out of her thoughts, “Ey? Ah sí conejito, lo siento, is dinner ready?” she asks, making to stand, but being stopped by your hand on her shoulder. “Ay, when did I become the hired help, ey?” you ask, trying to tease a smile out of your girlfriend. “Dinner will be ready soon. Tell me what's on your mind.” The thing about Alex is she’s an open book. People may think she is stern and serious but she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see her thoughts plainly on her face, so you know something troubling her. She knows she can’t hide it from you, so she doesn’t try. “I’ve been offered a professional contract.” She states, plainley. Your heart lifts for her. Your whole life Alexia has bled football. For many years she believed, and you did too though you would never admit it, that it wouldn't be possible to make a career from the sport. You don’t think you have ever seen Alexia as sad as when she aged out of the Barcelona FC teams. She was devastated. It was a harsh reminder that Spain wasn't the USA. The opportunities are not always available. But the thing you loved most about Alexia was her dogged determinedness. She would train in the morning, in the afternoon, between classes. You are overjoyed that all of that hard work has paid off. Something wasn’t adding up with her reaction, however. “Alex, that's amazing news!” you exclaimed, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Why are you not more excited? Is it a bad deal?” “No, amor, it is a fair deal.” she sighs. You just look into her eyes, waiting for her to tell you what she wants to share. She takes a deep breath. “It’s Levante, I would have to move to Valencia.” Ah, you see. Your heart breaks at the sad frown painted on the usually stern face of your girlfriend. Your hand moves up to trace her eyebrow, forcing them to unfrown and moving down to cup her cheek. She leans heavily into the warmth of your hand, and damp eyes open, fixing to yours. “Oh Alex, it’s okay” you whisper. The truth is you had always known that with the career your girlfriend was destined to follow, that you would have to spend time away from each other. You already did. Alexia has often been away throughout your friendship and now your relationship for national camps.

You had a very mature relationship for 17 year olds. Having been woven into each other's lives for so many years. You were part of each other's DNA. You knew how to manage the time without your girlfriend. You were both grade A communicators. You accepted that this would be different, and no doubt unimaginably hard for the footballer, her family was her life. But so was football. And you know you needed to encourage her to take this step. “It’s not okay!” she stated, firmly, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s not fair! Finally I get what I have dreamed of but it comes at the expense of everything I love. Mi familia, Barcelona, you! Why can’t I have both? I don’t know what to do” “You go to Levante, Alexia.” you say, seriously, “This is a huge opportunity for you.” She looks at you incredulously and you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. “Oh, so it is that easy for you? Si? You just let me go like it doesn’t even bother you!” You aren’t used to Alexia's stern frown being sent your way, usually it's aimed at someone in defence of you. Or at a goalkeeper. You, however, know the brunette is feeling vulnerable, she has waves of insecurity at times, she puts so much pressure on herself it's inevitable, but you are always there to assure her of her worth, and your love. “You know that's not true, amor.” you say, tenderly, hand reaching into her brunette locks to sooth her. “I agree, it’s not fair that Barca don’t have a women's team but I have always known your talent would take you away from me, “ she opens her mouth to interject, “but I love you. And I know you love me. We are tethered. Forever. When, not if, you go to Valencia, we will make it work. You know we will amor, you can have both” “But I will miss you.” she whimpers, pathetically. “I will miss you every second. But it will get better, it’ll pass Alex.” Her head finds your neck as she settles in there. Her larger frame is quite comically draped over you. “Do you promise?” she lets out, weakly. And you don’t let a moment pass, “I promise.” and seal your promise with a kiss to the crown of her head. She moves her chin up and faces you, “Beso, por favour” she asks, who are you to refuse? You kiss softly, you don’t know how many minutes you are tasting her sweet lips pass before you are interrupted by a sulky 14 year old. “Ewwww!”

Alba appeared, making the two of you split apart, her disgust at the scene she's found making you laugh as Alexia peels herself from you, rolling her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Mami that you two were making out instead of feeding m…ahh!” Albas accusations getting lost as Alexia chases her around the living room, ready to fight in a way only sisters can.

A strange smelling odour fills your nose. Oh… Oh no. You rush into the kitchen to find your dinner smoking on the hob.

“Oi, Putellas diablos!” You stick your head into the living room where you find Alexia sat on her younger sister whilst she tries to battle off the huge weight she finds on herself. They both pause and look at you guiltily. “C’mon, shoes on, we’re going out to eat, on me, we’re celebrating!”

Both of them unite in cheers as they childishly jump up and run to the front door in glee, shoving each other out of the way to try to get their shoes on first as you watch, affectionately shaking your head.

It will be months later, after a summer filled with memories made with your girlfriend, days at the beach, trips to the market, lazy days at home and soft moments made in the streets of Barna, that you would find yourself alone in bed.

That was weird.

You had spent the day packing with Alexia, the sadness of moving away had started to be replaced with excitement from the tall girl. Her dreams were coming true, okay, it may not be perfect, she finally understands, but it's a step in the right direction.

She can’t believe that she's going to get paid to play football.

Paid. The evening after a long day of packing was spent having a family meal at the Putellas household. Your family is also in attendance. It was a loud and joyous affair and it helped to keep the sadness out of your girlfriend's eyes. After a long evening of sombremesa Alexia had insisted on coming back with you to your parents to your house.

She didn’t want to spend her last evening in Barcelona in her empty bedroom, instead finding solace in yours. You had both talked into the early hours, in the arms of each other, trading soft touches and exchanging breaths until sleep took you. You pretended for her sake that you couldn’t hear her rattling breaths or feel the dampness of her cheeks on your fingers.

Now, however, you were alone, and unsure at what woke you up. Until a tapping comes to your attention. You sit up in bed and hear it again. What is that? You get out of bed and go towards your window, yep, there it is again, coming from outside. You throw open the curtains and peer out into the moonlit garden.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you can’t take that moment because you suddenly are hit squarely in the face by a pebble.

“Ouch.. what the he…” you stand suddenly and bang your head on the window frame “Ow, Fuck!” “Ay Dios Mío, lo siento amor! I didn’t see you had opened the window!” Alexia's panicked voice reached your ears, why was she in the garden? What the hell was going on? “Are you okay conejito?” You take a moment to steady yourself and your mind into your new and abrupt situation. “Conejito?” “Yes, Alex, I am fine. What are you doing out there?” You’re met with silence. “Al?” The tall brunette is scuffing her foot against the pebbles of the garden that she had previously been launching at the window. “I don’t want to say. I feel stupid now.” You arch your eyebrow in her direction. You don't think that she can even see it but she knows what's aimed in her direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. And also sad. And muddled. And I will miss you so much so I was just imagining how good it will feel when you visit, or I visit. Or when I score a goal and you’re watching. Which I know you’ve seen but now it's my job.” she rambles, pausing momentarily to take a breath.

“Anyway, I thought about how cool it would be if I came to visit and woke you up by throwing stones at your window like in a film! You’d love that! Then I just couldn’t wait to do it. So here’s me, doing it. I’m being romantic.” She throws a crooked grin up at the window and your heart literally melts. “I..I….” and you promptly burst into tears. “Oh no mi amor no! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to throw a pebble at your face! I’m sorry!” she gestures towards you with her hands frantically. “It’s not that Alex, you’re just such an idiot. And I love you so much. I am going to miss you so much. Get up here.” needing her arms wrapped around you. She nods vigorously and makes to climb the trellis that goes to your window. “No you idiot! Use the door! You have a key!” “Oh yeah.” you hear her mutter to herself before she scurried back inside. As you’re settled back into her warm arms, her huge hands palming through your hair. “That was very romantic Alex.” you mumble and you practically hear her purr with pride at herself. “Next time though bebe, use your key, I would much rather you be here in bed with me.” “Noted.” she mumbles into your skin, wiping away the tears that you can’t stop from rolling down your cheeks. Alexia got settled into her professional team quickly and efficiently, she was one of the youngest but easily the most talented on the pitch. You would travel up with Jaume religiously at the weekends wherever you could, your time in the week spent busy with the Art College you had enrolled in. Alba sometimes tagging along when you bribed her with snacks.

As promised you were there when she scored her first professional goal, her beaming smile sent directly to you and Jaume in the stands, stood cheering for her. You witnessed her wide eyes, after the game, as you stood waiting for your celebratory hug and maybe a cheeky kiss, when she was stopped by a little hand. “Hola.” the small girl had to crane her neck to look up at your girlfriend. She was shaking with excitement. “Hola?” she replied, confused. “Can I have your autograph por favour?” she asked, sweetly. Alexia just stood there, like a sim.

You stepped forward with your notepad and drawing pencil that you carry everywhere, you had more drawings of inside a football stadium than anyone would need. You ripped out a page and handed Ale the pencil. “Of…of course?” She scribbled down her autograph for the young girl who beamed and ran away holding it above her head to show her mami who picked her up in glee. Alexia's wide eyes stared at you. “Did you see that?” “I saw that bebe, I handed you the pencil. I also saw your goal, superstar!” You couldn’t control your grin, which was mirrored by your girlfriend. “You played so well! Alex!” You're interrupted as she drags you over the fencing and pulls you into a bear hug. Her face nuzzled into your neck, her body vibrating with excitement. “I scored for you conejito!” she says “Well, hija, I won’t be offended, I have only been to every game you’ve played for 10 years” Jaume appears above you both still in the stands, smiling teasing his lips. “And you papa!” she releases you and pulls her papa into a hug. Dragging you back in after a moment before declaring that her first goal means that she deserves pizza and ice cream courtesy of her papa.

Through the summer and the fall We had each other, that was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be

You finished your college course and your love for art had never died. You made the trip to Valencia wherever possible to see Alex and she came back to Barna at least once a month to see her family and you on an off weekend. You would spend those weekends living at Alexias house, soaking up every moment together as much as possible.

She would bring her clothes home for Eli to wash as she was useless at anything practical. You would make sure that you would always snag a sweater of hers before it was washed and keep hold of it, soaking in her scent before you could swap it out again. Alexia, used to pretend she hated it, they would always be returned with paint stains around the cuffs which would harden and she said irritated her skin. You tried to be more careful but you didn’t stop stealing them.

You saw the same amount of her family as before she moved away, your lives had been so intrinsically linked that you had become an honorary Putellas, and she was a part of your family. You hung around with Alba and you helped Eli with her shopping when her car broke down. You were family.

Weirdly enough, it was you that met Alexia's future best friend first. After college, you started to make money from your art by being a live artist at weddings.

You knew your parents were worried about what you would do with your art. Teaching was the obvious choice but with your speech issues, it was your idea of hell.

This was perfect.

It was a niche business but you got paid well and you loved it. You got to go to weddings for a job. You got to capture people's joy on the most important day of their lives. You would sit in the corner with an easel set up, sketching and painting guests, the dance floor, the top table. And you could immediately give your paintings to the couple and their guests, the validation was enormous, you were good at what you did. Discreet and professional.

You soon get a client list for miles and the money starts to pour in.

It was at one of these weddings that you met Mapi. She caught your eye during the speeches and you started to draw her outline. She was clearly very very gay at a very straight wedding. But it wasn’t just that that caught your eye, her tattoos intrigued you. And you loved sketching them and adding hints of colour here and there.

She looked up at you and caught you sketching, as guests often would, you were able to not let it distract you, ever the professional you offered a gentle smile.

“You like football?” a heavily accented voice reached your ears as you were adding the finishing touches to the dancefloor scene that was set out before you.

“Que?” It wasn’t often that guests interacted with you, but sometimes it happened.

“Your bag, FC Barcelona? That's not usual for a pretty girl like you, to like football.”

“Ah, Si.” You reply, your eyes not moving from your painting. “It’s my girlfriends.” you reply, emphasising your relationship status, not wanting a moment of confusion.

“Ah, boo, you have ruined my fun.” She replies, “Maria Leon '' She introduces herself, hand out for you to shake, you don’t take her hand, handing your paint-y hands up. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I see, I see. FC Barcelona though. Good team. No women's team though.”

“No, but there will be, and my girlfriend will be their top scorer when it happens” you reply confidently. “You seem so sure?” “I am.” She lets out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, then I will be their best defender” she offers a huge smile. Mapis smile is magic and makes you smile.

You and Mapi become firm friends. She talks. And talks and talks and talks. You don’t know how she has so much to say. But she is fun and she is kind. Your stutter makes an appearance as it sometimes does but it is perfectly offset by her inability to stop yapping. You don’t feel a pressure to fill the silence because you know she will.

Years later, at a supercup final, you will both laugh about your first conversation. About how both of your statements came true. Turns out, people paid well for authentic paintings of their favourite moments. And as a young adult you found yourself with enough money to get yourself a small apartment in Mollet. You loved it. And you loved the independence it brought you. You think that was the happiest time of your life. You would spend days on your sun drenched terracotta tiled balcony. Painting watercolour and sketching the scenes both in your mind and your view over the square that your apartment was on. You had quite the online following and would get some commissions for your art which brought you a sense of purpose and joy. The absolute best time was when Alexia had a free weekend, or a break, she would stay with you and you would live in domestic bliss. It was an unspoken agreement. No question that she would make her base for her time back at your apartment. Even when she wasn’t there you wouldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. More of her clothes made their way into your closet. More of her sweaters would get paint marks on them. You would cook together, sing together, dance together in your small kitchenette. Feeling happy and in love as only young people can. Nothing gets between you. Training had been kind to your girlfriend, and you struggled to keep your eyes off her as she would do basic tasks. She was thick. For want of a better word. Her gangly limbs had become pure muscle, her back would ripple when putting on a t-shirt, you would find yourself staring at her forearms as she would cut vegetables. She knew what she did to you and she loved it. Often sending a wink your was and sending you into more of a stuttering mess then usual, heat climbing to your face. You felt your heart grow as you would go shopping for groceries together. Take strolls in the square, you sitting on a bench and sketching as she inevitably got herself involved in a football game with the local kids. Her favourite time of day would be Friday nights. Often, if she was lucky, she would be scheduled an early kick off on fridays. You would travel back from the game together with her papi. You took the backseat as you knew you would monopolise her time back all weekend. Giving her a chance to catch up with her family. You would get home, she would shower whilst you made a light dinner, both taking it in on the balcony before moving inside and settling on the couch. She would put on some illegally screened recordings of the game she had played in. But she would mute it as she pulled you into her chest. You would have a sketchbook in hand and continue working on your art, or a piece from a wedding that needed finishing up. You always told her the commentary wouldn’t distract you. But she insisted. Once finally saying, “I like the sound of your pencil, it soothes me, and sometimes you trace the sketch on my leg with your free hand. It gives me goosebumps. I like it.” you never asked again. You argued, of course, like any couple did. But it never lasted long. Alex would get angry when she would find paint in the sink, and you would struggle to share your space at first. But you never went to bed in a fight. Even if you tried to be stubborn your body would fail you and you would gravitate towards her in the moments before sleep, muttering your apologies or forgiveness. In those early days of young adulthood it would be the only time in your relationship where you had more money than Alex.

Football did not pay well. It did not pay a living wage.

You didn’t care.

You felt privileged every time you scanned your card for the groceries, or paid for dinner on a date. You knew she hated it though. “One day conejito, I will give you everything life can offer, I promise” she would whisper into your skin whilst she tried to make it up to you in other ways. You would always tell her you had everything you needed right there with you. It was perfect. Life was perfect. You had friends, a stable job, the love of your life. Yes, distance was hard, yes, each time she left you would cry and hold her tighter to you, but you knew it wasn’t forever, and you never felt that distance in your relationship. You grew together, like a plant, your love was carefully cultivated in experiences and shared memories.

And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me

You had never felt sadness like it. It was all encompassing. You couldn’t get away from it. You were sad for your chosen family. You were sad for your own family. You were sad for yourself. But you were devastated for your girlfriend. You didn’t know what to do with so much sadness. You couldn’t hold it in, but you couldn’t let it out. You needed to be strong for your girlfriend. Who was walking around as a shell of the person that you knew her to be. Well, that was when she was walking, she would throw herself into her childhood bedroom and stay there silently for hours. You would be okay with it if she was sleeping, but she just stared at the wall aimlessly. Her Papa was her inspiration. The reason she got into football. She would look up to him even as she towered over him. And it was so so cruel that he had been taken away from her in such a manner. A week after Jamues passing you found yourself next to Alexia at his funeral. It was a beautiful affair, a celebration of the life of a man who loved hard and was loved hard. The morning had been difficult, you had ironed Alexia's dress and set it out for her. She took your instruction like a small child, you brushed her hair straight and pulled it out from her face. You struggled to speak. Such immense grief you felt the words became garbled in your mouth, rendering you mute. But you didn’t want any pressure on Alexia.

You knew when your stutter made an appearance she would drop everything, concentrate on doing your exercises with you, hand automatically cupping your jaw and massaging the soft area beneath your ear because she knew that relaxed your facial muscles. So you both moved around silently. That morning. As you guided her around what needed to be done. As you packed her bag with tissues you hoped that you needed to use them. You hadn’t seen her cry since she rushed home from Valencia to the news. So no, you didn’t know what to do with your grief. You loved him too. He was the first person you had loved and lost. You had your own special relationship built from long car journeys and shared snacks. He would put your art on his fridge like you were one of his own. He was kind and he was half of the person who you loved to your core. God. If you felt like this. You don’t know how Alexia was still breathing. You had been spending all week as the Putellas household. Not leaving Alex's side. But also not leaving Alba, who would lean heavily into you of an evening, seemingly crying all of the tears that her sister couldn’t. It felt healthy though, through the tears you could share memories and make her laugh. You would go to bed with Alex and the silence would continue. When you were sure she was asleep you would sneak out of bed and grab your sketch pad, settle into the corner of the room and just let it out. Her dad told you once at a game how his father worked as a coal miner. He said it proudly, he adored hard work. That's where Alexia got her devotion from. It was a passing moment, a memory that you didn't even know you had. But it stuck with you as you went into the Putellas garden and took a lump of coal from the barbeque and settled yourself into the dewey grass. Hand not stopping over your sketchpad and tears rolling down your cheeks.

The night after the funeral you stayed at your own parents house. You couldn’t handle the loneliness of your own apartment. You didn’t want to intrude at the Putellas residence, and you hoped that maybe some time with her family would be what Alexia needed to open up. You were right, but not in the way you imagined. A soft clink, clink, clink, woke you up, This time you were not frightened. You had heard this noise before. You immediately jumped out of bed and ran to your window, showing it open and shoving your head out. “Alex! What are you doing here, why didn’t you use your key?” The brunette looked up at you with sad eyes, you saw she was in her pyjamas, eyes sideways showing no car, she had walked here. “I forgot it.” she let out, morosely. “Oh mi amor, no p..p..problem, hold on I will come down and let you in.” before you had a chance to bring your body back into the house you heard her again, “You left me.” your heart cracked into two. You didn’t reply but instead hurried downstairs into the moonlit garden. She stood there, with all her muscle and height, looking everything like a toddler who was lost in a supermarket. You took her hand in yours and used your other to cup her cheek. “Oh, mi amor I didn’t leave you, I thought you wanted some space.” Maybe you expected her to agree, maybe you expected her to disagree and shout at you for getting it so wrong. You didnt realise that you were to her, like an umbrella in the rain, protecting her from the downpour. With you gone she drowned in the grief. You didn’t expect her lip to tremble and her to burst into tears. “I want my papa.” Those 4 words broke your heart as you huddled her into your arms, rocking lightly to bring her confort. There was nothing you could say, you just brought her into your bed and held her as she cried, painting her skin with whispers of your love “I know, bebe, I know, I promise it’ll pass, I promise, and I will be here. The pain will go. It will pass Alex and I will be here.” It became a mantra that you whispered into her skin.

