#2019 one night only LA

[kiwikiwiandkiwi]

ONO Los Angeles (2019) | ONO New York (2022)

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

[emjayewrites]

Fuck A Title (Lewis Hamilton x Black!Fem Reader) (1/5)

SYNOPSIS: Lewis and his former FWB try to navigate the murky waters of being official.

PAIRINGS: Lewis Hamilton x black!fem reader

WARNINGS: cursing, sexual content, angst, racing vroom vroom stuff. RATED R (minors DNI/18+)

SONG REFERENCE: "Title" by Kiana Lede

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @omgsuperstarg @certifiedlesbianbaddie @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @motheroffae @hrlzy @sinflowersugar @hopefulromantic1 @vile-harlot @xoscar03 @blveeeeee @everywherea11thetime @blckgrl-sunflower @whoreforjjk @blowmymbackout

A/N: Not back fr, but had this in my drafts for a minute, so..... [Please comment & reblog]

You sucked in a sharp breath as Lewis pulled you flush against his rock-hard body, his intoxicating male musk enveloping her. "Damn, Lew..." you husked out as his full lips trailed searing kisses along your neck.

Lewis rumbled a low chuckle against you skin, the gravelly timbre shooting tingles along her spine. "You know you want to stay." His mouth found yours, kissing you with a slow, hungry intensity.

"I can’t," you mutter as you arched shamelessly against the solid wall of muscle, whimpering into the heated kiss. These intimate nights used to be your steamy little secret - just two badass workaholics blowing off steam as commitment-free FWBs whenever you craved each other's bodies.

"I'll have your breakfast waiting in the morning, baby girl," Lewis purred in that panty-melting accent, charming and rugged all at once. "Let me take care of you like you deserve."

Your thoughts went to last season; it was stress-free, almost reminiscent of an endless vacation with you being flown out to see Lewis at some of his races — Monaco, Japan, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi, to name a few. There was also that two-week getaway to Turkey during summer break with his close guy friends.

But nothing could ever prepare you for how quickly things changed between you and Lewis. Just a few weeks ago, he wanted to make things official.

You blame that Brazilian girl. Jackie, Josie, Julia-something-or-the-other. Lewis's other sidepiece. The one who didn't know how to be discreet.

She's been kicking it with Lewis and his inner circle since 2019, and their off-and-on cycle can put anyone's head in a tailspin.

But, it wasn't your problem to deal with.

As messed up and unusual as it may sound, you knew what you had with Lewis. The conversations were always on par, the sex was bomb, and his friends were nice.

It wasn't until JuJu leaked his whereabouts to a tabloid journalist during his winter getaway to Brazil that Lewis finally put the nail in the coffin for whatever situation they had, and in return, it was you whom he had invited to join him in Paris, testing in Bahrain, and even a race in Saudi Arabia. It was you who he eventually grew close with, closer than what you envisioned, causing him to have an epiphany or midlife crisis moment, but he wanted you for some reason.

You and only you.

Against your shot-caller instincts, you had agreed to try monogamy with your long-time friends-with-benefits partner, yet could you really live up to the ride-or-die girlfriend role?

In the racing world, Lewis was F1 royalty - the kind of megastar talent that sparked a panty parade from groupies with each arrival. At thirty-nine years old, the British race monster had already stacked up multiple championship wins, the insane looks of a cologne model, and a net worth balling enough to buy a private island.

Cradled against his frame, you almost forgot your doubts about your newly-minted relationship status.

Almost.

Lewis was a whole meal with his tattooed body: wide shoulders, chiseled chest and biceps, and a tempting vee that disappeared beneath his form-fitting Tommy Hilfiger briefs. It almost felt criminal for one man to be so incredibly attractive.

"You're doing it again," that baritone washed over you as Lewis smirked knowingly. "Getting thirsty for me. This is why you need to stay." He flexed his pecs in a ludicrous muscle-man pose, making you throw back your head and laugh.

"Bye, Lewis," you shot back, eyes sparkling with mirth as you ran an admiring hand along his sculpted torso. "My mind was on work."

The lie was smooth, but he knew better.