As she calmed down you took a moment to think. As you got out of bed and she groaned in annoyance you hushed her with your lips to her skin. “Un momento, mi amor, I have something for you.”

You presented it nervously, unsure of the reaction you would get.

It was a framed picture that you had created. Not like your usual artwork as it was made from coal. Coal from the Putellas barbecue to be exact. It was a sketch of a man in the stands of a football stadium, somehow, eyes beaming with pride, laugh lines visible on his face. A footballer with a long ponytail and similar features jumping into his arms.

It was a scene you had witnessed hundreds of times throughout the years. You didn’t need to see it again to create it. The coal added a haunting and beautiful dimension to it. When you explained your reasoning Alexia looked deeply into your eyes. Holding onto the frame with white knuckles like her life depended on it.

“I love you.”

And when Alexia scored and helped her team to win the U19 Championship for her country not 3 weeks later. Celebrating with eyes to the sky, fingers pointed. You knew that, eventually, she would be okay.

So the years went by I stayed the same But she began to drift away I was left alone Still, I waited for the day When she'd say, "I will always love you"

It was as though it had been destined for years but finally finally the news came that Barcelona FC would have a women's team. Mapi had texted you with glee when the news broke out, she knew that she was stuck in her own contract but the fact it existed made it a possibility for her dreams to come true. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, was a free agent. You thought, privately, that even if she wasn't a free agent that she would break every law on planet earth to play for her childhood club. She was offered a contract and signed without any hesitation. A mist in her eyes at the missing presence in her signing photos. You drove with Alba to collect her and all her things from a year in Valencia directly to your apartment. As you unpacked her stuff, Alba on a food run with money you had shoved into her hand, your small flat suddenly felt full. “Alex,” You called, from the living room, you heard her shuffle around and pop her head into the bedroom where you stood, surrounded by boxes. “Si, conejito?” she asked, breathlessly. You took in her smile, that you had missed over the months, the light in her eyes, the ease of her movements. “I am just asking, I don’t actually remember asking you to move in?” You say, teasingly, gesturing to her boxes surrounding you. It was true, you hadn’t, it had just been assumed by both of you, as well as both of your families. A blush rose up her neck, “I mean… I-i-..”. You burst out laughing. “I am just teasing you”. A glint in her eyes took over and you had half a second to brace yourself before you were tackled by an almost 6ft wall of muscle. You landed gently on the bed with a thump. “Well, light of my life. I think it’s too late for that. Maybe I can make up for my rudeness.” Her voice takes on a sultry tone, attacking your neck with kisses, making you groan. “No, No, No, No, stop it you two! Why is this my life!” Well. Alba was back, You groaned as Alexias full body weight fell onto you as she heard her sister. You had a feeling you both had plenty of time to make up for it. Living with Alexia full time was natural. You had obviously had practice from the year she spent in Valencia but you didn’t realise how easy it would be. You knew where to step to not fall over her boots in the hallway without looking.

You amended your grocery show to include all her weird protein-packed foods. She would help you get ready for work in your evening gowns that you had to wear to fit in at the weddings, and she would stay up to make sure you got home safe and listened as you babbled on about your favourite parts, all the while taking it in for ideas for your own wedding. You continued to make money at weddings, Alexia rose through the ranks at the new Barcelona Femini team. Quickly establishing herself as a calm and serious captain.

She took her role seriously, she would study games religiously at home as you would paint or sketch. Your easel set up in the living room or on the balcony. She would rub your shoulders as you painted, eyes set on the TV at the game. The shared time doing your own activities matched you both perfectly. And just like that, years passed. Years in domestic bliss. Spent together and with your families. Vacations in Ibiza and even a pet cat called Pablo Petcatso, or Pabs for short, entered your little family unit. He was a ginger cat who loved a cuddle and loved getting into Alexia's kit bag, he even made it to the training once or twice, and you had to drive over there to pick him back up. Dragging him away from 22 cooing footballers.

Women's football grew, as did Alexia's paycheck. And with that, you think, looking back, as did the cracks in your relationship.

“We're here!” Alexias excited voice explained, you had pulled up outside a tall apartment building in the centre of Barcelona. She hadn’t shared with you where you were going. Insisting it needed to be a surprise.

“And where is here?” you looked up at the towering glass building above you, you didn’t come into the city much, you preferred the quiet of your suburb.

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Her excitement was catching, and you found yourself giddy as the elevator took you further into the skies of the city.

“Ta-da!” She presents a huge open plan space before you, the glass fronted living room has views over the city to the sea. You could count at least 3 bedrooms from where you stood in the hallway. The kitchen was sleek, straight lines and clean granite.

“What is this place?” you ask, confused, taking in your surroundings. “It's our new apartment!” What? “What?” you breathe out. “Don’t you love it?!” Alexia remains giddy, her excitement not fading and she fails to notice your unenthused reaction. Your mind whirred. “Come look, come look!” she grabbed your hand, and pulled you further into the apartment. Proudly presenting each room to you. “And this room. I thought you could have it as your art studio!” “Art studio?” you whisper. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool, and so much space. Now I wont get cross at you for getting paint all over the kitchen! Pabs will have so much room to explore!” She turns around and pulls you into her embrace, you are still shellshocked at everything presented to you. “I promised you, didn’t I? I would give you the world conejito.” Her eyes are so bright with joy, the smile so wide on her face, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the sleek lines, the large space, and the modern kitchen were beautiful. You didn’t see it for yourself, you preferred your terracotta tiled balcony and your plants overtaking your kitchenette. You loved painting in your living room when Alexia would watch a match. Pabs crawling over your shoulders, your little bubble with your family. But you could see how proud Alex was of herself, of what she had achieved. You must have taken a moment too long, as her eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like it.” you said, plainly, “No… No Alex, I do! I was just so surprised. I love it, and I love you.” “Yeah?” her eyes brighten again. You kiss her lips softly, “Yeah.” “Good! And think conejito, maybe one day there would be room for a bigger family?” she asks, shyly. Your heart melted as you nodded frantically and threw yourself into her embrace. As Alexia's career grew, so did the pressure on her. She was often away, it was something your whole relationship had survived, but now, being away with both club and country, as well as in an apartment that had never truly felt like home. You felt lonely. You would come home from weddings with only Pabs to greet you, you would create art in your studio without the background noise of Alexia watching a game, or preparing a smoothie. She would do that in the living area. Nights together were rarer. Your love never dimmed. Alexia showed you in her every movement that she adored you. Date nights, whilst few and far between, were the highlight of your week. Though that soon became the highlight of your month. The one saving grace during this time was that Mapi had finally joined Barcelona Femini and you took it on yourself to be her personal Barcelona guide. As Alexia's fame grew, you shied more into the background. You weren't an extrovert. You would never hide your relationship and you never asked Alexia to but the only social media that you had was that to promote your artwork. Meanwhile, Alexia's followers grew and grew. A few crazed fans had deep dived into her archives and knew of you but that was only a portion of the fanbase. She hated the delving into her private life, and that caused her to stop posting anything of you onto her public accounts. Any trace of you, gone. Before being a footballer, in Alex’ mind, she was your protector, that hadn’t changed from 15 years ago. With 2021 came great change. All of the years of dreams and hard work had paid off and Barca had reached the champions league final. You travelled to Gothenburg with Eli and Alba, a nervousness in your stomach more than usual. For both your girlfriend and your best friend. You celebrated the win with a euphoria you had rarely felt. Everything felt worth it. The lonely nights, the travel around the country, the sacrifices you had to make as the partner of La Reina.

And as she pulled you into her arms after the final whistle, and pulled you over the barricade the same way she did when she scored her first professional goal your heart couldn’t swell more with pride. You don’t want to say that Alexia changed after the Ballon D’or. Because she didn’t. Well, maybe she did, she suddenly sported bright blonde locks which, you admit was sexy, but you missed the softness her natural hair gave her face. By the second Ballon D’or you thought maybe it was you that changed. Maybe it was you that put up a barrier. One that couldn’t be identified easily. But with study it could be noticed. The problem was that Alex wasn’t there to notice. Yeah, you were together, you did things together, you made love and you made memories. You went back to Mollet regularly and ate with your families and you went to games with Alba. But Alexia was busy. She had brand deals, she had interviews, she had achieved her dream of being the best footballer in the world. You knew she was since you were 12. But now the world knew too. And the world wanted her attention.

Oftentimes she was exhausted when she got home. She didn’t want to cuddle on the couch. She didn't want to walk around the plaza. She didn’t want to hear about your day. She would ask, but you could tell her mind was elsewhere, in some contract somewhere, so you started to lie. To give answers which would satisfy her without arousing suspicion. Always trying to put her ease first.

You would decline for nights out with her teammates, you even lied once or twice and said you had a wedding to paint, just to avoid suspicion. Alexia would take your answer as the truth, and kiss your cheek lightly as she left the apartment which quickly felt like it had become your prison. Mapi could see through you. She would try to get you to talk, but she was Alexia's team mate. Alex was her captain. It didn’t feel right to discuss your relationship issues with her. Not when you wouldn’t even talk to the woman in question about it. You found yourself in the familiar seats of the Johan Cryuff stadium taking in the first home game of the new season. Alba and Eli by your side. The first game was always a family affair. With the Putellas cousins in attendance, a restaurant booked for this evening for you all. It was an easy win for the Champions of Europe. And as you stood with Mapi and her new girlfriend Ingrid at the end of the match chatting, Patri bounded over, sweat on her brow and joy in her eyes. “Hola Senora La Reina” she teased you, kissing your cheek, you had been around the team so much that they all knew you well. “Ay, Idiota, hands off” and large, familiar hands wrapped around your middle, a kiss planted to your other cheek as you melted into her embrace. “Congrats bebe” you muttered, craning you neck you see her looking down at you with a smile. “Senora Reina, you’ll come out for drinks with us to celebrate the win, won’t you?” Parti asked, full of joy.

The attention of the 4 footballers on you suddenly unsettled you. Maybe it was the busy environment. Maybe it was being with Ingrid who you’d only met a few times. Maybe it was Alexias hands around you for the first time in what felt like months. But you struggled to get your words out. “Ah, gra…grac…gracias for the invite diablo, but m…m…me…” “She’s coming out with mi familia Patri, it’s tradition! You know that! Vamos, I will come out quickly for a drink then join you all, conejito” Alexia interrupted you, planted a final kiss on your cheek and headed to the changing rooms. She didn’t feel you freeze in her embrace. She didn’t see Patri and Mapis expressions change. She didn’t see Ingrid's look of confusion. You felt sick. You felt like you were about to burst into tears. Your throat burned and you struggled to swallow.

You felt small. You shuffled your feet on the ground and looked up to see Mapis' face had grown furious, her girlfriend's arm had come to rest over her shoulders, trying to settle her but unsure why. You went straight into damage control. Alexia has protected you your entire life. She had never interrupted you, she knew you couldn’t stand when people would finish your sentences. It was the worst thing you could do to someone with a stutter. She knew that. You don’t know why Alexia's endless patience ran out that day. But you knew you wanted to protect her from your best friend's rage. You knew it would happen one day, you just wish it had happened without any witnesses. For both of your sakes. “Mapi, it's fine.” “It is not fine!” Patri backs away from the situation with a kiss to your cheek and an apologetic look. “I don’t know what's wrong with her lately. I am going to kill her…” she moves towards the changing rooms but you pause her with a soft hand. “Maps, please don’t. It’s f…f…okay. I am okay. Ju…just go get changed and go on your night out. I will t..text you tomorrow. Please.” You look to Ingrid for help, you don’t know her well but she has the power over Mapi seemingly, and as she guides her to the changing rooms the small Spaniard seems to settle down.

Not enough though, apparently, because as soon as she sees her captain again, a flicker of that rage comes back to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Mapi hisses to her captain, “Maria, stop” Ingrid tugged her by the elbow, trying to take her away. Alexia looked up from her phone with a look of indignation, yes she was Mapis friend but she was still her captain, and they were in front of the whole team. Her defensive wall immediately came up. “Discuple?” Her eyes cast across the changing room, their team mates continued to get changed and pretended they weren’t eaves dropping into the mini argument that had developed.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mapi spat out. “Why did you interrupt her?” Something in Alexia's stomach dropped. Her hands become clammy, her body reacting to the accusation before her mind could. “What? I didn’t. I would never.” she whispers in reply, but more to herself. “No, No I didn't.” she said more surely, somewhat desperately.

Mapi takes in her best friend's demeanour, the usually stoic and strong captain looked devastated, maybe even petrified? Mapi knew what she had done, but could see that Alexia would punish herself more than Mapi ever could. She stepped away, guided by Ingrid. Leaving Alexia to replay the last 10 minutes, desperately. Mapi saw the moment that realisation came to the Catalan Captain, as she bolted out of the changing room, hair damp, throwing her shirt on as she sprinted back into the stadium. Which is where she found you, moments later. You were sitting in the friends and family section, Alexias new baby cousin settled onto your knee, playing with your hands and babbling to himself. You made cooing noises and spoke softly to him and all her Tias and Tios got rounded up for your meal out. You felt her presence behind you, you could practically feel her anxiety coming off her in waves. You looked back quickly and confirmed your suspicions, her blonde hair damp and wetting her shoulders, her foot twisting against the concrete floor, hands knotted together and bottom lip drawn into her lip, chewing anxiously. “It’s fine Alex.” you said, as you turned, attention back on the baby in your lap. She must have seen this acknowledgement as her body surged towards you, she loudly collapsed into the seat next to you, the anxiety coming off her in waves. “Conej…” she started. “No Alex, I pr…pr… I swear. It’s okay. But I’m currently holding the ba…bab…ba… child.” you take a sigh. “I am holding the child and I don’t want to cry so p…please. It’s okay.” If it's possible. She looked even more devastated. Her whole face collapsed. She hated when you would revert to old techniques to speak, by changing up your words mid sentence. Alexia was your protector. It was her proudest badge. Before she was a footballer, in her mind, she was your partner. And she had let you down. She had done the worst thing she could have done. To an outsider Alexia's moment of impatience may have been a minor indiscretion at most. But to you? To Alex? It was the basis of your whole relationship. You felt safe with her. You had a voice, she said, all those years ago when you fell in love, and you deserved to be heard. And now she has brought that into question. “Can I touch you?” she asked, gently. This brought tears to your eyes and you nodded, whilst still entertaining the baby in your lap with coo’s and a false smile. She touched your knee, the heat of her hand bleeding into your skin. “You don’t need to mask in front of me y/f/n.” Alexia never used your name. “Please. Use the words you want to use. I am here to listen. Always.” You are interrupted as Alexias Tia comes to claim her baby, who you hand back with a last pat on the stomach and raspberry to the cheek. You are trying to avoid the next 5 minutes you know will happen. Alexia is somewhat rude when her Tia offers her congratulations, eyes boreing into your head. You sweep your hair back as you face her, having had a moment to think you get your words out easier. “Alex, it’s okay. It was bound to happen one day. Don’t worry about it. Please. Go out with your friends. I will go to the meal as planned. I promise. Alba will drive me home later.” “No.” Alexia says desperately, clutching your hand in hers, “Let’s just go home, amor. Please.” “Ale I made a promise to your mami. I am going to eat. I will see you later.” you press a kiss to her cheek and wander off towards her family. As she stands, watching you interact with her sister and her mami, her teammates call her over. She feels torn. She just wants to go home with you. She just wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you in her arms. Safe. But you don’t want that right now, so she turns to do as instructed. Throwing one more glance your way, missing Albas worried face as she wipes a tear from your cheek.

Lonely and forgotten Never thought she'd look my way And she smiled at me and held me Just like she used to do Like she loved me When she loved me

You came home early. You asked if Alba could drop you off as soon as you had finished your meal. She was happy to oblige, worried about your silence the entire meal. You were looking down at your phone as you entered your apartment. Assuring Mapi again that you were fine and she should enjoy her drinks. You go to flick on the light in the living area when a stream of light below the door of your studio distracts you. You push the door open cautiously and see Alexia standing there, looking at your work in progress. It was different to your usual work. A close up sketch of a hand, wrapped around a flower, tenderly, it was in the early stages, you could see the lines of the palm and the blades of grass in the field behind. It was mounted onto canvas on your easel and the splashes of colour you had started to add contrasted against the paleness of the room. She hadn’t heard you enter, too lost in the image before her, but Pabs making a run for the door as it opened brought her attention to you. As you stand there, under her gaze, you struggle to remember the last time you saw Alexia in your studio. Yeah she would bob in to let you know dinner was ready, or that she was heading out, but she didn’t come in often enough to take in your work anymore. Now it wasn’t forced on her in the living space. It seemed Alexia had the same realisation as she broke her gaze with you and gestured towards your painting, and then further, to your desk overlooking the window, where more of your work lay. “You’re amazing. I didn’t… I.” a deep breath. “I hadn’t forgotten but I think I… Got lost? Somewhere along the way?” you tilt your head curiously. You don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have been a bad partner to you.”

“Alex…” “No. I have. And I’m not interrupting you but I won’t let you lie to protect me.” her eyes go again to your easel. “You’re amazing. You are so talented. You are filled with so much kindness. You deserve so much more than this.” her eyes fill with tears and she looks at you. “I tried. You know? I promise I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought this,” she gestures towards you and around you “was what you deserved. And it is. But more than that you deserve everything.” She takes a step towards you and grasps your hands with hers, her hands are cold, you note. As you take her in you see dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and… damp hair. “Alexia, did you not go out with the team?” “How do you think that I could go out with the team after what I did?” she asks, aghast. The reminder of the way the evening went washes over you. Alexia panics when she sees your eyes fill with tears. And she pulls you into her chest. “I am so, so sorry mi amor. I am so sorry” she whispers into your hair. “I have broken something sacred between us. And I will never forgive myself.” she swears to you. Though that doesnt bring you any joy. “I forgive you Alex.” she shakes her head in despair, joining you in tears. “You said it was bound to happen someday,” she starts, “Do not think like that amor. It was not. This is not your fault. In any way. It is mine. Please don’t think that, you deserve to be heard. I am so so sorry. So sorry. I will never do it again, promesa.” All you can do is nod into her chest.

She pulls you from the room and settles you both into the sofa, keeping the light off, only the skyline of the city illuminating your living room through the large, glassed wall.

She lets you cry into her t-shirt, soaking it more than her damp hair, and through the darkness you pull away and take in her face, she looks youthful. Gone, the professional make up, the expensive jewellery, and hair darkened by the dampness from her shower. You take in a large choked breath. “We need to talk.” you let out. Fear takes over her features and she starts to shake her head. “No, Mi Conejito please no, don’t do this.” she wails. It is a heart wrenching sound. She thinks she's going to be sick. “Woah, woah, woah” you place your hands on her cheeks and pull her panicked eyes to yours; “Mi amor I am not breaking up with you.” you state, clearly. “I am not. Now breathe with me.” Her eyes steady from their darting around the room in fear, and you place your hand on her chest, making her breathe with you. “Okay, okay… okay. Yes, please. Talk to me.” she begs, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs. “I feel alone. I feel… sa…sad. A lot of the time. And I know… you y…you aren’t doing it on pur…purpose.” Your girlfriend looks heartbroken. Like she had just found out her entire family had died. But refuses to interrupt you as you speak. But you have needed this conversation for so long, that the words start to tumble out of you. Getting lodged in your throat. Har large hand comes up to that familiar place, and massages the soft tissue behind your jaw. Trying to help you without interrupting. “You aren’t doing it on purpose.” you repeat. She pauses for a moment and doesn't ask what you thought she would. “Why am I making you anxious?” she asks, cutting through your thoughts. You move away from her and settle your elbows to your knees. Rubbing your face as you feel a large hand settle onto your back. You hated your stutter. You hated that it ruled your life, but most of all you hated how it exposed you. You were like a child who can’t hide a blush in front of their crush. “You aren’t, Alexia.” “Alex.” she corrects, “I am Alex to you” she insists, “your Alex. It’s just me, mi amor.” she looks at you desperately. “I feel alone, you are never here, and when you are here physically, you aren’t here in your head. Your head is in the clouds, it is with your agent, with your coach, it is not with me.” you’ve started now, so you won’t be able to stop yourself “it is me and Pabs and, even though you're dumb as bricks bebe, you're a better conversationalist than him” you try to joke, a half smile on your face. Which she matches, hand not stopping her ministrations on your back.