"You think about work more than I do," Lewis chuckled richly, catching your roaming hand to tug you close once more. His skin glowed temptingly in the dim light, and you felt your resistance swiftly melting as his lips crashed into yours again. He tasted like your ultimate indulgence. But soon, much too soon, Lewis drew back with obvious reluctance. "Best not keep tempting me, baby girl. Let me walk you to your car like a good boyfriend."

And there it was - that word reminding you of your new reality. Boyfriend.

Swallowing hard, you began gathering your scattered clothes. "I should really go," she said, aiming for a breezy tone that fell flat even to your own ears. "But raincheck on the morning cuddles and all that, yeah? I've got an early call time."

Lewis watched you with that panty-dropping stare, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Will you call me when you get to work at least?"

"Of course," you replied, sliding into your dress and avoiding his intense gaze. "I'll see you later," you said with a forced smile before turning and making your way out of the bedroom.

Like a dog to a bone, Lewis followed closely behind in nothing but his briefs and that all-too-obvious aroused bulge that he proudly sported. Bending over to put on your heels, you flinched slightly at the unexpected touch from behind.

His hands flattened against your spine, trailing downwards until it reached your hips before settling on your ass.

With a sharp intake of breath, you turned around to face him, eyes wide with shock and arousal as his fingers squeezed the plump flesh of your backside. "You can’t just grab me like that," you protested weakly, even as your body leaned into his touch.

A devilish grin crossed Lewis’ face. "But you like it," he murmured huskily, gazing down at you with hooded eyes. "You sure I can't convince you to stay?"

"Nope."

Lewis pouted playfully, his hands still lingering on your hips as he leaned in for one last kiss. "Fine," he sighed dramatically, before pressing his lips to your forehead and releasing you with a parting slap on your ass. "I'll see you later, then."

You grinned up at him as you straightened your dress and made your way towards the front door. "Bye, Lewis," you called over your shoulder.

As soon as you stepped outside into the cool London air, reality hit hard. Your mind was a cyclone of emotions.

Why were you still craving the easy detachment of your previous arrangement? Surely you were just going through an adjustment period of cold feet. A big part of you felt skittish about going from independent and free to somebody's boo'd up ball-and-chain, especially with someone who equally enjoyed working as you did. Though you weren’t on Lewis' level of fame, you still had clout as a fashion stylist and worked with prominent magazines, such as Vogue and Vanity Fair. You faced plenty of trials and trepidations in your life, yet navigating this new realm of commitment would be your ultimate challenge.

The drive to your hotel was quiet, with your mind filled with thoughts of Lewis and the budding relationship between the two of you. Shaking off those thoughts for now, you focused on reaching the hotel safely and getting some rest before another long day on set tomorrow.

The next morning came far too soon for your liking. Despite having only slept for a few hours due to work calls and texts from Lewis throughout the night (something he did often but never seemed to tire), you dragged yourself out of bed when your alarm blared loudly.

After a quick shower and a strong cup of coffee, you were dressed and ready to head to the set for another long day of styling. As you arrived at the location, you were greeted by familiar faces - the models, photographers, and other crew members whom you had worked with countless times before in the last couple of months. You were currently on a six-month contract for Schön! and even though there was some shoots that required long work days, you appreciated the flexibility of the work.

Everyone was scurrying around, setting up equipment and making last minute adjustments before the shoot began. You made your way over to the fashion rack where designer clothing was carefully organized and ready to be styled on the models.

"Morning, Y/N!" A voice called out from across the room.

You turned to see one of your bosses, Tara, walking towards you with a smile on her face.

"Hey, Tara," you replied. "How's it going?"

"It's going good," she said, glancing around at the busy set. "Looks like another long day ahead of us."

You both chuckled, knowing that long days were just part of the job.

"So, what are we working with today?" Tara asked curiously as she looked over at the fashion rack.

"A mix of high-end brands and some vintage pieces," you replied, pulling out a beautiful Dior dress from its garment bag. "I'm excited to see how this looks on one of our models."

Tara nodded in agreement before getting pulled away by one of the photographers who needed her assistance. You went back to organizing and styling the clothes for each look on your mood board.

As the day went on, you couldn't help but feel a little distracted by the constant buzzing of your phone. Every few minutes, another text from Lewis would come through, each one more persistent than the last.

"Come with me to Australia," one read. "I'll book your flights."

"Wasn't it your fantasy to be bent over the railing of a hotel overlooking Hobsons Bay?" another said.

You sighed as you set your phone down on the table next to you, trying to focus on the task at hand. The shoot was going smoothly but with every text from Lewis, it became harder and harder to concentrate.

One thing was for sure: this nigga was extremely persistent.

You couldn't deny that a trip to Australia sounded tempting - it had been on your bucket list for years now. But at the same time, it wasn't practical for you to just drop everything and go away for an undetermined amount of time.

Or could you? an intrusive thought bubbled in your head. The hoe side of yourself was speaking, coming out from the depths of her hoeness cave. It often appeared whenever Lewis was involved, and let's be honest, it was probably the reason why you found yourself in this weird ass situation in the first place.

Think about that tongue of his, girl! ‘Member how he had you walking funny for three days straight after finishing in eighth place?!

You couldn't forget it, as it would always be ingrained in the fiber of your very being. You enjoyed seeing Lewis angry, especially when there was a mistake during race weekend. Not that you blamed him for losing, as the car wasn't up to par, but he had a unique way of channeling his anger through sexual pleasure.

A familiar shiver ran down your spine as you hit send on a three-letter response to him.

Well, there goes the idea of keeping my distance and any modicum of self-respect.

Bitch, you know you can't resist that dick, quipped your inner hoe.

And as usual, she was correct.

The hotel didn't have a direct view of Hobsons Bay, but the Yarra River and Botanical Gardens could still be seen from the balcony. It was nighttime, and as Lewis moved in a steady rhythm, your vision may not have been top-notch, but the sparkling city lights served as a focal point amidst the familiar feeling building up in your pelvic region, signaling an imminent orgasm.

You couldn't help but moan loudly as Lewis hit that spot inside of you that always made you lose control. He had you bent over the railing, one hand gripping your hip while the other played with your aching nodule. Each thrust sent bolts of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Fuck," he grunted in your ear. "You feel so good."

You couldn't respond, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. As his pace quickened, your moans grew louder and more desperate. The height from the penthouse's balcony was both terrifying and exhilarating, deafening in its intensity. It was a common choice for him whenever he visited Australia, as if being that high up meant less chance of encountering any spiders.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, Lewis stopped to bend down to bury his face in your core, working that sinful mouth of his. Your legs began to tremble as two of his fingers pushed inside you, matching the movements of his tongue.

He had always been a master at eating pussy, and it didn't take long for you to reach your climax. You cried out his name as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and satisfied. Lewis stood up, a smug grin on his face as he saw the effect he had on you. He turned you around to kiss you deeply, tasting your own essence on his lips.

"You're still the best I've ever had," he whispered against your lips.

After catching your breath, you put a smirk on your face. "That's because I am the best," you teased.

"You’re right 'bout that," he concurred, leading you to the patio couch.

He sat next to you, his hands running up your sides and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his hands on your body.

"You always know how to make me feel good," you murmured.

"I aim to please," he replied with a wicked grin, before leaning in to kiss you again.

Without breaking the kiss, Lewis maneuvered you so you were now straddling his lap. His lips moved down your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine. Your hands roamed his muscular back, feeling every ridge and dip of his body.

His hands traveled to your hips, guiding them as you began to grind against him. The friction between your bodies was building a delicious heat, making it hard for you both to control yourselves.

"God, I need you," he growled against your skin.

You moaned in response, eagerly meeting his lips again. Lewis thrust upwards, filling you to the hilt and causing a soft gasp to escape your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned back slightly and rocked your hips faster against his. The pressure was building between the two of you and it was becoming harder to keep quiet. Your nails raked across his skin and he hissed in pain.

"Mmm...easy there, baby girl," he rumbled out a low warning, giving your earlobe a gentle nip of reproach. "Can't have you mauling me before the big race this weekend. Need to look pretty for my adoring fans."

You scoffed and ground harder against him in sweet retaliation, making him curse roughly. "Please, I'll mark you up anyway I want," you husked.

Lewis chuckled and tightened his grip on your waist, holding you still as he thrust up into you with more force. Your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"Jesus Christ," he groaned, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chased his own release. He reached between your bodies to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, along with your moans and Lewis' low curses.