“I cannot remember the last time we just sat together, the last time that we cooked together. Can you Alex?” you don’t receive a reply,

“I haven’t had your eyes, look at me, really look at me for months. You give your time so easily to those around you, your team mates, people I see you out with at events. I can’t blame you, this is what you always dreamed of. But… I miss you.” Your speech is strong now; “and I love you. That will never change. But you need to know how I am feeling. So it's fair to you. I feel as though you are bigger than the world. And I am just the girl you saved in the art room.” She is openly crying now. “Don’t say that, you are everything” she mumbled, through tears.

She knew that she had been busy. But she didn’t realise the damage that she had done. She had been to events, you had been at her side. But. When was the last time she asked about a wedding you’d worked? God, you used to sit for hours describing the beautiful scenes, and she’d store away ideas for your own wedding. The last gallery you had shown at? When had she last visited your mami and papi, who had been there for her her entire life? She kept you off social media for your protection, but she didn’t mean to erase you. When had she become so god damn selfish. “Amor, I think that somewhere along the way, I had forgotten, and forgotten to remind you. There are more important things than football. Well. Football is second”.

You are thrown back to a memory, a school championship 15 years ago, sat on the bleachers watching your school get destroyed. The lanky football captain sat by your side. You can’t help it but tears fill your eyes. You missed her. That girl. The one you were and the one she was. “But.. you told me once, that I could have both.” she whispered, into your neck, “and you can, Alex. Of course you can. But you have to want both. And at the moment. It feels. It feels like you don’t want me.” “No! Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Conejito. You are everything. Eres mi mundo. I am nothing without you.” she takes a breath, deep and shuddering. “I will fix this. Thank you for telling me how you feel. I have a chance to fix this. Si?” she asks, desperately. You nod, “Of course Alex, and it's for both of us to fix, I should have said something sooner.” She refuses your admittance of guilt and drags you into bed. She sticks to you like a second skin. Moves with you to brush your teeth. Standing waiting whilst you use the toilet. She places a fresh glass of water on your bedside table.You want to tell her to give you a bit of space, but the fear in her eyes prevents you from doing so. As soon as you crawl into your side of the bed she has pulled you into her embrace and the warmth that fills you goes beyond the shared body heat. For the first time in a long time, you wake up in the strong arms of Alexia. She hasn’t moved in the night an inch, and you take a moment to take her in. This is what you missed. Just breathing the same air as her. Just existing in the same space. As though she can feel you looking at her she begins to stir. Taking a moment to come to her senses, her arms grip you tighter around your waist. “Hola, Mi amor” she whispers into the air. Your response is a kiss to her lips, which she steals, hungrily. As you deepen the kiss you feel her begin to pull away. “Lo siento, mi amor, we cannot get carried away. Things to do.” your heart hurts again. You roll off the taller girl and reach for your phone as a distraction.

You thought, maybe, just maybe, for today at least. You would spend the day together. “Things to do!” she repeats, jumping out of bed with glee. “Where’s your passport”. That grabs your attention. “Que?” you ask, confusingly. “Your passport amor, Vamos!” She had long ago left the bed, and had started moving around the room, picking up various bags which had definitely not been there when you went to bed and moving them into the hallway. She was like a ball of energy, she stripped off her oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed, leaving her standing in just her boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight. Well, you think, at least all the time not spent with you was doing something good. You find yourself in a trance, practically salivating at your view.

A change of clothes being thrown at your head brings you out of your stupor. “Dressed. Go.” Alexia teases you, definitely having caught you starting. This makes you finally start to move as you shrug on the jogging bottoms and hoodie she threw at you. Happily, you note, it's one of hers that you’ve already destroyed with paint marks on the cuffs. “Why do you need my passport Alex? What's with the bags?” “We’re going on vacation!” That stops you, half in, and half out of your hoodie. Getting yourself stuck. “Vacation?” you ask, voice muffled by the fabric. You hear Alexia make her way over to you, then feel her gently pull you free from your fabric prison. “Si…” she gently tells you. A look overcomes her face which you can’t distinguish, then she kisses your nose, softly. “Vacation. Just me and you amor.”

“But what about work?” you ask, still catching up. “You don’t have anything booked for 6 days, I checked your calendar. And where we are going, you can bring all your art things if you need them. I’ve packed the basics in my carry-on already.” “Not my work. Alex, your work. You have a busy week.” at this point you seem to have lost her attention as she turns to your question dismissively. “I cancelled it.” she replies, simply. “You cancelled it.” you repeat. “Si.” “Alexia! Have you lost your mind! You have training, you have that meeting with Oakley - you have the pre-euros media to do! You have a game in 3 days” you reel off her calendar, watching as she continues to dress and pack her toiletries. She heaves out a sigh and turns back to you.

“Conejito, I know what I had, you don’t need to tell me I have just spent all night cancelling all of them. I spoke to Jona and he’s happy for me to miss the game. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” she moves closer to you again, “So no, I have not lost my mind. But, I did almost lose you, so please. Please tell me where your passport is so we can get on the plane I booked. Mapi will be here in a moment to take Pabs for the week.” You find yourself standing there, stunned. She seemingly had thought of everything. You look into the hall at the bags packed there ready to go. Pabs sniffed them curiously. She’s looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. There's nothing else for you to do you suppose. As you turn from her and open your bedside table, a smile can’t be kept off your face, you turn triumphantly with your passport held high. “Voila!” you present it to her; “What are you waiting for then Alex! We've got a plane to catch!” as you scurry out of the room and you hear the front door knock. Alexias cackle behind you. Alexia was always full of surprises when she wanted to be and she remained tight lipped all the way to the airport, refusing to tell you your destination.

You assumed it would be one of the islands somewhere, with the size of her luggage maybe somewhere farther afield, sun, sea and a pool somewhere promised. But she shocked you. When you got to the check in desk and realised you were flying to Switzerland you could have been knocked down with a feather. Your Alex, who was upset when she even had to wear a bikini top in the month of August, has booked for you to go to Switzerland?

She ignored your curious stare and just continued to sweet talk the check in lady, upgrading you to business class. As you descended hours later, between the snow peaked mountains against a stunning orange sun you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your hands itched to claim the sketch book from Alexias carry on. Soon, after collecting your luggage and Alexia picking up a hire car that has also been pre booked (seriously did this girl sleep at all the night before?), you found yourself being driven through a mountain forest, as a lodge that seemed to cling to the mountainside came into view, isolated and beautiful. You stood on the wooden balcony, hands gripping a warm drink as you took in the view of the sun setting behind the mountains. “Look at that, Amor.” you felt, more than heard, whispered against your ear. Lips planting a kiss at your jaw as strong hands settle over your stomach.

You fell back into her embrace. “It’s so beautiful.” you replied, eyes focused on the scene before you. “I saw this advert. Months ago.” she continued. “Just in the back of a catalogue at work. They will have the Euros near here, you know, 2025?” That made you snort with laughter. “Ah, I see Putellas, now it makes sense how you’ve been dragged from the beach, scoping out the environment are we? Anything for that competitive edge.” your teasing is clear in your voice.

You feel a pinch on your stomach, “No, idiota,” though the laugh is clear in her voice. “I saw that advert and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It is so beautiful here.” you hum in agreement, “But what I could not get out of my head was that I wanted you to see it. I love seeing the world through your eyes.”

She turns you in her embrace and she places a gentle kiss to your forehead as you feel her breathe you in. “You see things so beautifully, Amor, and then you paint them for the world to see. You are so special.” Your heart melts at the blonde, and you feel some of the despair that had settled into your stomach over the last months shrink. Here Alexia was, at work, flicking through some promotional material between interviews and training, and her thoughts are with you. “And I will not let you forget how special you are, ever. Never again”. You spent those days in pure bliss. You spend the days hiking - her pretending to be as tired as you at the peak of a mountain, she was a terrible actress but you appreciate the sentiment non the less - having picnics, exploring the mountain villages, and on one particularly spicy day, skinny dipping in an isolated mountain lake that a swiss teammate had told Alexia about. Evenings were spent looking up at the stars together, you firmly in alexias lap on the balcony, sharing a glass of wine which you held. She pointed out stars that her Papa had shown her and given silly names to, and you were there to catch her tears. She would complain only minimally that she was cold, and you would offer to warm her up and she would lead you gently into the bedroom. Nights spent in each other's embrace, sighs shared and no alarms to wake you. You would dance around the kitchen, play cards at the table, share wine and stories and just catch up.

The pit in your stomach mended with each kiss, each peel of laughter and each stroke of the skin.

One evening, after the skinny dipping adventure in which the footballer insisted that she must have hypothermia and had taken herself off over an hour ago telling you she wasn’t coming out of the warm shower until she had become a prune. You had started to add the finishing touches to a sketch of the scene beyond your lodges window when you felt the blonde return into the room, You eyed her quickly, flannel tartan pyjamas covering her tall frame, hanging over her wrists, matching shorts which are despicably short. Fuzzy socks on her feet. She looked absolutely adorable.

You didn’t know why she was staring at you though, She moved towards you and you made space for her on the couch. “You have your glasses on, Conejita.” she mumbled, and you reached up, as though to confirm they were on your face, “I didn’t know you still wore them.” You didn’t, too be honest, but with the long day of fresh air and a strong sun on the mountainside your eyes had grown tired. You shrugged at her, as she placed a soft kiss on your lips. Lovesick look in her eyes. “You’re so hot.” She mumbled, more to herself. You hear though, and the blush runs up your neck.

You moved to get your work off your lap but she stopped you, pulling you back into her embrace and you automatically moved your knees up to rest your sketchbook there. “Carry on, please.” her chin rested on your shoulder. You hesitated, you didn’t come all this way to not spend time with the blonde, you wanted to soak in every minute. You wouldn’t be happy if she started to kick a ball around in the kitchen. She could sense your hesitation, “please. Remember, I like the sound of your pencil.” she moves your free hand to her bare thigh, “and it gives me goosebumps.” You fell in love again over those 6 days. You never fell out of it. But maybe you both just needed reminding. You felt whole, your communication about how you were feeling had worked, Alexia had listened. You just had one worry though, as the plane landed back in Barna you couldn’t hold it in. “Alex.” you said, before the seatbelt sign came on, gripping her arm lightly. “This was the best trip of my life. Thank you.” Her smile cracked her face, and she looked immensely proud of herself. “Mine too, Amor.” she agreed, easily, her face was peaceful . “But. I can’t go back to how things were again, si? I don’t think I could survive it, not after this week.” she's already shaking her head. “It won’t, I promise. I will not let that happen. Me and you, Si? That is all that is important” you take a moment, “And Pabs.” you amend for her, breaking the tension. “Si, of course” she rolls her eyes, “and Pablo Petcatso.”

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me

“Hey, Al?” you shout, into the living room as you enter your flat. It's been a few weeks since you returned from your impromptu get away. A busy few weeks. You have been booked up and Alex had to make up for the time she had lost, Barca were still in 4 competitions so the match load was heavy. You could see she was trying though, so that made the darkness that had started to creep back in more bearable. She wasn’t home from training yet. Which disappointed you more than usual. You were giddy.

You had just found out that your art had been selected to be shown at a huge gallery opening in the centre of the city. An established and high-end gallery. It was a big deal, and it was potentially your big break. You got flutters in your stomach even thinking about the commissions it could make you. Pabs popped his head around the door and you picked him up giddily and span him around, his meow in response you took as a congratulations as you danced and laughed. You didn’t hear the door behind you open but you heard your favourite voice in the world, “And what have I walked into here, hey, a party with my favourite two? Without me?” Alexia laughed. “Alex, we're celebrating!” you let Pabs free from your grip as he scurried away from his crazy mama. Her arms loop around you as you move into a slow dance, grinning up at her; “Ah, Si? And what are we celebrating?” “I got chosen! For the gallery!” Your feet leave the floor as the taller girl fully brings you into her arms, lifting you and spinning you around in glee, the squeal she lets out is full of childlike joy. “Of course you did! You are amazing!” she plops you back down and attacks your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you Mi Amor and I am so excited to see your gallery. Oh I can get all dressed up and be your arm piece!” The thought brings you pure joy, the image of Alexia standing by your side, proudly, champagne in hand. Your Mami and Papi and Eli and Alba all present. Pabs in a little bow tie. “Si?” you ask, shyly, much more used to being by her side, “You’ll come? It is in 4 weeks. The 16th. You should be just starting on break.” A shadow of sadness passes her face at your insecurity, “Amor even if I was not on break I would not miss this for the world. If I had the world cup final I would call in sick. I will be there. I will be the girl with the biggest bouquet of flowers in all of Barna with the lovesick look on her face.” It had been a whirlwind of a month, you had to put the finishing touches on your pieces.

You have chosen to showcase your best landscapes.

Scenes from the road to Valencia, The Square in Mollett, Beach Scenes in Barca, Snow capped mountains of Switzerland.

It was the story of your love for Alexia. Told through scenes only the two of you could understand the significance of.

In the week leading up to the opening, you would spend late nights at the gallery, setting up lighting with Mapi and your Papi. Eli would walk around straightening frames on the walls. As you settled into bed each night, Alexia would open her arms and bring you into her warn embrace.

You couldn’t wait to share your love story with the world. Alexia was having a bad day. It started bad. And continued to be bad. First, she woke up alone, which she hated.

She recalled a kiss to the forehead and a whispered ‘I'll see you later’ before she'd dozed back off. Then she realised that she had forgotten to charge her phone and was therefore late to training. Well. Not late for normal people. But late for Alexia. Then she forgot her socks and had to steal some of Irenes. She had a bad training session and Patri beat her in all their 1v1’s. And then the icing on the cake. She was dragged out from her gym session to do media which she hated. By the time she had finished the changing rooms were mostly empty, with only Pina and Patri left, scheming together in a corner.

“Ah now, Capi! Turn that frown upside down!” Pina teased her, “Ay, come out for a drink with me and Patri, the girls are all coming later, a bonding session before the break!”

And Alexia would usually say no, she wasn’t one for massive social events. But a drink sounded good. And it was the last day of training before the break.

Which is how she found herself 4 drinks in, deep in a booth in Patris favourite bar downtown. Most of the girls had joined them and laughter and chatter filled the roped off space. Something was missing and it took Alexia a moment to realise that there wasn’t a yapping in her ear.

“Ay, Pina, where are Mapi and Ingrid?”

“They text the group, they had something on but they’re going to join us after. Ah… here they are!” Pina turned as Patri dragged her to the dance floor. Alexia turned to where Pina had pointed and saw Ingrid and Mapi walking towards her. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave, as they got closer she took in their state of dress; “Ay, sexy mamas, it’s only a night out with the team. Why are you dressed so nice? Have you just come from your wedding?” Mapi looked at Alexia. But really, really looked at her. “What?�� nothing. “Maria, what? Why are you looking at me like that? Ingrid?” she faced the usually kind woman but she wasn’t met with her usual smile, “What’s happening? Wh-ohmygod.” It hit Alexia like a freight train. Like 10 freight trains. She physically had to hold onto the chair to her side to remain standing. “No, no, no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have done.” She starts to pat herself down and pulls her phone out, dead, still uncharged from the night before. She holds it up to Mapi, as evidence, evidence of what she doesn’t know. As though it gives her a lifeline. She knows it doesn’t. “Ingrid? Ingrid please tell me I didn’t miss it.” she asks, desperately. The tall girl looks away, as though she can’t even face what the captain had done. “Alexia.” The rage is barely contained in Mapis' voice. “I can’t even look at you.” Mapi turns to leave, but it's as though her anger wont let her; she turns again and spits out; “Do you think she needed a reminder on her phone to know when the Champions League final was? Do you think… I can’t… I have just come from her gallery opening. Her life's work. A life shared with you. And here you are. At a bar. Celebrating, what? A game of football? A half season well done? Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck. Off” Ingrid grips her hand and tries to pull her away. All Alexia can do is stand there and take it, it's not a hundredth of what she deserves. “No Ingrid.” She pulls her hand free and pushes her finger into Alexia's chest. “You are a selfish monster. She thought you must be hurt. That's what she thought. She thought you were in a ditch somewhere. She almost cancelled the whole thing to run around hospitals to find you. But then Alba saw you on Patris instagram. And here you are. La Reina.” Mapi looks her up and down, pure disgust on her face. “Your Mamis held her as she sobbed. Alba redid her makeup. I would steer clear of her Papi for months if I were you. She is strong, and she gave a speech.” Alexia couldn’t breathe. You gave a speech? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. “Please, Maria, stop. I can’t listen.” Alexia couldn’t take it. She moved Mapis' hand off her chest and ran to the door of the club. One thought in her mind. Get to you. Get to you. “It's too late Alexia.” Mapi shouts to her back. She ignores her. It can’t be. No It can't be. She jumps out of the uber onto the unfamiliar street. The lights to the gallery are off but she desperately tries the door regardless. Banging on it with her fist in frustration. She lets out a scream into the empty street. Peering through the windows she sees wall after wall of your work. Scenes she recognises from her life. Football pitches. Beaches, Mountains. The scene from your balcony in Mollet. It was all so beautiful. So carefully curated. And she wasn’t there. She takes off at a run. It’s not too late. Mapi is wrong. It’s not too late. She will die if it is too late. “Y/N!” she barged into the apartment. She must have ran 10 miles. “Y/N are you here?” She runs from room to room. But there is no one there. When that's established she plugs her phone into the charger on the breakfast bar and makes her way back through the apartment. She goes into the bedroom. No, please no. The wardrobe is open, your side is empty. She looks around. Your things are gone.

The kitchen remains largely unaffected. Though the picture of you and your parents no longer sits on the shelf. Your trainers are gone from the hall. Your favourite blanket from the couch. She looks at the walls. Anything you had painted. Gone. Alexia always insisted that your art be on the walls, in each home you shared together. “Why would I want strangers work on the walls, Mi Amor? When I have the best artist in the world here?” she would say, making you blush. She was addicted to that blush. She walks back into the hallway. One picture remains in pride of place. The picture you presented to her in her darkest moment. You would never take that away from her. It was a gift of pure adoration. All it does is make the stabbing pain in Alexia's heart worsen. She pushes open the door to your art studio. All that remains are paints and blank canvases. Except. In the middle of the room. The easel. A picture she had seen before, in its early stages. A hand. A hand holding a beautiful flower. But it had changed somehow. Pressure lines had appeared. The flower beginning to wilt under the force. It wasn’t your usual work. Alexia stood closer. Entranced. As she inspected the image she saw the light tease off still wet paint. You had touched this up recently. Her eyes search, frantically for anything of your last moments in the apartment when she catches it. Too light for anyone not searching for it. 11. Blended into skin at the wrist of the image. A tattoo. So lightly painted but it etched itself fiercely into Alexia's soul. This was her hand. This hand that was silently destructive, was hers. She saw a post it note stuck to the leg of the easel and in your looping handwriting: ‘Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't use it.’

She brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an audible gasp. She runs into the kitchen and dry heaves over the sink. There, she watches as her tears splash into the marble. And as she watches. She takes note of a single paint droplet. Her tears joined it, creating the most heart crushing piece of work she had ever seen.