"That’s my girl takin' this dick so well," he croons softly. "You’re so fuckin' wet, baby. You like this dick, huh? This yours?"

Lewis' words only spurred you on, as you continued to ride him with reckless abandon. The pleasure was building inside of you, threatening to consume you completely.

"You know it's mine," you gasped out, your nails digging into his shoulders. "No one else's."

"Damn right," Lewis growled, his own release approaching fast. He gripped your hips tighter and slammed into you one last time, pushing you both over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him like a vice as you came undone, screaming his name as he followed suit shortly after.

Panting and sweating, the two of you collapsed onto the couch in a tangled heap. Lewis held you close, kissing your forehead gently.

"You're amazing," Lewis murmured, voice rough with satiated desire. His arms tightened around you, pulling your flushed body flush against his sweat-sheened skin.

You hummed out a breathless laugh, nuzzling your face against the solid warmth of his chest. "So are you."

For a long while, the two of you simply held each other close, basking in the post-coital glow. Lewis traced idle patterns across the exposed skin of your back, his touch reverent and tender.

Finally, with obvious reluctance, Lewis stirred beneath you.

"As much as I hate to move right now, we should probably get cleaned up."

The two of you stood up, still tangled in each other's embrace, and made your way to the bathroom. Lewis turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature before pulling you under the warm spray with him.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling content and blissful as he washed your body with slow, gentle movements. His hands lingered on your curves and crevices, eliciting soft moans from you.

"I could get used to this," Lewis murmured against your neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You chuckled and turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. "Me too."

And even though you are apprehensive, there is no denying that Lewis was still the best thing in your world, but it all can't be butterflies and rainbows...

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[randombush3]

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she looks at her phone. 

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

You: Estoy aquí!

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

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

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

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

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

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

Her eyebrows raise. 

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

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is full. 

The room is…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jo…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

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

“Your father would love her.” 

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

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

“She is very…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Dance with me!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

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

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

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

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

But, she values your presence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

The tour ends. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not subtle.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“England has a women’s team.” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

“You’re not answering my question.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is… classified.” 

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

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

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

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

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

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

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

They will resonate. 

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

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

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

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

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

Gio: The publicity plan. 

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

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

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

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

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

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

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

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

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

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

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

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

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

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

It goes like this for months. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

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

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

“No, that was last month.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

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

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

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

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

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

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

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

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

“I hate watching football with you.” 

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” 

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

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

“No.” 

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

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

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

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

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

“But you already—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

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

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

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

“Manches–”

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

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

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

“¡Vamos!”

…

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so nosy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

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

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

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

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

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

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

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

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

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

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

“A horse?” 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is another hour left.” 

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

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

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

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

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

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

“One of those massive bars?” 

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

Your contractions get closer together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can.” 

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

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

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

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

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

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

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

…

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

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

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

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

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

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

She is going to fall apart without you. 

[esrwag]

(EXTRA)ORDINARY LOVE

pedri gonzalez x famous!reader

summary: in which a relationship thought to last forever starts posting less of each other. will it be the end?

part 1: amigos de la infancia

sharing their friends to lovers relationship over the years through instagram posts. pedri is a professional fangirl.

warnings: language… for now.

NOVEMBER 26, 2013

liked by pedri, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr and 24,842 others

yourusername xDDDDDD

view all 1,105 comments

user finally scrolled to the bottom of her account

user 2k photos and ofc pedri is in her first post

user who else is stalking in 2023 👀

user 👀👀

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr 👀👀👀

user ❤️❤️

NOVEMBER 25, 2018

liked by pedri, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr and 199,192 others

yourusername happy 16th birthday to the muppet who has held me captive for 13 years, here’s to many more. 🍌

view all 226 comments

pedri was the first picture neccessary...

yourusername mayb.

user her posts are still up 😭😭😭

user one piece is real…

MAY 27, 2019

liked by yourusername, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr and 31,568 others

pedri HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND 🧌

view all 77 comments

yourusername 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr where’s my post

user nothing has changed

NOVEMBER 25, 2019

liked by pedri, jennaortega and 347,724 others

yourusername pedri: a compilation - feliz cumple 🧙‍♂️

view all 300 comments

pedri CONFIDENTIAL FILES !!!!!

pedri can't trust these hoez 😔

yourusername not really confidential if they were on the big screen

pedri watch ur back.

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr why was i cropped out.

pedri this isn’t about you.

yourusername yeah go away

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🙁🙁🙁

DECEMBER 13, 2019

liked by pedri, bellahadid and 561,788 others

yourusername mi primera colaboración con j.balvin y el guincho (!!!) disponible en todas las plataformas MAÑANA. new song "con altura" estais readyyy ?!?!? ✈️🩷✈️🩷✈️🩷

view all 11,041 comments

pedri LO MEJOR QUE HE ESCHUCADO EN BASTANTE TIEMPOO

user me ha encantado 😍

bellahadid 😍😍😍

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🩷🩷🩷

user what country is she from, can someone tell me?

user queen u dropped this 👑

DECEMBER 14, 2019

liked by yourusername, ferrantorres and 43,790 others

pedri 🔁😎🎉😜🔁 link in bio y stories

view all 118 comments

user trash

yourusername 😁🩷

tasca_fernando love!!!!

ferrantorres 🔥🔥🔥

user we love a supportive bf

MAY 27, 2020

liked by yourusername, andre3000 and 100,160 others

pedri just want to wish André 3000 the most special, magical birthday ever. i love you with all my heart. also, happy birthday to my y/n

view all 180 comments

yourusername 🙁🙁😠

pedri te quiero 😘

yourusername yo también <3

andre3000 thanks man 😎 you really know how to mend an achy breaky heart! tell y/n i said happy birthday

pedri anytime!

yourusername i am right HERE.

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA

user who is she

user why didnt this go viral

user 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

user pedri 🤝 ryan reynolds

AUGUST 20, 2020

liked by pedri, tasca_fernando and 1,057,984 others

yourusername the one and only time i will get cheesy. i am beyond proud of you and am ready to support you in this new chapter of your live. watching you achieve you dreams means so much. i love you to the moon (i am not crying) visca barça y visca cataluña ❤️💙❤️💙

view all 460 comments

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr the last slide 🤣😂😂

fcbarcelona ❤️💙

pedri 💙❤️💙❤️

user barça’s future

jennaortega 🐐🐐🐐

OCTOBER 20, 2020

liked by pedri, fcbarcelona and 954,729 others

yourusername maybe ucl nights are better when he scores

view all 2,151 comments

pedri graciasssss 😁

yourusername not you

pedri wow

yourusername kidding

pedri woah 😳 well 😅 then i will continue scoring

pedri who

yourusername messi

pedri asked 😂

yourusername ok.

user who's that

user probably her side

user it's her cousin weirdo

NOVEMBER 25, 2020

liked by pedri, rosylopez78, and 920,475 others

yourusername happy birthday to this boy 🫶🏼

view all 420 comments

pedri stink stink

yourusername 18 has looked better on others, but you'll get there 😘

rosylopez78 ❤️❤️❤️

user babe wake up new pedri pics just dropped

yourusername will drop more just for pedri nation

MAY 27, 2021

liked by yourusername, frenkiedejong and 327,742

pedri happy birthday to the love of my life, you've changed my life more than you know. i love you 🤍🩵

view all 534 comments

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr happy birthday to my biggest bully 🤥

yourusername ty.

user i'm trying to be like them

yourusername writing you a song as we speak 🥲

pedri still can’t believe i’m your muse. seriously i love you

karinadiaz lovely couple

user dead six feet under decaying gone

siramartinezc my baby's bday <333

yourusername 🥰😍😘

pedri OUR baby*

DECEMBER 13, 2021

liked by pedri, landonorris and 1,323,307 others

yourusername if there's one thing i'm infinitely proud of tonight, it's the incredible styling i did on myself. #Jokes #ProudofYou