God. She used to get so angry at that paint in the sink.

It's been years, she thought, years since she found paint in the sink. How much did you have to lessen yourself in order to be with her?

She collapsed into a seated position. Back against the kitchen cabinet. And brought her knees to her chest. She sobbed. And sobbed. She was joined at one point by Pabs. She thought you’d taken him with you. But no, in a typical act of kindness you wouldn’t leave her alone in her despair.

His little bow tie still sat around his neck, skew-whiff, as he looked at his mama curiously. He licked her nose and she sobbed harder.

Weeks passed.

She doesn’t know how she got through those weeks. Thousands of missed calls. Hundreds of messages. Went unanswered.

Alexia didn’t hear from you. Her Mami and Alba had forgiven her after Alba had found her in a state and unable to look after herself but they made it clear they were on your side. Mapi wouldnt look at her. They wouldn't tell her where you were, they wouldn’t pass on any message.

She was too frightened to go to your Mami and Papa.

She hadn’t trained well for weeks, She arrived at training exhausted. Sleep would never find her. She was barely clinging on. Jona still insisted she play. She was La Reina.

And then she broke. And that's where Irene found her, after another match of lacklustre performance. In a back corridor of the stadium. Broken and staring at the wall in front of her.

A ghost of the woman she was.

Her phone lay next to her. A message from you. A response to her apologies, her thoughts, the pain she had told you she felt for your failed relationship.

Finally, Word you were alive.

3 words in fact. “It’ll pass Alexia.”

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

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nochukoo97 · 8 months ago

Text

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - teaser

pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x childhoodfriend!oc

summary: you and jungkook have been friends since birth, and as you both grow into teenagers, you can’t help but have some sorr of longing feeling towards him. but after a turn of events, you move away from your home town, growing apart from the boy you onced were close to. almost a decade later when you decide to move back, there’s someone familiar yet unfamiliar waiting for your arrival… was this the universe giving you a sign about him?

warnings/tags: story starts off when the both of them are children, but most of the plot is when they are adults :)), eventual: kissing, an emotional rollercoaster 🥲, they’re stuck in a ‘what are we’ moment, playing a waiting game of who confesses first, a little bit of angst, smut, but fluff too hehe

a/n: IM BACK 🥲 after being in writers block sighhh but i am back hehehe hope u r excited for this!! anyways this is just an intro for the actual fic, its more of what happened before the present which will be in the main part hehehe

TAGLIST OPEN!!

(this is the introduction, the main part is coming soon :)))

MASTERLIST

23 July 2007

You’re currently wedged between two bookshelves in the living room of your house, eyes trained on the words in your book, giggling to yourself when the plot takes a funny turn. Meanwhile in the background, Jungkook and your brother Taehyung, both a year older than you, the two ten year old boys play fighting in your parents backyard, their game was way too rough for you to even watch, you decided.

That’s always the way it’s been since you were young, Jungkook’s mum dropping him off at your parents place as he spent time with your brother, mostly roughhousing like they are now, and you, at nine years old, simply tucking yourself in another fairytale, which to you seemed like a much better way to past time.

You never truly spent a lot of time with the two of them when Jungkook would come over, besides the once-in-a-while moments where your parents would make you guys bond a little through board games or card games which the two elder boys would never take seriously, the games always ending in them either throwing the board game pieces at each other or stacking the cards into a pyramid.

When it came to school, you tried your best to stay away from bumping into your brother at school, but you’d always end up being teased in front of your friends by him and Jungkook, making fun of your two pigtails or your very glittery pink bag you had just gotten as a birthday gift, but you were used to it anyways, having grown up with a brother.

12 August 2011

Four years go by and now you’re finally completing your last year in middle school, Jungkook and your brother having moved on to high school, and as expected, they end up attending the same school, as they have done their whole life.

But since four years ago, a lot has changed. You’ve grown much closer to Jungkook, having gone on quite a few trips with his family, and you could even consider him a close friend. Most importantly, he’d grown from being a kid to a teenager, even though he was only a year older than you, the 14 year old boy suddenly became someone you always wanted to hang out with. To you, you saw him as someone cool. Instead of teasing you along with your brother, he now would defend you from your brother’s teasing, treat you to ice cream on the weekends and even teach you the video games he played with your brother.

“And then he let me get as many toppings as I wanted,” You tell your friends, clicking the buttons on your phone to show them the picture of your ice cream, filled to the brim with all sorts of toppings because Jungkook said you could.

“You’re so lucky, I wish I had a boyfriend like that,” Jiyeon sighs, pouting her lips as she sulks.

Your face turns red, tip of your ears warm as you quickly deny, “He isn’t my boyfriend! Just a friend… In fact he was my brother’s friend first,” No, you couldn’t even begin to try and imagine Jungkook as someone more than your friend!

“Well, but you should definitely confess to him on valentine’s day, it’s in like six months,” Yuji twirls her hair, nudging your leg slightly as she giggled.

To the three of you, as 13 year old girls, having a valentine was a big deal, especially since the whole idea of a crush and all was new to you guys as teenage girls.

“No! I don’t have feelings for him! He’s just nice to me I guess,” You frown at Yuji, just because she confessed to her crush and now apparently has a boyfriend, doesn’t mean you need to do it too, you decided.

You didn’t have a crush on Jungkook right?

You push away the thought quickly, this whole topic was so taboo to you, it made you feel squirmy thinking about it. No, you didn’t have any sort of feelings towards the older boy, never.

So that day when you arrived back at home, spotting Jungkook and Taehyung sitting at the table and doing their homework, you decide to take a seat away from the certain boy.

“Huh? Why are you sitting all the way there? Come back here,” Jungkook hums, pulling out his earphones in bewilderment, you had always sat next to him whilst the three of you would do homework together after school, nudging him here and there to ask for help with a math problem.

“I- okay,” You scooch towards the chair next to him, dragging your books along the table as you avoid eye contact. Your cheeks heating up again as you remember your conversation with your friends in school earlier, it made you feel all tingly inside, but why were you being so weird in front of him?

“You’ve been staring at that math problem for ages, need help?”

You jump up in surprise at Jungkook’s voice , letting out a small yelp as your brother snickers at you from across the table, you kick his shin in response, sending his hands flailing to the injury, mumbling some cuss word you don’t understand.

“Yeah,” You only muster out a whisper, handing over your pencil to the boy, who finds your behaviour a little off but nonetheless, doesn’t comment on it.

And while he explains the solution and working to find the value of X, you can only notice his eyes, his nose, the mole under his lips, the scar on his cheek from when he fought with your brother years ago, his lips.

And then you for yourself to snap out of your daydream when his eyes lock with yours in confusion as to why you’re staring at him instead of your workbook.

03 January 2012

But then five months later, opportunity for valentine’s day didn’t even come for you anyways, as you pack your bags to move miles away from the place you once called home, since your father had been posted to a new country for his work.

The whole idea of leaving your life behind and all the people you’ve ever known since young was such an overwhelming feeling that you didn’t even think once about your feelings for Jungkook anymore, or maybe you did once, but it didn’t matter.

So when you tugged your luggage and watch your brother sadly hug his best friend goodbye at the airport, reality struck, you wouldn’t ever get a chance to even properly assess your feelings for Jungkook anyways, so you simply wave him goodbye, not looking back so you don’t think further than a goodbye.

He did make sure to exchange his Instagram and Facebook with you, promising you and your brother to keep in touch, which you agreed to. Maybe there was a part of you that wanted to cling onto the idea of him, but you didn’t let yourself believe that anyways.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #bts #jungkook x you #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios

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shhhsecretsideblog · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, i hope you don't mind if i request to combine 2 prompts in one scenario.

8. "There's so much pressure..."

12. "Come on, you'll be fine. First labour's take ages.

Scenario: a pregnant woman got kidnapped by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, went into labor and begged him to take her to the hospital because she can't be having the baby in his basement, but he refused. Go as wild and dark as you want.

Thanks 💌

Thanks for the request anon, this was delicious to write. Only prompt no.8 has been included as the other didn’t naturally fit in to wherever the hell this story went. I swear I have no control, these stories take on a life of their own. You said go wild and dark, so… 😈 Trigger warnings; kidnapping, vomit, blood, violence, mental instability, death (not mum or bubs dw), oh and of course fpreg & birth. Hope you like it

Chained

Libby’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her vision to focus but when it did she realised nothing was familiar. The room was dimly lit, no natural light source, only a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dark grey bricks formed each of the four walls and the floor below was concrete and rough. She was lying down, on old discoloured bedding on a rickety metal bed. Where the hell was she?! She tried to push herself upright, but she discovered one arm could not be moved. It was handcuffed to the bed!

“What the hell…” Libby muttered.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Came a voice from the shadows.

Stepping into the light Libby saw a man walk towards her. It was Scott, her ex boyfriend. He looked awful. She’d not seen him since they broke up 18 months ago. His hair had grown, now matted and unkept, dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his usually clean shaven chin now sported a severe and dishelved five o’clock shadow.

“…Scott? Where… where am I?” She asked confused and still a little bit groggy.

“You’re at home darling. I rescued you.”

Libby’s brain whirled into overdrive. She remembered going to a midwife appointment, it was her final check up before her due date, she finished the appointment and headed back to her car. She had stopped just before opening the door, hearing something behind her, and then…. everything went black.

“Rescued me?! From what?” Libby asked, managing to push herself to a sitting position with her one free hand.

“From making a mistake. Did you really think you could keep me away from my baby?” Scott drawled, his eyes staring hungrily at her pregnant stomach.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We broke up, I moved on. This isn’t your baby!”

Libby’s outburst was rewarded by a forceful smack across the face. The distinctive metallic taste of blood soon filled her mouth. She was shocked into silence.

“We were great together! We were happy; we were going to get married, have a family, and then… Brendon came along. Poisoning our relationship, turning you against me, stealing you for himself. No! I won’t let him take this away. I’ve brought you home baby… so we can be together.” Scott’s hand touched her bump and his eyes widened in glee. “Where we can be a family.”

This man was insane, Libby thought, realising the true danger of this situation. It was one thing having an ex that still held a candle towards you, but this was way beyond that. She knew Scott hadn’t taken the break up well, but since the split he’d clearly disappeared into a realm of utter delusion. The baby in her womb shifted, feeling the fear of its mother. Scott’s mouth twitched into an uncomfortable grin, feeling the child move. Libby daren’t say anything, it was clear he was unstable and there was no telling what might set him off.

“Rest up sweetie. I’ll get you some food, you must be hungry. Eating for two and all that.” Scott said cheerfully, removing his hand from her stomach and disappearing upstairs.

Libby looked down at her stomach and her handcuffed wrist. She didn’t feel hungry at all. Only nauseous.

~•~

Scott returned and brought her food. Libby didn’t say anything, didn’t move, too scared of accidentally provoking him. He left the tray of sandwiches and crisps on the side table next to the bed and disappeared upstairs, offering a firm “Eat” before he went.

Her memories had returned as she gradually came around from whatever drug Scott had administered. Brendon and Libby had decided to have a little trip away this weekend before the baby came. A baby-moon as they say. They’d told all their friends and family they’d be out of town and without signal for a few days, but this morning Brendon called to say he had a work emergency and they’d have to cancel. That was fine, Libby would just go visit her parents instead. Only she never got a chance to call her parents after the midwife appointment. Everyone thought her and Brendon were away, and Brendon thought she was at her parents - no one would realise she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach rolled with fear. She needed to think, find a way out of here. Wherever “here” was…. Where the fuck had Scott taken her? She didn’t recognise the room, it could be anywhere. She looked over at the plate of food and her heart sank. She recognised the crockery - this was his family’s cabin, in the middle of the woods.

~•~

Days. She’d been there days. Her family and Brendon would hopefully know she was missing by now. But they’d never find her here.

Scott continued to visit, to bring her food, to talk the baby in her womb. He’d offered to bathe her once, disgusted by the thought she refused. When he tried to get more forceful, hitting her again, she faked practice labour pains and he thankfully left her alone to rest.

She barely spoke to him anymore, too fearful to say the wrong thing again, of which she had learnt the hard way. She tried once to play along with his delusion, that he had “rescued” her from Brendon and now they could be a family. Believing her, Scott eventually unlocked the handcuffs, but when she made a break for it towards the stairs of the basement Scott went ballistic. They got into a fight; she kicked and screamed and hit, but he was stronger and in the carnage she fell forward against the wooden stairs she was trying to climb.

Scott was stricter with the handcuffs after that. Libby swore to herself not to try it again for fear of what might happen to the baby if she fell again.

She had been feeling cramps ever since the fall. They weren’t too bad or debilitating, thankfully she wasn’t bleeding which Libby hoped was a good sign and that her baby was okay. The fall was a brutal reminder of the precious cargo she was carrying and she had to be careful.

The next night Libby was awoken by a forceful cramp rolling through her middle, much worse than any of the others she had felt. Curling round her stomach she breathed heavily through the wave until it passed, and she promptly fell back asleep.

It happened again shortly after, pulling her from her slumber and waking every cell of her body as it peaked, like a coil twisting tighter and tighter. She pushed herself up to sit on the bed. The room was pitch black - Scott controlled the lights and was the only way she knew if it was day or night. She rubbed the aching cramp rolling across her tightened belly with one hand, the other remaining chained to the bedpost. She wished she could move, to walk it off, but with the handcuffs and the darkness she had little options. Instead she got on her hands and knees and rocked steadily through the pain.

“Please be practice contractions…” she whispered to herself. “You can’t come now baby, you’re safe in there. Wait until we get outta here okay?”

The cramp eventually eased and after a few minutes waiting for the next, Libby let herself sink sideways back onto the bed. The baby had got the message, it was just practice pains, she thought to herself as she drifted back off to sleep.

~•~

The light to the basement flickered to life followed by the familiar stomping of feet on wooden steps.

“Morning sweetheart. How’s the mother of my child today?” Scott said in such a cheerful caring tone it caused a shiver to roll up Libby’s spine.

She glared at him from the bed, lying down under the covers half asleep and curled around her bump.

“Still not talking to me eh? Oh well. It won’t be long before I have a son or daughter to talk to.” Scott drawled, as he placed a cup of water and slice of toast onto the bedside table.

Another cramp squeezed her belly and Libby sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could feel her stomach hardening beneath her fingers as the practice contraction squeezed.

“Honey, are you alright?” Scott’s eyes pinched in cautious concern.

“Just a kick.” Libby said, schooling her face back to a neutral expression.

“Excited to meet their daddy no doubt.” He gleefully said making Libby feel sick.

This baby is NOT yours! She cried in her head.

“Get up and have some breakfast. I’ve got some things to show you today.” Scott said, offering a hand to help her up.

Libby ignored his hand and pushed herself upright. “What things?”

“All in good time my dear. It’s a surprise.” And with that he disappeared back upstairs with a gallop.

She could hear banging and thumping above her and wondered what on earth he was doing. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly nibbled on the toast that was provided. After eating she was left solely with her thoughts and the noises from upstairs. Plus the occasional cramps that continued to plague her. Sitting down became too frustrating and she managed to get herself to standing right beside the bed. Her arm was pulled uncomfortably far forward by the handcuffs, but at least it relieved the pressure in her hips.

The baby felt so low, like it was grinding on her pelvis. But she did feel like her breathing was better now. Libby tried to focus only on the positives and did not dwell enough to realise this meant the baby had dropped into position for birth.

She stayed standing as long as she could beside the bed, riding out the braxton hicks and swaying her hips side to side, but eventually her legs ached from the awkward position so she return to sit on the bed.

The practice contractions continued to wash over her whilst Scott was banging away upstairs. Libby was starting to get hot and sweaty and could barely sit still through them. She found herself biting her lips and humming through them, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. She didn’t want to attract Scott’s attention. She ended up back on all fours on the bed, one hand awkwardly attached to the bed while she rocked forwards and back through the rising waves. It was getting harder and harder to stay silent through these pains and it was getting more and more difficult to convince herself these were only practice contractions.

“Ohhhh… we had a deal baby. You have to s-stay in there…. It’s not s-safe…” Libby moaned quietly to her child, the pressure in her hips mounting with every contraction.

The sounds of movement from above made her panic. Scott was coming. Quickly, she moved from all fours and returned to her sitting position on the bed. Sitting down made everything worse - the heavily feeling of the baby so so low caused the pressure to spike. So much so she nearly threw up, gaging slightly at the same time Scott opened the basement door.

She could hear him huffing and puffing as he stomped every step, he was clearly struggling with something, and she saw the “surprise” before she saw him. It was a crib! Oh hell no, she thought to herself. There is no way my baby is being born here and it will never go in that thing.

“Darling…” he cooed as he got down to the basement “I got you something. Well, I got our baby something - a crib!” He said proudly as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

Libby didn’t say anything; saying something negative could earn her a slap, saying something positive he’d think she was up to something.

“Well?” He asked, clearly getting frustrated with her silence.

“It’s… nice.” She said timidly, he didn’t seem any calmer so she added “thank you.”

With that Scott broke into an unhinged smile. “Only the best for my baby. Made it myself!”

Libby felt the familiar tightening of another contraction approaching. Breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to keep any pain showing on her face.

“What do you think of the design?” He urged, unaware of the struggle happening inside Libby’s womb.

“Great.” She gritted out as calmly as she could.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scott rushed upstairs leaving Libby alone for a minute.

The second he was out of sight her eyes scrunched and she panted erratically. Her hips were on fire, the baby sinking lower and lower. This was no false alarm, Libby finally admitted to herself.

Scott came bounding downstairs with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. “I also got these. I wasn’t sure if we were having a boy or a girl so got a selection of different clothes. And lots of blankets and toys. Everything we could possibly need.”

Libby couldn’t help it but she groaned loudly and curled over her contracting stomach.

“They’re not that bad!” Scott said, referring to the pile of clothes he’d now dumped into the crib.

“Ooooooh Scott….” Libby whimpered, the pain still barrelling through her body.

“Lib? What is it? What’s wrong?” He crouched down in front of her and placed a hand on her knee.

“I think… hooooo- I think I’m in labour. You have to take me to the hospital.” Libby pleaded.

“What? Oh no, you’re not fooling me again.” Scott recoiled away from her, and started pacing. “You- you tried that before remember. And then you tried to run away, to take my baby away! You were going to leave me Lib! No!! I’m not letting you out of my sight again. No way. No one else can have you. You and that baby are mine!”

“Scott… please. I’m having contractions… I need help… I need doctors…”

“No… I can’t. You’re just going to leave me again. I can’t lose you.” Scott shook his head, like he was trying to reorganise the thoughts inside. “You’re just pretending again, you’re not really having the baby, you’re just trying to escape. Well you can’t trick me twice. Nuh-uh. I’ll come back when you’ve stopped the act.”

“No! Scott!” Libby cried but the door slammed before she could say anything else.

~•~

Libby shouted and pleaded for 10 minutes straight after Scott went upstairs, but he never came back down. She stopped when her voice started to crack and when she thought she heard the front door slam.

This baby was coming and she was trapped - handcuffed to a bed in a basement in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles was her crazy ex boyfriend who was convinced the baby was his.

Despite her wishful thinking, the contractions just kept on coming. It was as if accepting they were real had made them more frequent and stronger. There was no clock down here, she had no clue how often they struck, but Libby was aware of the gaps in between getting shorter.

Being in labour was bad enough but the fact she couldn’t move due to her restraints made everything a thousand time’s worse. In desperation she tried to squeeze her hand out the metal handcuff, twisting and pulling, but when it started to peel the skin off the back of her hand she screamed and gave up.

She couldn’t sit down anymore, the pain in her hips too great. All fours was bearable but her arms ached after too long. She tried squatting and kneeling against the headboard, standing and swaying beside the bed. Nothing helped. She felt like a caged animal; frustrated, angry, scared. All the while every contraction brought the baby closer and closer to being born, a fate she was trying desperately to avoid. She feared something might go wrong, and she was scared what would happen the moments after she delivered. Scott was clearly unstable, would he leave her here chained to the bed bleeding out and take away her baby?! She needed medical help, not only for the birth but for her best shot at escaping.

When Scott returned he found her on her knees beside the bed, slumped over the mattress and groaning heavily.

“You can stop this charade Libby! I’m not taking you anywhere!” Scott shouted from the steps of the basement.

“Mnnnghhh! It’s not a charade Scott! Oh god…. So much pressure….” Libby whimpered into the mattress, her knees widening instinctually.

“Come off it. You put on a good show but I know you’re faking it.”

Libby could only grunt, roaring against the building pressure between her thighs. An unmistakable splashing sound hit the concrete floor and she cried out. “My waters…. Hooo- I’m not - faking - it…” she panted and turned around to face him.

Scott’s face had paled and his eyebrows shot up. “Y-you really are in labour?”

“Yes,” Libby breathed, turning around awkwardly with the handcuffs and her large bump, sitting down heavily on the now-wet floor “please please take me to the hospital now.”

He didn’t say anything, instead he disappeared quickly back upstairs.

“Scott!!!” She cried out, worried he would just leave her there forever.

He returned a moment later carrying a plastic box. “It’s happening! Don’t worry darling, I have everything we need for our baby to be born.”

It’s not your baby!!!! Libby shouted in her head.

Sitting on the floor, one arm slung up over a shoulder stuck in the handcuffs, she rubbed her low and heavy stomach with the other as Scott began to unpack the box onto the table opposite.

“Towels. Gloves. Scissors. Clamps. Ooh more towels. Little sucker thing. Wow it’s got everything we need in here. Great Amazon find.” Scott commented as he rattled off everything inside the box.

Holy shit! He wants to deliver the baby here! Libby stopped breathing for a moment, panic squeezing at her heart. He was never going to let her go. She was never going to get her baby out of here before it was born.

“Scott… you can’t… be serious…” Libby said with strained breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay sweetie. I’ve done all the research, watched loads of videos. I know exactly what I’m doing and I will deliver our baby here.”

“But Scott I need a hospital, with nurses and medication.”

“No you don’t. Women birth babies every day. I’ve had months to prepare for this. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be perfect.” Scott’s sinister smile chilled her resolve and another contraction struck before she could continue arguing.

He checked his watched and frowned. “You shouldn’t be having another contraction just yet.”

“I can’t hooooo control it!” Libby snipped.

“Oooo is this the part where you get all angry at me for doing this to you?” Scott joked with glee.

“You didn’t do this to me! This isn’t your baby Scott, please just let me go.”

“Don’t lie!!!!!” Scott shouted, an angry fire flashed briefly in his eyes and his fists clenched tight, but a second later the ire quickly disappeared. “You’re just scared, but it’s okay sweetie, I’m here and our baby will be fine.”

“Ohhh god…..” Libby grunted, the baby slipping lower and pressing against her cervix. She had to move, this position was unbearable, but her legs were useless during the raging contraction. She tried to push herself up, yanking her hands forward but the handcuff rattled and left her arm twisted backwards. “Mnnhhh- handcuffs…. Please undo the handcuffs…”

“You know I can’t do that Lib.” Scott said reluctantly.

“Please…. Mnghhhhh the baby…. I need to move. Can’t stay like this Scott…” Libby groaned and whimpered as the contraction peaked and gradually faded.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t risk it. But let’s get you back onto the bed shall we, you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

The contraction had left her winded, Libby didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. But when Scott approached and went to help her up she managed to grit “Don’t touch me!” batting his advancing hands away.

“That’s gonna be difficult when I’m delivering our child.” Scott sarcastically replied.

Libby’s stomach rolled, not from a contraction but at the disgusting thought of Scott between her legs. Nausea bubbled inside, rising up her throat. She retched. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Scott jumped back as she dry heaved. “Erm…. I’ll get a bucket. Hang on.”

Libby struggled up to her knees, clinging sideways to the bed, and vomited all over the floor. The force of her stomach expelling its contents pushed the baby against her dilating cervix and towards the birth canal. She couldn’t stop herself from bearing down at the same time.

No no no… don’t push. Her brain cried but it wasn’t something she had control over.

By the time Scott returned with a bucket Libby had crawled back into the bed, leaving behind a puddle of amniotic fluid and vomit on the floor.

“Jeeze Libby, you’ve made a right mess. I’m glad we’re down here now, that would have been a nightmare to clean the carpets upstairs.”

“…water…” Libby panted, curled up on the bed and holding her hardened stomach, too exhausted to do anything other than bear through the labour pains tearing apart her body.

“Okay, sure.” Scott picked up the glass from the table and gently poured it into Libby’s dry mouth. “Everything will be okay Libby, our baby is nearly here.” He whispered, placing a grimy hand onto her bump and feeling the swell, his eyes hungrily lighting up as his fingers caressed the curve.

~•~

She was dying. This was how it would end; trapped in the dirty basement of her crazy ex boyfriend. She never got to meet her baby, or get married, never got to buy her own home, or travel the world. The pain was so much she could barely see. Curled up on the bed Libby groaned into the pillow as the latest contraction squeezed her body in on itself. She was vaguely aware of Scott flapping around the room, he was talking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she could focus on was the mass of the baby’s head sitting right behind her opening, and she was doing everything she could not to push.

The last few hours had been torture. She’d thrashed around the bed, screaming and begging to be freed, to be taken to the hospital. When transition hit she was brought back onto all fours, grunting and pushing without any semblance of control. Scott rubbed her back and encouraged her through it. She didn’t have the strength to bat him off but she did manage to aim her next round of vomiting onto his feet. And all the while Scott refused to unlock the handcuffs and she remained chained to the bed.

Now she was lying on her side over the covers, exhausted, her body completely and utterly drained. Her knees were curled up as much as she could, her bump squashed between her thighs and her breasts. The contractions were right on top of each other and she panted heavily through each one.

Don’t push! Don’t push! Don’t push! she told herself again and again.

“Right, the waters boiled, everything’s disinfected. Clamps and scissors ready. Towel, check. All we need now… is the baby…” Scott muttered, organising and reorganising the equipment.

Ever since the well-timed vomit, he had kept a grateful distance from Libby. He looked through all the toys and clothes in the crib, talking about all the things he would do with his child, trips they’d make, sports they’d play. He was in his own little world, Libby was just a background character.

Relentless contractions kept hitting her one after the other, she breathed as quietly as she could, tears leaking past her lashes from the effort it was taking not to push. She could feel the baby start to stretch her lips, the head inching further and further even without her active pushing. He’d removed her underwear not long after her waters had broken but her dress remained on her sweaty body, thankfully covering her lower half as she laid on the bed. Libby’s legs slightly parted of their own accord as the baby slipped lower. Still curled up on her side, the baby had a clear exit from its mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Scott was ignoring her when she was lying like this and it was the only position that didn’t make her scream. And yet it also proved to be aiding her delivery.

When the next contraction barrelled straight after its predecessor Libby found herself holding her breath and it was only when the burning feeling started that she realised she was pushing. But she couldn’t stop. Gasping another breath she pushed once more, the baby stretching her wider and wider. An involuntary grunt escaped the labouring mother and alerted Scott to her actions.

“Are you…. Libby - are you pushing?! Is it time?” Scott jumped and rushed over to the bed.

Libby curled further over, her face burying into the pillow, squashing her bump and raising her backside. She groaned long and deep as she pushed the baby further out.

“Oh babe, you can’t push like that! You need to get in the correction position for delivery.” Scott said assuredly with all the delusional confidence his “research” had given him.

He took her bent leg, rolling her over onto her back and she screamed. “Scott! No!” The pain was excruciating, her spine was being stabbed, the fire burning between her thighs. She needed to push but she couldn’t when he kept moving her body.

“You need to be in the right position. Come on now, I know what I’m doing.”

“Stop… I can’t… I need to push…” Libby grunted.

“Wait a minute darling, you’re not ready just yet.”

Scott pulled her up to a sitting position and pushed her back against the headboard, pointlessly fluffing the limp old pillows behind her. Her legs were dragged apart and knees were bent and he jumped onto the foot of the bed and looked up her dress.

“Oh my gosh I can see the head!!!” He squealed. He threw her dress up higher, creasing the fabric just below her baby bump, fully exposing Libby’s vagina and the oval shaped crown of the head.

“Push Libby! You can push now!” He urged.

“I’m not-having a contraction-” Libby panted, furious she had been moved into this ridiculous and torturous position. Nothing about it felt right to her body, she wanted to go back on her side, to kneel, squat, anything but this.

“Oh… erm… well on the next one then. Push. No wait, I forgot the equipment.” Scott bounced off the bed and collected all the sterilised equipment he’d been preparing in readiness. “Ha! All that excitement, nearly forgot these.” He placed the items next to him, by her feet. The metal scissors glinted as they caught the light.

A desperate idea began to form in her head, but a contraction soon swept over her and pulled her focus to the burning ring between her thighs.

“Yes!!! Go on Libby! Push!!!” Scott cried.

Curling forward Libby pushed, her body squeezing the baby lower, its head stretching her wider. She grabbed her thighs, gulped another breath, and pushed. The scissors caught the light again with the movement on the bed. If she could just grab them…

“It’s coming, keep it going honey!” Scott yelled and she could feel his trembling hand between her legs.

Libby huffed releasing the push. It was too much, it was too big…

“Come on baby, go again, you’re so close.” Scott urged.

“Hooo-hoooo- okay…. Here it comes….!!!!” Libby threw herself forward curling over her bump once more. With Scott’s focus on the crowning baby she quickly grabbed the scissors and hid them in the gathered fabric of her dress. She screamed as the baby reached a full crown. Panting frantically her body twitched as the baby stretched her so wide she thought she’d be torn in two. Then it slipped further and with a sudden wail the baby’s head was delivered.

“Wow! The heads out, my baby’s head is born.” Scott awed.

Leaning closer his hands trembled towards the newly born head sitting between her thighs. No! You are not touching my baby! Libby thought, and she grabbed the hidden scissors and plunged them straight into Scott’s neck as she released an animalistic maternal wail.

Scott’s eyes bulged out, roaring in agony as the sharp scissors pierced deep into his muscles. He jumped back, standing for the briefest second staring in horror at her, before collapsing to his knees. A drowning choked sound gargled his throat and when he pulled the scissors from his neck the jets of blood sprayed across the room.

Libby watched, in shock at what she’d just done, as Scott clutched his neck, choking and bleeding. After a few strangled seconds he collapsed face first on the ground.

“Oh my god… oh my god….” Libby trembled, adrenaline and fear pumping through every cell in her body. She had to get out of there.

Twisting awkwardly around, she held the handcuff steady with her free hand and pulled her other through the tiny gap. The skin ripped from her hand, the metal scraping bone, she yelled out in pain but didn’t stop pulling until her bloodied hand was free.

It was as if she had left her physical body, the pain a dull echo compared to the survival instinct to get out of this basement. “I’m gonna get you outta here…” she panted, putting a gentle hand over the baby’s head between her legs. She scrambled off the bed, legs bowed as she cupped the head, and rushed toward the stairs of the basement.

Libby was careful, her previous encounter with this wooden staircase not ending well, climbing wide legged step after step towards freedom. She barely made it halfway when she was struck by another contraction. Holding the head with one hand and gripping the bannister tight with the other, her body squatted as it tried to push.

“Mnghhhhhhh! Oohhhhhh hang on baby…. Mnghhhhhh…. Not yet.” She could feel herself pushing hard, the shoulders starting to press against her, itching to come out, but with a firm hand and heavy panting she made it through the contraction.

When she reached upstairs she was surprised how familiar it all was, Scott had taken her here once when they were dating. It wasn’t much, the furniture and decor were dated, but it was a nice family holiday home in a nice rural location. She shuddered when she thought of the secret prison that was hidden below her feet.

Being familiar with the property made her escape easier, she knew the layout and of course where he kept the keys - in the side dish by the fridge. Grabbing the car keys Libby headed for the door and threw it open. But the baby didn’t want to wait any longer.

She hung on to the doorframe for dear life as the raging contraction took hold. “No no no!!!! We’re so close mnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!” Her legs widened as she squatted, pushing uncontrollably against the wall of her hand that held the baby’s head. The shoulders were slipping through… she could feel them stretching… “Ohhh fuck!” She cried, desperately pushing and holding the baby in at the same time.

When the near constant contraction let up just the tiniest bit, Libby made a break for it and ran to the car, both hands between her legs cupping the emerging baby. Unlocking the car with the press of the button she threw open the back door and clambered inside. She quickly locked the door, scared that Scott would somehow still be coming after her, and when she heard the reassuring click of the locks she huffed an exhausted cry.

But the baby was coming, and it was coming now. On her hands and knees in the back seat Libby finally gave in to nature and pushed in earnest, grunting long and deep as the shoulders stretched and slipped out. Lifting up onto her knees to catch the infant she released a primal roar with the final push and the baby slipped into her bloodied hands.

“Ohhhhhh hey baby, it’s okay it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Libby cried, pulling the little boy to her chest. Wiping his face clear he gave a little cough and started crying, soon matched with the tears of his mother.

“We did baby, we got out.” Libby panted and cried, safe with her baby inside the locked car. After a few minutes she wrapped the baby up against her chest with the towel, umbilical cord still connecting mother and child, and she hesitantly opened the door and got into the drivers seat. Starting the engine, Libby drove herself and her new baby to safety.

#my writing #birth prompts #birth denial #birth kink #birth fic #inconvenient birth #birth fiction #tw kidnapping #tw: blood #tw violence #tw death #tw vomit

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spacerockfloater · 5 months ago

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You know what, I didn’t need to see Ewan Mitchell in HOTD to be convinced; I knew I fucked with Aemond since the Driftmark episode.

I don’t like him because he’s hot when he’s older. I like him because he’s metal as fuck. The way he talked to the floppy four was art.

“It’s him! / It’s me.”

Boy, it sure as hell is him. He ate that line up. The fucking nerve of speaking about him without addressing him. He was so done with their bullshit.

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now.”

Gagged her ass. Like, he met her literally today. He never knew her mother, he doesn’t owe her anything. Not to mention that during the funeral he tried to approach them and offer them his condolences with the softest smile ever and they just glared daggers at him for literally no reason until he backed off. Didn’t even let him approach. They don’t even know him and they hate him! And the first thing they tell him once they finally speak to him is accusing him of theft, as if a dragon is an object btw. Like, what are they gonna do? Tell their mum? Shut up.

“Then you should have claimed her.”

Right?! As if they didn’t cross the whole ass Narrow Sea all the way to Driftmark. It’s not like Laena died yesterday. It’s been a good fucking while. They could have at least tried claiming her at this point. What was she waiting for? And please don’t tell me she was waiting for the mourning period to end because she was keeping an eye on Vhagar constantly, hence why she was immediately aware that she flew away. That dragon is on her mind 24/7, she just had no idea how to get her. And like, it’s done. If Vhagar chose Aemond, then she would have never chosen her. They weren’t destined for one another. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be mad as shit, too. At myself, that is, for not being as smart as Aemond.

“Maybe your cousins could find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Ate and left no crumbs. This is a direct jab at Jace and Luc, too. Like, they grew up together as brothers and they thought it was okay to mock him for not having a dragon, but the moment they meet these random girls they are suddenly okay with Rhaena not having one and are ready to jump the boy they were raised with for their shake? How two faced. Typical bastard behaviour though. He was doing that girl a favour by letting her know what kind of people she’s got on her side.

And the fighting scene was delicious. Four vs one and he still mopped the floor with them. Maybe they should think twice before they lay hands on someone again.

Don’t come in my comments crying about me hating on children yada yada. Wake up, this is a fictional show about kids who wield nuclear weapons of mass destruction. Like, it was okay to dislike 11yo Draco Malfoy for being an obnoxious piece of shit, but disliking kids that physically attack another child with the intention of killing him is suddenly too much? Like, I don’t give a fuck. I want to see all four of them biting the curb in 4k. And please don’t start with the racist accusation bullshit. I thought Baela was a raging pick-me cunt since before the show, in Fire and Blood. And I absolutely adore Vaemond Velaryon. It’s not about race. It’s about characters.

P.S. Laena, who claimed Vhagar at 12 and chose to die by burning alive, would be absolutely ashamed about her daughter’s behaviour and lack of courage. But yeah, Daemon, being the crazy ax murderer that he is, would surely vibe with unnecessary violence. Those are his girls!

#house of the dragon #hotd hbo #hotd thoughts #pro team green #pro aemond targaryen #aemond my sweet boy #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #team green #anti targaryen #anti team black stans #anti team black

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teaboot · 7 months ago

Note

Hi there, I hope you don't mind me sending you this, since it's a very different kind of kitten advice than the ones you've been receiving, and I totally understand if you don't want to reply to it.

But I highly recommend you get your little kitten a friend. Kittens really shouldn't be alone. It's essential for them to socialise with other kittens (and usually the mum, but she's obviously not in the picture) to learn Very Important Kitten Behaviour.

A few people have sent in the importance of not letting him play with your hands, and to discourage any biting and scratching. That's what the friend would be for. That kind of biting and scratching is part of typical play behaviour and kittens learn from each other (and the mum) what is acceptable and what is not. And if they have a kitten friend, they won't feel the need to do it with you.

If you do some googling you'll find that most cat behaviour experts will recommend adopting kittens in pairs and it's for this very reason. It's also important not to wait too long for that. The socialisation period for kittens, basically when they learn how to be Cat, is between the weeks of 4 and 16 weeks - that's a very wide estimate. A more narrow one, covering the most important weeks, is between ages of 6 and 12 weeks.

The good news is that if they become fast friends - and the earlier in age you introduce them the better - it will give you many cute kitten cuddling moments to enjoy.

Sincerely,

a kitten foster parent who has hand-reared +50 kittens

PS: I'm sorry if I misunderstood your situation, but as far as I could read, it sounded like you had received/adopted a solo kitten. If that's not the case, then please feel free to disregard this information.

No no, you're correct! Thank you, this is great. My brother has a cat we're gonna try to socialize him with, but I have no idea, really flying by my pants here

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lorarri · 7 months ago

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★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 , 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

summary , after 12 year's Y/N's parents finally divorce leaving Y/N in a tough position when he mothers new boyfriends comes into the picture

pairing , step dad! lewis hamilton x fem! young teen! reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | f1 masterlist | lewis hamilton masterlist | next part

yourinstagram

liked by nanayn leejunho 87,662,787 others

yourinstagram no matter what goes down I know I'm safe with my girls

comments have been disabled

MUM ❤️

hi baby

are you excited about your special day?

Y/NNIE 🐰

hi ma

yeah

I'm so happy I get to spend it with the girls

MUM ❤️

Y/N I thought we agreed that you would spend your birthday with me and Lewis

we booked a reservation at your favourite restaurant

the one that we used to go to all the time with your father

Y/NNIE 🐰

sorry mum me and the girl's have already have everything planned out

and it's to late to cancel

why don't you and him go instead to the reservation

make it a date or whatever

MUM ❤️

he has a name Y/N

and the day isn't about me and Lewis

it's about you

which is why I want you to spend the day with me

with us

you can't avoid him forever

please Y/N Lewis is a lovely man

if you just talk to him

I think the two of you would get along

Y/NNIE 🐰

and what play mom's new boyfriend and daughter?