view all 1,537 comments

user 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

user she always makes it about herself

user that’s their dynamic…

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr ❤️❤️❤️

pedri you’re not wrong. i am so going to devour you

yourusername 😳😳😳

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr @rosylopez78

user LMFAOOO

JANUARY 1, 2022

liked by pedri, mikkykiemeney and 2,001,332 others

yourusername 2021 adeu 2022 holAAAA :} to start off the year i have decided to release glue song early !!! my favorite love song i've written so far, i hope this makes you feel happy as much as it makes me. big shoutout to my friends and family for making me feel loved and who i am also dedicating this song to. finally, big love to my pedro, the reason as to why i wrote this song in the first place. please enjoy 🤍🏹

view all 5,932 comments

pedri i love you

yourusername me more

mikkykiemeney 2022 has been saved!! this is a masterpiece y/n ily

user i love this song (i'm stuck with seeing couples posting themsevles to it)

pablogavi 🥺🙌❤️

siramartinezc my dream girl

user need someone to make me feel the way this song sounds

yourusername you’ll find ur person <3

user who's cutting onions

landonorris goated 🫡

user ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

FEB 14 2022

liked by pedri, zendaya and 2,325,127 others

yourusername MOTOMAMI ALBUM ❤️‍🔥 OUT NOW. madre miiiia! you asked, and we listened: after 3 years, it makes me very happy to share this precious art with you. thank you for waiting. thank you to everyone who helped bring these crazy ideas to life !! i also want to thank landonorris, who made time in his busy schedule to help shoot and photograph the music videos. lastly, i want to dedicate this album to my mother and boyfriend. thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart. i love you motomamis.

p.s. i have a special annoucment in a few weeks. it starts with t and ends with our ;)

view all 17,234 comments

pedri album of the year. beyond proud of you 🔛🔝🦋❤️‍����

yourusername bebe :(

user MOTHER MOTHER MOTHERRRRR

user we love you y/n ❤️‍🔥

bellahadid mamacita i love it so much 🦋🦋

pablogavi T..OUR??!?!?!

user he's so me

landonorris it was a pleasure 🦋 thank you. everything about the album is absolutely amazing

danielricciardo can i be hired next... i taught lando everything he knows about cameras

landonorris NO YOU DIDN'T

yourusername hired! i believe you

danielricciardo i won't disappoint 🫡

user i'm completely obsessed with the entire concept.

user this new era is going to slay

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr it was mid

MARCH 8 2022

liked by yourusername, pablogavi and 637,437 others

pedri always the happiest with you. happy anniversary to my person, my love, my y/n. five years and counting. here’s to growing old but never growing up 👴🏼❤️👵🏼

view all 1,845 comments

user bisexual awkwening....

user ask me if im ok

user a-are…y-y-you.

user BITCH NO.

yourusername brb. crying.

yourusername you’re my my my my lover

pedri 🥹🫶🏼🫶🏼

user IVE NEVER KNOWN SOMEONE LIKE U OHH TANGLED AND LOVED STRUCK BY YOUU

user the REAL childhood best friends to lovers

ferrantorres happy anniversary ❤️

MARCH 8 2022

liked by pedri, siramartinezc and 1,198,216 others

yourusername happy anniversary my love. thank you for always fixing everything with just a smile. it’ll be my pleasure to write you love songs for the rest of our lives 🤍🩵

view all 2,811 comments

pablogavi mama... papa...

user IMCRYING. SOMUCH.

pedri 🥹🥹🥺🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥺🥹🥺🥹

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr cringe

yourusername just say you’re lonely and go

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 😔😔😔😔

pedri enough you two 🙄

user the most unproblematic and cutest couple in the game

rosylopez78 en los buenos y en los malos momentos... siempre juntos (trans: in the good and bad times... always together)

JUNE 24 2022

liked by pedri, danielricciardo and 1,323,775 others

yourusername BARCELONA T'ADORO ❤️‍🔥🦋 motomami tour has been amazing and i'm extremely grateful for the love my fans have given me. i cannot wait for what's next, latinoamerica y the states be ready. also swipe for a surprise >.< they somehow got past security

view all 7,209 comments

pedri i am motopapi #y/nhive #1fan #TopSupporter

yourusername 😅😅🤣

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr i was forced to go (i had so much fun 😭😭❤️)

landonorris i can’t wait for ur london show 😎

danielricciardo we*

aurorapaezg ❤️‍🔥🦋❤️‍🔥🦋❤️‍🔥 bellaaaaa

user HURRRRRY COME TO MEXICOOOO

NOVEMBER 22 2022

liked by aurorapaezg, pedri and 2,200,406 others

yourusername dropped by to support 🇪🇸 con aurora y fer

user ate that up

user i need them all in a way that is concerning to feminism

user ayoo????