I'm not interested in playing house with the man who destroyed our family

MUM ❤️

Y/N...

me and your father had been talking about divorce since you were 12 sweetheart

Lewis is not the reason we split

Y/NNIE 🐰

then why does it feel like it

yourinstgaram

liked by hanni danielle 98,787,787 others

yourinstgaram sweet 16 with the people I can trust 🤍

comments have been disabled

yourinstagram . 10min ago

seen by nanaln minji haerin 435 others

Y/NNIE 🐰

dad please come pick me up

mom's boyfriend is staying at the house I don't like him

dad please

I miss you

dad?

lewis just proposed to mom...

I don't know what to do

dad please

did I do something wrong?

do you not love me any more?

please say something anything

I'm sorry read

lewishamilton

liked by nanaln charles_leclerc 89,672,156 others

lewishamilton my one and my wife to be 🤍

comments have been disabled

─ requested by . . .

anon ─ Hi, I was reading your stories and I have a request/idea for your F1 stories that I was wondering if you could do only if you’re comfortable doing it. Basically the readers mom splits from her father for whatever reason you choose and then she marries Lewis making him the readers stepdad who is like 13 or 12 and they just have a hard time connecting and interacting because she misses her biological father but over time they start to bond. And her mom is happy or something idk. (female reader btw) This is it really, if you need to add or change anything then go ahead but yeah that’s it really.

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blouisparadise · 9 months ago

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Today we are excited to bring you the second part to our rec list of exes to lovers fics. You can find the first part to this rec list here. Please note that in some of these fics, they’re broken up before the story begins, and in some of these fics, they break up over the course of the story and then reunite. Happy reading!

1) The Prints Of Your Hands Are Still On My Canvas | Explicit | 4,563 words

Harry and Louis broke up not long ago. Everything was fine until then, problems started with Louis’ heat just around the corner, an important presentation that he could not miss, and a very visible (or more like invisible) alpha that could help him go through his heat. And then Harry shows up. (Again.)

2) Unspoken | Explicit | 5,175 words

Harry and Louis broke up when they were nineteen. They see each other after six years.

3) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he’s shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

4) Can I Stand In Your Light, Just For A While? | Mature | 11,875 words

“But like, if they offered you that much money it means they really really want your works.” Niall continued. “I mean I guess, I still don’t get why,” he shrugged. “It's because you’re an amazing artist Lou.” Niall squeezed Louis’ arm. “Also, maybe the CEO guy has some sort of crush on you, and that's why.” “I really hope that's not true.” The man paid for his tomatoes and put them into his tote bag. “Why? Is the guy ugly? Bald?” Niall babbled. “No, Niall…” “Old? I bet he’s old.” “Niall! It's Harry, he’s the CEO guy.” Louis sighed. “What?!” Niall shrieked, probably startling the whole block.

5) Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me | Explicit | 14,807 words

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding.

6) Nothing’s Scarier Than Losing You | Explicit | 15,463 words

When Louis and Harry run into each other at a Halloween party two months after their breakup, they’re reminded of how rude, infuriating, and utterly perfect for each other they are.

7) How You Sleep At Night | Mature | 15,568 words

“-And…this is Louis.” And just that. ‘This is Louis.’ Louis feels like throwing up out of nowhere. So, that’s it then? Is he just a ‘Louis’ to him now?

8) Silk Chiffon | Explicit | 20,122 words

Louis gets a message from his ex making fun of him for pretending to know how to cook on Instagram. They settle on a simple bet, Louis had to be Harry's perfect little housewife for an entire month.

9) Under The Rain Or Under The Snow | Explicit | 20,667 words

Christmas AU where they broke up a month ago but Harry shows up at Louis’ childhood home for the holidays. Louis didn’t tell his mum about their breakup so staying with them is not ideal. Harry stays.

10) My Waves Meet Your Shore | Mature | 23,873 words

When Louis gets an email from his ex - Harry - it shouldn't surprise him as much as it does; they're parents now and it isn't rare to communicate with each other. But this? He wasn't expecting it at all.

11) Your Heart Is Dangled In Front Of Me | Explicit | 27,085 words

Harry Styles prides himself in being one of the best detectives in The 28th Precinct. But if there’s one case he can’t solve, it’s his marriage. At least not on his own. Joining forces with his five-year-old son and a free-spirited murderer-on-trial, Harry does whatever it takes to bring Louis back.

12) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

13) Last Blues For Bloody Knuckles | Explicit | 34,293 words

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake. He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

14) The Wounds That Scarred Our Souls | Explicit | 35,910 words

Forever was nothing but a lie, Forever was just a ruse for the human heart, it gave you hope and then killed you. Forever was just a myth.

15) Stay Until Tomorrow | Explicit | 36,766 words

There’s a dull ache seeping through Louis’ body as he wakes up; a mild headache from last night’s alcohol intake, a cramp in his right arm from sleeping on it weird and a familiar soreness between his arse cheeks that Louis fully blames on his lousy one night stand.

16) Borrow The Moonlight | Explicit | 37,738 words

Louis and Harry broke up three years ago. The last thing Louis expects to see when he’s sent to help a guest is Harry, 3000 miles away from where he’s supposed to be.

17) The Space Between | Explicit | 39,917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

18) Just A Flicker In The Dark | Explicit | 57,204 words

Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry S

19) Dark Doom, Honey | Explicit | 57,801 words

Note: There is also an AU version of this fic, which is also an exes to lovers fic.

Louis lifted one shoulder, lips slightly pursed. “You are acting like an asshole.” Harry’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyebrows knitting together. “I wasn’t being an asshole, I was following my own rules. The ones I always follow when I’m about to start an arrangement with a new submissive. If you don’t want this or are having doubts, we should stop now. But if we do this, I do want to make something clear, I’ll never do anything you don’t want to, but you have to be aware that I’ll never be sweet, I don’t do sweet, you already saw what I do. If you want something different you can go on dates, this is not that. Are we clear?” It was the perfect way out. Louis could simply say no and their lives would keep on going as they were. So far, nothing was changed beyond repair. But he wanted to be. At some point in his life, way before Harry and the betrayals, Louis lost a little of himself, and had never felt closer to getting it back than in Lair, with Harry. “Crystal.”

20) Men of Steel, Men of Power | Explicit | 58,849 words

“You’ve been watching me,” Styles said. Louis swallowed around nothing. He tried for light. “You’re the newest addition, people are bound to be curious,” he said. “Sure,” said Styles, in a somewhat condescending tone. “I’m not that daft, I do notice the curiosity regarding my clothes. That’s not what you’re doing though, hm?” Styles’ gaze was intense, and Louis could feel it burn on the side of his face, but kept his eyes stubbornly on the coffee cup. “I,” he said, licked his lips. Took a deep breath, tried to look open, confident, dominant. Alpha.

21) It’s Golden, Like Daylight | Explicit | 61,496 words

"I actually think you might be onto something.” Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean…” Louis nodded. “As crazy and insane as this, this might just solve both of our problems.” “Are you saying you’re in?” Harry asked. “I’m in.”

22) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68,214 words

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this. words

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76,174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,562 words

In the grand scheme of things Louis did believe in love, what he didn’t believe was that he would ever find it in his life time for himself. Low and behold he would find it with someone he didn’t anticipate, now it was just a matter of having it work out the way he dreamed of.

25) Halfway Home | Mature | 103,158 words

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were improbable childhood friends, much to Harry’s dismay. They were thrown together each summer when Harry was forced to visit Louis’ grandfathers’ ranch in Black Hills, South Dakota. With each passing year, their friendship blossomed into something more. When trail rides turned to stolen kisses, and tragedies turned to confessions until they could no longer deny the inevitable draw they felt for one another. Though life and their future plans soon set them on different paths. Ten years later, Louis is the proud owner of Halfway Home Wildlife Refuge. Harry returns to the ranch to escape the perils of his past in London, and though their memories still haunt Louis, he won’t let that deter him from his goals. However, someone has been keeping a close eye on the refuge, and possibly Louis specifically, and Harry’s return may have unleashed more than just old passions. There’s a hunter lurking in the Hills, someone who’s decided they’ve bided their time long enough.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months ago

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It's Who We Have | Part Three

Summary: Following the devastating events at Westhaven, something beyond their control is aching to pull them together | Word Count: 3.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Warnings: funeral, suggestions of neglect, mentions of sexual intercourse, mild angst, mild violence

A/N: my babies are back :) hope you like this chapter <3 who has a feeling there's something Billy doesn't know? 🤭

Funerals always felt strange. But he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing.

He looked around, shifting his weight from foot to foot and stood next to his parents. All of Lana’s coworkers were here, some dressed in their military uniform, some in black suits like he was. They’d all formed their own groups, chatting idly amongst themselves to fill the silence that was entrenched with the knowledge of what they were here for.

To send off their beloved coworker, who had so long been at their sides, that he somewhat felt like family.

Nut was a dear friend of Lana’s.

He remembered at first, how they absolutely could not stand each other, each too similar for their own good. Stubborn, proud and strong-willed both in and out of their dangerous occupation.

But they were funny together.

Lana had insisted that she was fine, and that she had to keep working, otherwise she’d ‘go mental’. But Billy knew her. She was just delaying the inevitable, and that some day, she’d crack, and crack hard.

You couldn’t bottle up a feeling like that.

Not when a further 12 people died in the attack, with many more than the news originally anticipated injured as well.

He’d stopped checking the BBC Homepage. It was becoming just an act to distract him from what was really going on around him, mindlessly scrolling through all the flat-toned ways in which they described the horror of the situation.

Nothing could distract him from the weighted guilt that was left behind by her presence.

Lana turned up to St Mary’s Church one grey morning looking as if she hadn’t slept a wink, and had simply pulled a blazer haphazardly over what she usually wore to work. Her face was gaunt, like she’d not wanted to come but was trying to hide it on her expression. Billy liked to think he could read his sister, but over time he felt as if the person he grew up with was fading away.

He gave her a hug in greeting, one hand on her back to let her know he felt the enormity of her loss.

“You look smart, Billy”.

He didn’t reply to that, he simply bowed his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a wash of insecurity flood through him at the way she’d said it.

Like she still thought he was a fuck-up.

“Bit grand, all this, eh?”, his mum raised her eyebrows, obviously having seen all the military uniformed men scattered about, with lines of medals on their breasts. Billy grimaced, and made eye contact with Lana as if to say ‘that was a fucking weird thing to say at a funeral’. But his mum must have realised it and followed up with, “Nut would love it, though”, which did nothing to take the sting out of the previous insensitivity.

Billy watched longingly as she disappeared, feeling even more alone than when he started.

He looked into the crowd, expecting her figure to weave through the people milling about on the pavement. Her bright, warm face and eyes all mischievous as they met him. And he didn’t know why a sudden memory came to him right at that moment. St Mary’s Church wasn’t unknown to either of them. They’d pissed off the priest too much by age 14, having broken in one too many times and knocked over a silver candlestick.

Since the church was no longer suitable for their mischievous evening excursions, they’d moved onto the local museum, noting that the CCTV around the fire exit didn’t work. Once inside, he didn’t question why she was wearing her school skirt and a mucky top, skipping about on the marble floor like they were much younger than they were.

If he’d asked now, he wouldn’t have liked the answer.

If he’d asked then, she wouldn’t have told him that her mum had been lying unconscious on the sofa for the better part of eleven hours. She wouldn’t have told him that the kitchen was so messy and piled high with dirty dishes that Environmental Health had been called round by the neighbour. She wouldn’t have told him that she wore her school skirt because it was the only thing in the house of hers that was relatively clean.

“Quiet Wash!”

“Don’t call me that. I get enough of that at school.”

“Fuck me, sor-ry,” she grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers, “this place freaks me out.”

“Fuckin’ boring, more like. Remind me why we’re here again?”

“For our weekly therapy sessions of course!” she beamed, covering her mouth when the echo carried further than she intended, “got any sins you need to confess?”

Billy huffed, loosening the school tie from around his neck, swinging his long, gangly arms as they wandered through the dark hallway. He only answered when they passed the ‘Victorian Era’ section.

“Didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I’m not, but sins is a good word.”

He smiled at that, “Ummmm, I suppose I cheated off someone for my Maths test earlier.”

She turned to him abruptly, a look of delight and horror on her face, “You did not! Who off?”

“That weirdo Andy.”

“Aw, he’s not a weirdo. Just…misunderstood.”

“Like how you’re misunderstood?”

As soon as the words came out his mouth, Billy regretted them. Mostly by her reaction. A forced laugh, graced with a settling of her eyebrows into a grimace at the end.

And by how she tried to change the subject.

“You still going on holiday on Friday?” she asked.

“Yeah, going to see the grandparents. Back on Sunday though.”

“That’ll be nice, to see them I mean,” she added with a shy smile.

He hated how desperately shy and cowardly he was not to say what was on his mind then. That he would miss her, in the barely two days he’d be away, he knew he would.

But he never told her.

She never seemed to hold it against him at the time. Or even now from what he could detect.

A subconscious smile wormed its way to his face, remembering how the twitching of the security guard’s torch whipped at their backs as they desperately ran for the fire exit.

They’d ran and laughed completely out of breath. Their heads high on adrenaline and excitement, swearing and shouting whenever they’d snagged even the tiniest of inconveniences. He’d even lifted her over the gates, turning bright red at catching sight of her knickers through her school tights, not that she’d noticed, and jogged with her to the nearest alleyway, throats raw and lungs burning as they gasped for breath, smiling widely.

He missed being young with her.

And now he thought that even if people weren’t slipping away, the personalities seemed to.

More people dropped by for the wake at the Forester, not Billy’s local, but known to him.

He remembered being here twice before now. Once with his mum and dad for a Sunday carvery, when his dad had said the mash was ‘lumpy’ and ‘he could load a gun with the roast potatoes they were that hard’. They never went back for food.

The second time, he’d come with her. They’d barely turned 18 and were enjoying flouting the use of their provisional licences by ordering some of their first legal drinks at the bar. He’d ordered a pale ale, and she’d had a bottle of fruity cider. Billy at least remembered she didn’t like the bitter taste of normal beer, and found what she lovingly dubbed ‘fruit shoot for adults’ more acceptable.

Even in the awkward little booth all the Washington’s were squeezed into, choked by silence, it made him smile remembering the face she’d pulled when she got a taste of his pint.

“You working?”

He’d barely had a moment to tear himself from his memories to look up and see his sister’s face as she’d asked the fated question, a brief flicker of annoyance passing his face at her smug expression, knowing the answer before he had a chance to reply.

It hadn’t taken her long to slip back into her bitchy older sister mentality then.

“Is he bollocks”, the same warning glance turned to his dad, who was by now, several glasses of whiskey deep.

Mum’s driving again, then.

He searched his mind quickly for his go-to answer. He had several choices.

I’ve applied to some this week, just waiting to hear back.

Was at the job centre the other day.

Stopped by the garage, handed in my CV.

But he settled for, “It’s just tough at the minute”, with his lips flat, looking at her from under the blonde wisps of hair on his brow.

Lana raised her eyebrows, not smirking specifically, but clearly amused at his dull response, “Oh, right?”

I’m not fucking doing this. Not sitting here to be labelled as the family fuck-up. I already know that.

He thought that with his Mum sitting next to him and Lana and his dad opposite, he was more his Mum, and Lana more his dad. Not only in their colouring, in their temperaments and attitudes as well. As hot-headed and stubborn as they both were, his dad would always always stick up for her, whether it was the right thing to do or not.

A sort of alliance, so to speak.

“Drinks, anyone? Mum?”.

“Don’t be such a mardy git”

“No, Dad, just leave it, all right?”

Now that came out harsher than anticipated, more forceful. And Billy saw the look of acceptance on his dad’s face, as if Billy had given him exactly the reaction he wanted to justify his early opinion of his only son.

So Billy did the only thing he thought would help.

He got up and left. Cheap round at least, if it’s only him drinking.

She’d only just locked her car when she saw Mr and Mrs Washington pouring out of the Forester. Billy’s mum was much more grey than blonde now, with grey hairs peppered between the otherwise golden strands. His dad, though he still had a stern face, was much more rounded, rosy-cheeked from alcohol, and hair thinning atop his head.

But Billy’s mum lit up when she clapped eyes on an older version of the girl she once knew.

“Hiya, duck, you alright?” she beamed, squeezing with the force only a mother could give when she pulled her into a hug.

She wondered if she hugged Lana like this.

It felt nice, she was ashamed to admit, to have motherly love. Just not from her own.

“You alright, Mrs Washington?”

“Oh darling, it’s Val, come on now”, she smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes sinking in as she pulled away, “you’re a right little madam now, aren’t you? How was your degree? History, wasn’t it?”

She smiled, trying to make it not seem sad, “Yes, it was good, thank you”.

“You’re back for good now, aren’t ya?”, the gruff voice of Billy’s dad joined Val’s side, his expression impartial and his throat sounding scratchier than she remembered. Perhaps he was back into smoking.

“Yeah, I’ve uh…got a place not far”.

“You'll have to come over for tea, duck. Been far too long since we've seen you”, Val smiled widely, “anyway we've got to get off, Lana's inside if you fancy saying hello”.

The thought of having dinner with them again, the people who she'd very often seen as her own pseudo-parents, and often saw them more than she had her own mother, set off a warmth that fizzled in her chest.

She couldn't deny how nice it would be, to catch up with them all again.

Sometimes being at their house was like watching her own TV show, The Washingtons, watching them bicker across the table, sometimes in harmless quips and sometimes evolving into full on arguments.

Her and Billy would always sit next to each other, raising their eyebrows in a manner that expressed their discomfort. Always followed with a stifled giggle.

And there it was again. The lingering thought that, those days were gone now.

The pub had an immediate bitter smell to it when she first walked in, the stifling heat of bodies hitting her immediately, and the slight stench of sweat.

She thought, there was no place for judgement of people sweating, having to wear black to a funeral during a heatwave.

She spotted the group of guys at the bar first, all with their black blazers off, and the top buttons of their shirts undone now that their inhibitions had faded the more alcohol they drank. They laughed loudly with each other, but she didn't see Lana until she stepped out, she was so short compared to them.

“Hi Lana”, she smiled when she was close enough.

Those familiar blue eyes looked back, wide-eyed and joyful, the lines around them crinkling much like Val’s.

“Hiya! God, what you doing down this way?” she asked, giving a quick hug in greeting like she was seeing an old friend.

“I've moved back down for work and…to be with people I know again,” she replied, her eyes solemn, “I'm sorry about Nut, really…and I hope you're alright.”

She saw her face drop a bit like she might cry again and let the emotions take the reins, before the eldest Washington sighed, “Thanks. I'm alright. It's…just a shock.”

She nodded, unable to find the words to follow up. But luckily, in her alcohol-addled state, Lana changed the subject quickly and raised her eyebrows, in the way she always did when she was being slightly judgy.

“No mates up north then?”

“None worth keeping”, she smiled, which Lana mirrored.

“You having a drink?”

She thought, fuck it, might as well have one and still drive home, “Yeah go on then”.

They waited at the bar while the man behind it poured pints, pulling on the heavy lever every few seconds.

“I'd’ve thought Billy would have mentioned you.”

She couldn't help it. The statement took her so off guard her face must have blanched, though she tried to smile and make up some quick excuse, Lana simply smiled, her cheeks red. Clearly she'd had quite a bit already.

“Got ya”, Lana grinned, “he tells me fuck all but I know when something's happened. I'm not stupid.”

Shit.

“Just please tell me you haven't fucked. Otherwise I'll vomit right here.”

Her lips parted without her realising, heat rushing to her face at the bluntness of it. Bloody hell, alcohol made Lana an entirely different person.

“I-what? - no!”

“Oh, thank god for that,” she sighed dramatically, “it'll be good to have you back anyway, he's been a right miserable sod since you've been gone.”

Now that caught her attention.

“What do you mean?”

“He's always been a mardy bugger but he's turned the fucking dial up to 100, especially since Becky walked out on him.”

That was news to her.

She felt herself deflate a little. And didn't know why.

She lifted her eyes at the faint smell of second-hand cigarette smoke.

“Billy!” Lana beamed, “another drink? Treating your big sister?”

A chill settled in her skin at the mention of his name, and the fact that she'd known he was there before Lana had even said it. But a dull warmth crept back in, when she locked eyes on the other Washington, seeing his surprised expression at her presence.

They almost, almost, smiled at each other.

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, “Yeah, alright, do you…want one?” he asked, looking tentatively at her, eyebrows arched with nerves, leaving space between them at the bar like she might bite him.

“Just one, thanks. Driving”, she replied with a thin-lipped smile.

Billy nodded awkwardly and didn't even have to ask what she wanted as he tapped his card against the machine.

The bottle wasn't even in her hand two seconds before Lana beamed, cheeks tinged with drunkenness, “Off for a fag! Be right back”.

She shook her head as Lana waddled to the fire exit with another guy in a suit. As drunk as she seemed, she understood full well that she was leaving her little brother and her by themselves on purpose.

Billy seemed to understand this too, as he watched his sibling disappear with a heavy sigh.

The two sat on a tiny circular table, lined sticky with old beer that had barely been wiped off. And at first, neither of them knew what to say. Billy had never replied to her text message, so she wasn't sure if he was just doing this out of sheer politeness, or if he actually wanted to give it a go.

“You been alright?”

The sound of Billy's voice was so unexpected that she nearly stared at him mouth agape.

“Oh, yeah, um…got the keys to my flat the other day”.

Billy leaned back in his chair, undoing the top few buttons of his black shirt and tugging the tie down with it, “Nice, then?”

A smile broke free, “It'll do.”

Shockingly, he smiled at that as well.

“I'm sorry about Becky”, she started, trying to think of a follow-up when Billy threw a daunted look at her, “Lana mentioned it…sorry-”

“Nah, it's fine. She just can't keep her gob shut, can she.”

She smiled again as she sipped her drink, Billy did the same. Something warm drifted through the air between them.

“Saw your parents as I was coming in.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy raised his eyebrows expectantly, “bet Mum's already tried to feed you her foul cottage pie again”.

“It wasn't that bad.”

“Oh come on, who the fuck puts marmite in a cottage pie?”

It felt nice to laugh with Billy.

Felt natural.

And when their eyes lingered after drifting into silence, she felt that if she looked any longer, the waterworks would really begin.

There was a flush on Billy's cheeks, like there had been on Lana’s. Whether it was sunburn or alcohol, it was difficult to tell.

But from the way Billy found it easy to smile, she would guess the latter.

She watched the way his lips parted and closed a few times, as if he wanted to say something. Years and years of feelings left unsaid, waiting on his tongue.

A distant voice seemed to shake them both. A familiar yet unsettling one.

Billy watched his friend go all rigid, pale and unsettled as she seemed to spot someone at the bar behind him.

He'd seen this look on her face only a handful of times.

With a half empty bottle of cider, she threw her bag over shoulder and quickly got up, “I have to go.”

He wasn't sure what quite got over him. The inhibitions had faded somewhat.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head swiftly, “nothing, I just-”

When Billy looked behind him, he recognised the gait, the self-assured tone of his voice. He looked older than them, much older, from years of heavy drinking and smoking.

The boy she knew from school. The one she'd cried over.

Billy remembered that afternoon, hugging her to his chest at Cranstead Fields, after he'd shattered her confidence and broken her heart.

She grabbed his sleeve, “Billy, stop it, please-”

“And what?” His head snapped back, eyes wide and eyebrows arched in anger. The flush on his face made him look less endearing now, and more tight with rage.

“Just leave it,” she practically begged, her eyes flitting from her tall friend to the man, who mercifully had not noticed them.

Her hand slipped from his sleeve, feeling as if more than anything else, she was annoying Billy over feeling nostalgic about their friendship. And embarrassment nipped at her skin as she tugged the bag over her shoulder, her eyes sinking from his.

“Come on, I've got the car. I can take you home.”

“No.”

“But Billy-”

“Nah, got to stay here with Lana.”

She bit her lip, feeling as if he wasn't being entirely truthful, but it was good enough of an excuse that she didn't have a reply.

“Alright…well, look after yourself, okay?”

She'd barely taken the step before his cigarette-scratchy voice boomed across the bar, “there she is! Billy's only real mate, back from the dead!”

Billy watched her expression arch in something akin to pain, hearing his voice and what he'd said. And it was this moment that Billy realised he hadn't even remembered the bastard's name, only what he'd done to her.

She couldn't even really bear to look up and see his face again, to have to look into his eyes, the twist in her heart was much too painful.

“The North not want you either? Come back for some mor-”

It turned out she didn't need to. The entire pub seemed to erupt with excitement of both the bad and good kind as Billy's body twisted drunkenly and his fist barrelled through the man's face, grazing his jaw clumsily.

The ‘mates’ around him simply caught him as he stumbled back, but were too drunk themselves to find the situation anything but a bit funny.

“What the fuck did you say?!”

“Billy, fuck, Billy stop! He's not worth it!”

Billy barely moved even with her hands on his chest, pushing him back, watching his flushed face harden with frustration, stern blue eyes still trained on the man who was trying to find his footing.

“Get out my way.”

Her stomach flipped as his fingers easily wrapped around her wrist to gently push her away. At least having the mindset that he should be tender with her.

“Fuck’s sake, Billy, stop.”

He seemed near-fixated on the situation around the man he'd just assaulted, heedless of the repercussions.

But the tone of her voice made his blue eyes flit down to her.

He'd not heard that shift in a long time.

They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment. Not even realising that the man's mates had dragged him into the nearest taxi they could flag down, and that the bar idea had gone all quiet.

Billy shook his head as if shaking himself from a memory, “I need a fag.”

“Billy-”

She reached for him, but he disappeared out the fire door, a pack of cigarettes gripped so tight the package was yielding to his touch.

He'd slipped from her grasp. Once again.

And even though it wasn't the first time, she felt the grief of it all like it was.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian@randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya@urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen

#billy washington fanfic #billy washington x oc #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington x you #billy washington trigger point #billy washington fanfiction #trigger point #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #it's who we have #billy washington angst #billy washington fic #trigger point fanfic #trigger point series

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for wanting to keep my chosen name even if it reminds my parents of their trauma?

I (15NB) have been out to my friends for about a year now and I’ve started using the name Kaden or Kade for short. This name means a lot to me and I’ve become very used to using it and it makes me happy.

Last week i decided to come out to my parents and it went quite well. My mum was a bit confused but I showed her a YouTube video and she seemed to sort of get it but she was definitely supportive and told me she’d do whatever made me happy.

However, when I told her my chosen name, she basically just said “no” and tried to convince me to change it. This made me really upset cause she didn’t even tell me why I couldn’t use that name? It just made me feel like shit.

When I came out to my dad I told him that mum didn’t like my chosen name and it made me really upset and he basically said “I can’t tell you why she doesn’t like it cause it’s not my place, but I would really consider changing it”. This frustrated me even more.

A few days later I was feeling like shit and I got into an argument with my mum demanding to know why she wouldn’t use my name. She just said she knew someone with that name who was bad. Wtf. She wouldn’t even tell me what they did or anything.

Then about a week after that she found me crying in my room and asked me what was wrong. I told her it was about my name again and this time she told me the truth. Apparently she was friends with a guy called Kaden who went by Kade and he had been friends with her since she was like 12. When she started dating my dad, this dude got super jealous and SA’d her. She didn’t go into specifics but I could tell it was the really bad kind, like, R word bad.

She asked me again if I would change my name and this time I said I’d think about it. She thanked me and we hugged.

I thought about it for a few days, but I couldn’t just let go of this name that means so much to me. There’s not another name that fits me or that I like.

On Saturday I told her I was keeping my name and the reasons why. I also told her that it would be good to reassociate the name with a good thing instead of a bad one. She looked upset and said she wouldn’t use my name and has been using a short version of my deadname instead.

I know she has trauma but this name means a lot to me :( and I don’t want to change it

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #rape cw

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 7 months ago

Text

Something There (Chapter 12)

6.8k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, references to smutty things, absolute fluffy fluff

Series Masterlist

A/N: This has... taken a while, lol. Honestly, I've been struggling with how to end this, mostly because I don't want to say goodbye to Roy and Bucky! But, all good (or at least halfway decent) things must come to an end. (Plus, I already know there'll be some blurbs featuring these two!) I hope you enjoy, and thanks for coming along for the ride ❤️

“What would you say is your greatest accomplishment?”

Roy nodded towards me and smirked. “Can I answer for her?”

Another “Manager Monday”. Apparently, people liked seeing Roy and me sitting together and answering questions. According to Keeley, the internet referred to us as the “Mum and Dad” of Nelson Road. It was weird and a little flattering, if I was being honest. And, frankly, getting to goof around and not-so-subtly flirt with Roy on camera during work hours was a pretty good deal.

“No, you cannot,” Keeley chuckled. “Go on then, greatest accomplishment.”

“Winning my Olympic Gold Medal,” I answered, elbowing Roy when I heard his good-natured snicker. “It was something my grandpa and I talked about for as long as I can remember. And he did come see me win it. After that, whenever he introduced me to people, it was always, ‘This is my granddaughter. She’s an Olympian.’” I smiled at the memory before turning to Roy. “What’s yours? That year you led the league in red cards?”

Roy’s smile had my heart doing somersaults. “You fucking know it.”

With lots of laughter and poor attempts to hide our flirting, we got through a couple more soccer-related questions before Keeley broached the topic we both knew she was dying to get to.

“So, the internet has been debating between two couple names for you two,” she announced mischievously. “‘Boy’ and ‘Rocky’. Which do you prefer?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Keeley,” he growled, as I snorted, “We’re not answering that.”

While we were more than happy to let our friends at Nelson Road know about our relationship and annoy them with our PDA, we had agreed not to make any big public show of things- at least not until the season ended. We were enough of a distraction when we were just a few blurry photos the night of the gala; we didn’t want to take away any more media attention from the club, not when our teams were on the verge of something great.

Keeley rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But once you two go public, you know better get used to those questions, alright? Because you guys are really fucking cute, and the internet loves you already.”

“We are pretty cute, I’ll give you that,” I chuckled, taking Roy’s hand and smiling at the grumpy coach- my grumpy coach.

In return, he leaned over and pecked my lips gently. “That better not fucking end up online,” he warned Keeley, thick eyebrows raised threateningly.

“We’d break the internet with that little kiss,” she teased, winking at me. “Better be nice to me, or I’m leaking that clip.”

“Careful,” Roy replied with a nod in my direction, affection sparkling in his eyes. “I heard this one’s got a mean right hook.”

Roy leaned on the doorframe, enjoying the view. Who would’ve thought that just watching someone put on makeup would make him so fucking happy?

But seeing her standing in front of his bathroom sink and applying that red lipstick had his heart skipping a couple beats. He liked this domestic thing, the sleepovers and the driving to work together and the making dinner and… everything. He wanted more of it, he realized. He wanted more of her. The word was on the tip of his tongue, the word that had been floating around in his head since they got together, since the gala if he was being honest. Maybe even before that, he didn't fucking know. But it was too soon, he knew. Things were already going fast enough and, although she was diving in headfirst just as hard, Roy was still worried about scaring her off.

Her playful eyes met his in the mirror. “Can I help you, Kent?” she teased.

He shrugged and pushed himself off the doorframe so he could stroll over casually. “Just admiring the view.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek. “I like when you wear that color.” Another kiss to her temple. “Especially when it ends up on my neck,” he hummed.

“Fuck off,” she chuckled, elbowing him gently. “Come on, let me finish getting ready. Otherwise, you’re going to be late to your game, Coach.”

“Fine,” he growled. “But after the match?”

She whirled around and grabbed his face gently, her eyes bright. “After the match, I promise my lipstick will be all over your neck.” She pressed her body close to his. “And maybe some other particular places.” Her red lips formed that smirk he loved, the one he couldn’t believe he used to find annoying. “But only if you win.”

Roy grinned, eyebrows raised at her appealing offer. “Well, lucky for me I’m the manager of a winning team.”

“That is lucky,” she purred, nudging her nose against his. “Now then, can I go put on my new Greyhounds kit?”

His grin widened. “You got a fucking Greyhounds kit?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’m part of Richmond. I like the fellas. And I’m pretty obsessed with their pain in the ass manager.” She smiled. “It’s about time I start rocking some Greyhound gear.”

Roy’s heart was soaring. He loved wearing her name and number on his back, even if it made their relationship obvious to anyone who was paying even an ounce of attention. And he’d be lying his ass off if he said he hadn’t pictured what she’d look like wearing his name on a kit. Granted, some of those pictures in his head were in his bed rather than at a match, but still. What a fucking dream come true.

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hurry up then, Coach.”

Roy probably would have skipped to the living room if it weren’t for this shit knee. With no one around, he didn’t bother hiding his stupid grin, the one he found himself wearing quite often these days. The internet had gone a bit wild with images of him wearing her name on his Whippets kit; he could only imagine the silly little fan edits and TikToks that would surely follow this match.

“What d’you think?”

Roy’s old man heart nearly stopped in his chest. The bright red and blue material hugged her figure perfectly, tempting him to rip it off of her and forget all about his match. The little Greyhound logo settled beautifully over her heart, just like the Whippets manager had weaseled her way into his. He was officially obsessed with the picture in front of him, he decided.

“Fucking perfect,” he hummed. He twirled his finger in a circle, eyebrows raised. He just needed to see one more thing. “Give us a spin, then.”

Her grin widened as she turned around, something mischievous in her eyes. Roy sat up a little straighter, unashamed to be so obviously excited to see-

“Does that fucking say Tartt?” he spat, pure disgust smeared across his bearded face.

Her laughter rang in his ears, almost magical enough to make him forget about this absolute betrayal. He narrowed his eyes at her as she turned back around, shameless amusement on her face. “What’s the matter, Roy?” she teased as she made her way over to where he slumped on the couch. “Don’t you think I look good?”

He reached out and tugged her onto his lap, doing his best to keep his stern expression. “I think,” he growled against her shoulder, pawing at the material, “that you need to take that fucking thing off.”

With a giggle, she grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch, reminding Roy of the night of the gala- their very first night. “Ah, no time to change, I’m afraid.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, careful not to leave any lipstick on his face. “Let’s go, Kent.”

Still grumbling and growling, Roy allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and dragged out of the house. When she wasn’t looking, he shook his head and smiled softly at her. Even with such a stupid name on her back, Roy still thought that seeing her in a Greyhounds kit was his new favorite sight.

He just couldn’t wait to rip the damn thing off of her.

“Let’s fucking go, Greyhounds!” I screeched, ignoring the way Keeley covered her ears.

After everything that had happened this season, both on and off the field, it was hard to believe it was coming to an end. Tonight, the Greyhounds were only one victory away winning the Premier League. And, after weeks of wearing Jamie’s name and other players’ names on my back just to mess with Roy (and the internet), I was proudly wearing his name and our number on my Greyhounds sweatshirt.

Keeley leaned close and held out her phone. “You’re already trending,” she teased, showing off a blurry photo of Roy and me entering the stadium, with me wearing Roy’s name and my signature red lipstick as I smiled up at the Greyhound manager. “And so is this.” There was Jamie Tartt, entering the stadium, wearing a fanny pack and, as usual, a hat. Unlike usual, this hat didn’t say “ICON”; instead, it proudly proclaimed “ROCKY”.

I rolled my eyes as the guys took their places on the field. “Is that a reference to that stupid ‘couple name’ thing?” I groaned. “Because you’re all supposed to be helping us keep quiet, you know.”

The sly way Keeley narrowed her eyes had me almost squirming. “Yeah. Because the way you two act during Manager Mondays and wearing each other’s kits is really discreet.” Suddenly, her suspicious expression turned somber, giving me a new urge to fidget. “How’s it all going by the way? You and him? The two of you seem pretty damn happy these days.”

“We are,” I assured her, not bothering to stop my wide smile from filling my face. “He’s… well, you know how he is.” I gave a soft chuckle as I looked down to the pitch and watched Roy lean over to say something to Coach Beard. Perfect, I decided. That was how Roy was; perfect. From the way he stood during games, shoulders squared and all business, to the way he always stole a quick kiss when our paths crossed at work, to the way his strong hands tenderly adored me in bed, to the lazy afternoons on his couch, to the phone calls and texts that flooded my phone whenever we were apart, to the way he made me laugh and smile in between all those moments. Roy Kent was fucking perfect. “He’s Roy.”

Keeley’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “I do know how he is,” she said carefully. The little clearing of her throat had me turning my eyes to her. Her eyebrows knitted together, as if she thought I would slug her at any moment. “And I hope this isn’t totally inappropriate, but we were talking last week- and he was saying he’s so fucking happy,” she quickly added, probably seeing my slowly raising eyebrows. “He’s just worried about being… clingy?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how completely apprehensive my friend looked. “Oh, Roy’s clingy as fuck,” I said. “But I like it.” I shrugged, my eyes returning to the gruff man on the pitch that had weaseled his way into my heart. “I… I’m clingy too,” I admitted. “I think that’s why we work, actually. We’re both pretty intense people, we both do everything at full speed, you know? So, one person’s idea of ‘too clingy’ is my idea of ‘absolutely fucking perfect’.”

The smile on Keeley’s face was filled with joy and a bit of relief. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “Really. He deserves the best and you-” She smacked a kiss to my cheek. “-are the fucking best, babes.”

The tips of Roy’s fingers tingled as he stared down Jamie, who was making a mad dash towards their opponent’s goal. There were only moments left before stoppage time ended in a tie and the match inevitably went to extra time, which had been a dangerous place for the Greyhounds all season long. If Jamie couldn’t beat both the clock and goalkeeper, it felt like their season would end in defeat. And Roy couldn’t have that. Not this season. Not when everything seemed to be ending so well, on and off the pitch.

Only one defender stood between Jamie and the goal. Roy held his breath as he watched Jamie move this way and that, doing a maneuver he knew Tartt hadn’t learned from any of the coaches on the pitch; he’d learned this particular move from the Whippets. And he’d apparently learned it well, because suddenly Jamie was in front of the goal, kicking the ball and-

“JAMIE TARTT SCORES!”

Less than a moment later, the familiar sound of the referee’s whistle had all of Nelson Road in pure pandemonium. Roy sprinted onto the field, not caring about his stupid knee, and was instantly swallowed by the swarm of blue that was his team. He grabbed and hugged whoever was close by, not caring to see anything other than their wide eyes and wider smiles. He wondered ever so briefly if anything in his career would ever live up to this moment; he knew nothing before ever had. And, if he was being quite honest, he could live with this being the happiest moment of his career.

He was hugging Jamie tight, mumbling something about being fucking proud of the prick, when he heard some of his players call his name in teasing voices. He knew those tones; he’d been hearing them a lot lately, caused by one thing- well, one person- every fucking time.

Sure enough, when Roy glanced over his shoulder, the sight made his smile grow.

There she was, clad in her Greyhounds sweater, running at him. He knew she’d regret this run in the morning- they’d probably spend the whole next day icing ankles and knees- but she didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she looked like she didn’t care about anything other than Roy.

She threw herself into his arms and let him envelop her in a tight hug, one far too tight for two platonic managers to share.

“I’m proud of you,” she huffed into the crook of his neck. “So fucking proud, Roy.”

He released her slightly so she could gaze up at him, her eyes full of adoration and joy. Deep in his chest, Roy held a hope that she would stare at him like this for the rest of their lives. “Fucking come here,” he murmured, his hands leaving her hips to cup her face.

At some point over the season, Roy had lost count of how many times he’d kissed this woman. There were some kisses that were irrevocably stamped on his heart- their first kiss while sitting on his couch listening to Sam Cooke, the kiss in the rain after he’d given her the Team USA football, the sweet kiss they’d shared after he asked her to be his girlfriend- but this was probably his favorite so far. It was soft and slow, and it made the roar of the crowd go silent in Roy’s mind. He knew there was no going back from this; there would be photos of this kiss in the papers, and he’d definitely be asked about it in the post-match press conference. They’d once again be the subject of rumors and speculation, with Twitter users trying to put together a timeline and reanalyzing every little interaction they’d had over these last few months. It was going to be pure fucking hell.

But thankfully, his own personal heaven was in his arms.

When they parted, she wore a wide grin, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. “Congrats on the win, Coach,” she chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “Can’t believe you guys beat us to it.” She kissed his lips effortlessly, as if she kissed him on the pitch every day. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”

Roy shook his head and tightened his grip on her. “Just means the Whippets get to be the grand finale.”

“Grand finale,” she repeated, giving his jacket a tug to pull him back to herself. “I like the sound of that, Kent.”

Roy could’ve stayed on that pitch forever, holding her and kissing her, finally able to show everyone how he felt about her and how she miraculously felt about him. The feeling of winning the whole fucking thing, and having his girl in his arms, and hearing his team shout and celebrate, it was intoxicating as hell.

But, as Keeley reminded him with a giggle, there was pomp and circumstance to get through.

His whole body shook with excitement as he stood by Rebecca’s side and received the trophy. In the smiling crowd, he locked gazes with those familiar eyes. Could his smile get any bigger? he wondered. Surely that would be the morning headline: Richmond’s Roy Kent finally knows how to smile. And damn, if it wasn’t something he wanted to keep doing.

Once things began to die down on the pitch, Keeley began herding him towards the press conference he still had to do before celebrating with the team. He kept an arm wrapped around the Whippet’s manager as he finally made his way through the halls, to the familiar door that led to the press room. He paused in front of it, thinking about all the less-than-stellar moments he’d had in there. Announcing his retirement. Watching Jamie have a meltdown. Throwing a chair at George fucking Willows after being asked about Keeley. Being asked intrusive questions about his love life and the drama of this season. Some crappy things happened in that room, he admitted to himself.

But today? Today he walked in with his head held high; for the first time in a long time, Roy Kent felt nothing but good about himself and his life. His team was officially the best in the Premier League, and he had the girl of his dreams to kiss after the match. He allowed himself a smile as he settled in front of the cameras, enjoying the surprise on the reporters’ faces when they caught sight of his expression. In the back of the room, Keeley gave him a thumbs up before wrapping her arm around the Whippets’ manager, who shot him a wink that had his stupid grin widening.

Yeah. This might be the best fucking day of his whole fucking life.

The clamoring began before he even sat down. Roy rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly for once, and pointed to a familiar face, a reporter he didn’t fully hate. “Yeah?”

“Coach Kent, how does it feel to lead the Greyhounds to do the impossible?”

Roy leaned into his seat, determined to at least look relaxed. “Feels fucking great,” he said. “And I’m going to ignore that ‘impossible’ thing.” He smirked at the tittering from the reporters. “Because honestly, this team is fucking incredible. And anyone who thought this was ‘impossible’ for those lads hasn’t been paying attention.” After answering a few questions about the season and the match, he could see the journalists beginning to get restless. It was clear what they would be asking next. He pointed to another raised hand. “You.”

“A certain coach had an… interesting way of congratulating you,” the reporter asked in a timid voice. “Anything to say about that?”

For a moment, he glanced to the back of the room. Not to Keeley, like he usually did during these things, but to the pair of eyes that gazed back with a beautiful mixture of adoration and teasing. Another wink encouraged him to lean forward on his elbows and ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “There’s a lot I can say about that,” he chuckled. “But, all I will say is this-” He looked directly at those bright eyes. “-I’m fucking mad about that woman. She seems to think I’m alright, which is nice. And she continues to be one of the most impressive managers I’ve had the honor of watching on the pitch. And I am looking forward to seeing her and the Whippets kick some serious ass next weekend.”

More questions were hurled at him, mostly excited and kind ones, but Roy didn’t really hear them. He was too focused on trying not to simply sit and stare at that pretty face that smiled at him and made him feel like he’d won more than the Premier League.

I pulled my dark blue blazer on and turned to get a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark blue blazer, white blouse, best jeans, hair up in a ponytail, red lipstick applied, necklace my grandfather had given me around my neck. This was it, I decided. This was the outfit of a Women’s Super League-winning coach.

“You look fucking amazing.” A pair of strong arms wrapped around me as a scruffy kiss smacked my cheek. “Like a fucking winner.” Roy smirked at me in the mirror. He looked damn good in his white Whippets kit, the number six on his back and something that kind of looked like love in his eyes. If my entire season wasn’t on the line, I’d be debating ripping off that jersey and throwing Roy onto the bed. “Gonna wear your gold medal?” he teased.

With an eyeroll, I slipped out of his grasp and sat on my bed. “Just toss me my sneakers, Kent.”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he moved towards my familiar Converse that sat perfectly next to the closet. “Wow, I get to touch the Match Day shoes? What an honor.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as I took the shoes from him and tugged them on. “I’m hoping your luck from last weekend rubs off on me and the Whippets.” I knew that underneath my joking tone, he could hear my nerves. Roy always seemed to know what was going on beneath the surface.

Sure enough, he sat down next to me and took my hand. “Oi.” His voice was as soft as his gaze. “You’re going to be fucking brilliant.” He kissed my forehead. “Your team is incredible. You are incredible. You’re Coach Bucky. World Cup winner, Olympic champion, NWSL Coach of the Year.” He shook his head as he rattled off my résumé with a smile on his face. “You’ve fucking got this.”

“I know.”

He raised his thick eyebrows at me expectantly. “But?”

“But…” I sighed heavily and let my head fall against his shoulder. “There’s just so much pressure,” I murmured. “It’s our first season. And with all of my personal drama…” I closed my eyes. “I have to win. I have to show that I’m a fucking winner. If I don’t, I’ll forever be that slutty American who slept with Roy freaking Kent.”

He gave me a light shove. “Oi, I thought you liked sleeping with Roy Kent.”

“Roy,” I huffed. “I’m being serious. I need to win today. I have to prove that I deserve to be taken seriously. Everything I’ve built this year is on the line. If we don’t do this, I don’t know-”

“Babe.” Roy shifted and lifted my legs until they draped over his lap. His arms felt like a warm blanket as they wrapped around my waist and tugged me close. “You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. You’re lightyears better at this job than I am-” A snort slipped out of my nose. “-and everyone knows it, no matter what happens today. You are brilliant and accomplished. And if it’s not this year, it’ll be next year.” He gave me a squeeze. “But I believe in you. Your team believes in you. Rebecca and Keeley and all the Greyhounds believe in you. Fuck what anyone else says.” He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “You can always just punch them anyways.”

Fucking Roy, making me laugh and forget my anxiety. As I smiled through my nerves and kissed his mouth, probably smudging my lipstick, all I could think was how badly I wanted him to make me laugh for the rest of my fucking life.

The feeling of pride in Roy’s chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life. The energy of the stadium vibrated through his whole body, and he couldn’t help the lump in his throat when he saw how absolutely packed the place was. He walked confidently into the owners’ box holding Phoebe’s hand tight. He smiled down at his bouncing niece, with her bright eyes and her own Bucky kit. She was talking a million miles a minute, reminding him of Keeley, chattering all about how well she knew the Whippets would do and asking if Roy was really going to take her onto the pitch after the match if the Whippets won. Her yammering only stopped so she could give Keeley a hug and take her seat next to the blonde.

“Ready to see your girl in action?” Keeley teased over Phoebe’s head as Roy took his seat.

His broad smile would have been enough of an answer. “She’s gonna be so fucking brilliant,” Roy laughed. “I can fucking feel it.” He narrowed his eyes at Phoebe’s expectant face. “Add it to my tab,” he grumbled.

To his surprise, Phoebe shook her head. “You get a free pass today, Uncle Roy,” she informed him earnestly. “It’s a very big day for Bucky and you’re probably very stressed.” She nodded, her demeanor comically matter of fact. “So, I’ll let it slide. Just for today.”

“Thanks, Pheebs,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. He nodded to Rebecca as she took her spot on Keeley’s other side. “Boss,” he greeted with a salute.

“Coach Kent,” she replied, a sparkle in her eye as she saluted back. “Beautiful night for a game, hmm?” Despite her calm tone, Roy could see the way her fingers drummed on her lap nervously.

He smirked at her. “Ready to be the owner of two winning teams?”

She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Not thinking about it,” she announced firmly. “I am just going to enjoy the match, cheer for our girls, and feel proud of them no matter what.”

Keeley, Roy, and Pheobe all just stared at her until a smile broke out across her face.

“Alright, yes, I’m fucking ready!” She turned her attention to the field, where the Whippets were beginning to line up. “Let’s go, Whippets!”

The quartet were joined in the box by Beard and Nate and Jamie, who looked quite comfortable wearing Kira Malone’s name on his back. There were deafening cheers all around as the Whippets were introduced. Roy’s whole body felt warm as he bellowed their names; even without being head over heels for their manager, Roy would feel beyond proud of these women. He’d watched them work all season long, through sweat and injuries and fatigue and the harsh media. And they’d done it all with smiles on their faces and their heads held high. They were impressive and inspiring, and Roy already knew they would win that trophy.

And they had ninety minutes to do it.

After the players were introduced, the Whippets’ coaches stepped forward to shake hands with the opposing coaching staff. Of course, every eye in the owners’ box turned to Roy with mischievous smirks on their faces.

Not that Roy noticed. He was too busy jumping to his feet so he could cup his hands around his mouth and bellow, “Let’s fucking go, Buck!”

With that colossal voice of his, no one was surprised to see the manager look up in their direction. Her red-lipped smile was clear as day, and they all oohed teasingly when they saw her blow a kiss up towards them.

“Obviously that was for me,” Jamie joked, turning around and winking at his manager.

“Fuck off,” Roy chuckled as he resumed his seat. He gave the striker a light shove before turning his attention back to the pitch. Fuck, how was he supposed to focus on the match that was starting when she was down there, looking strong and confident and powerful- not to mention gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her in her element, shouting excitedly at her team and reaching out for Luke’s hand every now and then. Some part of him wanted to watch her forever; the other part of him couldn’t wait for the ninety minutes to end so he could wrap his arms around her and celebrate her victory.

A stray piece of popcorn smacked him in the temple and diverted his attention.

Keeley shot him that shit-eating grin and tossed a fresh piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You’re drooling, Roy-o.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over Phoebe’s lap to steal a handful of Keeley’s popcorn. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he could manage. He smiled down at Pheobe, whose attention was rapt with the match in front of her. “Having fun?” he asked loudly, amused to find that her trance was just as intense as the one he’d just been in.

All the little blonde could do was nod, mouth slightly agape, as she watched the Whippets score their first goal of the match. The entire stadium was on their feet, deafening with their shouts and cheers as the players embraced. But of course, the only thing Roy could see was their manager and the way she looked up at the owners’ box, right at him.

Lucas was holding my hand so tight he was going to cause permanent damage to my blood circulation. Not that I cared; we had succeeded in keeping the game tied 2-2 all through stoppage time, and now Amanada Camacho had managed to secure a penalty kick. With my free hand, I gripped my necklace tightly, as if the little gold charm would somehow direct Amanda’s kick into the right direction.

The forward made her move, running towards the ball, and gave a powerful kick-

That sailed perfectly into the corner of the goal, out of the goalie’s reach.

In unison, Lucas and I let out sharp screams and crashed into each other’s arms, trading kisses on cheeks and foreheads. When the referee blew her whistle, we sprinted onto the field, greeting our mob of Whippets in a pile of hugs that evolved into a mountain of players and staff tumbling over each other. It was loud and chaotic- and beautiful. Somewhere in the reveling, tears had formed in my eyes, but they didn’t fall until I found myself face to face with Rebecca’s glowing smile and own teary eyes.

“Well done,” she said simply, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Well fucking done.”

I melted into her embrace- fuck, how was this woman so perfect that even her hugs were the best?- and finally let the tears fall. “Thank you for believing in me,” was all I could manage.

She shook her head. “That’s just the Richmond way,” she chuckled as Keeley approached us.

The blonde wrapped us both into a group hug, chattering about how brilliant the girls had been, how brilliant I had been, how we were going to have the biggest celebration ever once we left the stadium, how I’d better have brought a change of clothes like she’d instructed me so we could party properly.

But her excitement was drowned out by my beating heart when I caught sight of a pair of beautiful brown eyes sparkling at me.

“Kent!” I shrieked, breaking free of my bosses’ warm embraces. I sprinted towards him, this time under stadium lights and falling confetti rather than pouring rain, and launched myself into his arms. He caught me with ease, lifting me and letting me wrap my legs around him. With a couple of first place finishes under our belts, we were finally free to be as publicly insufferable as we wanted- which I planned on taking full advantage of. I figured a dramatic kiss on the pitch was a good start, and Roy seemed to agree as he attached his lips to mine hungrily.

“So. Fucking,” he huffed into my mouth between kisses, “Proud.” He held me tighter, pressing my chest harshly to his. “You’re amazing.”

I finally removed myself from the kiss so I could bury my burning hot face in his shoulder. He let me plant my feet back on the ground, but kept his arms firmly around me. “Roy,” I murmured, realizing I had something important to tell him. “I-”

“Bucky!” Phoebe jumped onto my back, nearly knocking me over.

“Pheebs!” I laughed, turning away from Roy so I could hug his niece. “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. “Your team wins a championship next, right?” When I glanced up at Roy over Phoebe’s head, he was already gazing at me, something soft on his face. He’d been doing that a lot lately, I realized as I returned his smile. This gentle stare that held something significant, something I felt sure one of us would break down and say soon. Something I’d wanted to say since I first ran out in the rain to him.

But I didn’t have time to think about that. Not when my team was calling for me to join them to be crowned the Women’s League champions and hoist the trophy in the air and beam with pride as cameras flashed in our faces.

I was still beaming as I held Roy’s hand in the club the Greyhounds and Whippets took over to celebrate both of our victories; Rebecca was something of a blubbering mess as she took the microphone early in the night and thanked both clubs for their hard work, thanked our coaching staffs for surviving the wild ride that had been our season (Beard raised his eyebrows in our direction, clearly remembering being frustrated enough to lock us in a shed), and above all thanked Keeley for being her partner in the adventure of establishing what she knew would be a great legacy of women’s football in Richmond.

By the time Rebecca finished and called me up to make my own speech, I was close to joining Rebecca in her tears; unfortunately, I knew I wouldn’t look as graceful as she did once my waterworks began flowing. So instead, I focused on smiling as I kissed her cheek and took the accepted the microphone from her.

“How’re we feeling, Richmond?” I was answered with cheers and shouts from our teams and their loved ones. “I’ll try to keep this brief so we can get back to partying- although my Whippets probably already know I’m not as capable of brevity as the Greyhounds say Coach Kent is.” The mere mention of Roy’s name provoked catcalls and wolf whistles from both squads. “Calm down,” I laughed, shaking my head when I caught Roy’s not-really-annoyed eyeroll aimed at Jamie. “I just want to say thank you,” I continued once the commotion subsided. “Thank you to the Whippets, for all of your incredible work and dedication. I think we made it clear to the Women’s Super League and all of England that W.F.C. Richmond has arrived.” Cheers again filled the club, as well as my heart. “Thank you to our fearless leaders Keeley and Rebecca, for believing in us every step of the way.” Keeley’s little bow alongside Rebecca’s refined wave had me giggling into the microphone. “A special thanks to our dear Greyhounds. It was an adjustment learning to work together-” Coach Beard’s exaggerated groan could be heard loudly over everyone else’s teasing hums. “-but we managed.” I shot Roy a wink that was returned with a blown kiss. “And, personally, more than anyone else I have to thank my right-hand man.” My eyes found Lucas’s. “Luke,” I sighed. “You formed me into the player I was so proud to be. You mentored me into the coach I’ve become. You were insane enough to follow me here for this adventure, you held my hand during every scary moment and picked me up every time I fell. We came here for greatness-” I shrugged, gesturing to the assembled group of champion athletes. “- and I think we fucking found it.” Both teams hollered in agreement, but still managed to hear my last few words: “Richmond on three! One, two, three-”

“RICHMOND!”

In a blur of cheers and hugs and kisses, I finally found myself back in Roy’s embrace, accepting the chaste kiss he pressed to my lips.

“Wanna sneak off for a moment?” he hummed in my ear. “After that, I need to give you a proper kiss. And if I do that here, I think Beard might actually be fucking ill.”

I leaned into his touch. “Can’t have that,” I teased back.

We wandered away from the bar, ignoring the eyerolls from our friends when they caught sight of our lovesick expressions. We had warned them early on; they were going to miss the days of our screaming matches and insults. These days, instead of walking in on arguments, they walked in on make out sessions. Jamie had more than a few times accused us of trying to make him go blind. Even Keeley grimaced when I asked if she wanted to continue Manager Mondays next season, clearly regretting asking us to be more affectionate once we were public.

All season everyone bitched at us about getting along. We were only giving the people what they wanted.

Roy clearly knew what he wanted when he found a dark, isolated corner where he could press my back against a column that hid us from view. His mouth melded with mine as his hands lazily stroked up and down my sides. I sighed against his kiss and snaked my arms around his neck, pulling him flush against me. My mind was filled with thoughts of the weeks ahead of us; sure, we’d have a shit ton of press, but once the circus was over, this was all I wanted to worry about. We’d floated the idea of going on some fabulous vacation together, turning our phones off and isolating ourselves in a little bubble of sex and food and laughter. I’d told Roy we could settle plans once the seasons were ended, which he had seemed thrilled about. Or at least as thrilled as Roy could manage. But as I kissed him harshly and melted in his arms, I briefly considered that spending our entire break locked in his house with nothing but takeout, movies, and his bed sounded just as good as whatever destination he had in mind.

Still, we’d worked hard and gone through a lot; we deserved a damn vacation.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he mumbled as he began to wander down my neck. “Seeing you on the pitch today… and up there with your speech…” He groaned softly and pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

My grip on him tightened as my body tensed up. Not bothering to hide my wide smile, I tugged at him until his face was inches away from mine. “You love me?”

His smile was sloppy and bashful, my favorite sight. “Fucking ’course I do,” he murmured as he brushed some hair out of my face. “You’re something special, you know that? I think I’ve loved you since that moment in the shed at the fucking retreat, hearing you say we were both going to win the whole fucking thing. Called it ‘fairy tale shit’.” He touched his nose to mine. “This right here, this is some fairy tale shit.”

“It is,” I breathed before closing the space between your mouths, pulling Roy into a tender kiss. Before I could deepen it into something a bit harsher, he pulled back, eyebrow quirked playfully. “What?” I chuckled.

“I love you,” he whispered, raising both eyebrows now.

I nodded, trying to hide the grin that was growing on my face. “So I heard.”

He rolled his eyes and took my face in his hands. “Anything you care to say to me, Coach Buck?”

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. He knew from the way I kissed him and the way I looked at him and the way I held him close whenever I could. He knew from the way we made love at night and made breakfast together in the morning. He knew from the way our fingertips brushed when we passed each other at work. He knew from the million little things we shared every day.

But sometimes, a fella needs to hear the words.

“Fine,” I huffed, all faux exasperation as I tugged his face back towards mine. “I guess I love you too.”

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