user same

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 3 years later and i’m still getting cropped out.

user SPAIN TRASH

user un grupo muy TOP!

user i thought she was on tour ???

user put a break in between to come support pedri

TWITTER

ale’s note 🏷️ : so… !!!! this is the end of part one. it was very fun and interesting to create my first social media au. let’s all pretend it’s in spanish only because i don’t want to go back and forth. sorry for any errors. it only goes down from here hehehehe

[9w1ft]

fam…. wow, what a year.

in the summer, i went to karlie’s birthday show, and on the way back i stopped through santa monica and pacific palisades just to soak in the rich kid ambiance, and well, no, actually, i wanted to check out jennifer meyer! because, well, idk. inspiration struck. it’s such a fun kaylorverse brand! and i thought, if enamored enough, i might be convinced into buying a tiny heart ring or charm or something, but they had just gotten in one of something recently and when i saw it i immediately knew i would be talked into it.

…so i picked up this tiny necklace from jen meyer. for obvious reasons.. i couldn’t help it! it spoke to me!!

fast forward to a handful of weeks later and taylor is… wearing evil eye jewelry! several pieces! more than several pieces!! even an evil eye stud!! and i come to deduce later on that the first time she wore the bracelet was the day before karlie’s birthday concert. which is a true coincidence that i love, because, it’s the day @taylorrepdetective and i happened to arrive in LA. and so today, reflecting on the eye theory as i do, i was thinking today about how my life changed shape, because of all of these things.

for april 18th is, as you may know, eye theory day! the day @swift-79 and i finalized and i posted the og eye theory post, back in 2019. also known as the eyepocalypse, discovereye, the start of many things.

today marks the four five year anniversary. it’s pretty wild that we’re still kickin it five years in! and it’s become a sort of tradition for me where i like to post a little something personal in honor of the day. so allow me to continue this one gratis.

second part of my story is that a little over a year ago now, i went to opening night of the eras tour with @theprologues and the day after the concert, on my way back, i stopped through scottsdale and walked through all the boutique shops and souvenir shops and picked up a trinket. a ring that called out to me, for…obvious reasons.

i mean, how could i not?? to commemorate a wonderful trip to meet a dear friend, and for all the eye theory things that happened on opening night!

and it’s been a year since then and i’m one of those people that just doesn’t take jewelry off, so it’s been on my finger for all this time. it was a snug fit, and silver, so it both wasn’t coming off easily and wouldn’t be leaving a green ring on my hand or anything, so i have kept it there. for a little over a year now.

but the other day someone was asking me about it. and i was like oh, i got this in arizona and so i went to adjust it to show it off because the center stone was off to the side and when i twisted it i noticed a mark on my finger, an indent, for having worn it so long.. and i sorta laughed to myself because, you know, there is an indentation. in the shape of an eye.

so i decided to take the thing off for a sec and let my finger breathe and so i take off the ring and notice— the shape of the ring has changed.

what once was centered, has now fully to morphed and warped the right side. 🙈🙈 c’est la vie.

i only write this out to say that, it had me thinking. about all the fun we had for this fourth turn around the theory, all the dear friends i have met, all the tour outfits, the accessories and merch?!… all of the little connections we have made over this… thing 😆 it had me thinking about how there are always going to be these fun little moments in life where the universe winks at you and, and how if you can manage it, it’s a charmed way to live, really. reminded me of the time i lost karlie’s gem on my swarovski evil eye bracelet at rep tour tokyo! that is to say, when the going gets tough, it can still be fun. if you work to give yourself permission. as one might say…there are cathedrals everywhere for those with the eyes to see 🥴

it didn’t really occur to me until this week just how close the release date is to the eye theory anniversareye ☺️ and i’m not sure what this countdown is for but it’s running out so close to when the op was posted five years ago so i decided to post around now :) not to say any of it was anything more than accidental. but hey, laughter is the best medicine, is it not?

so omnom, i say! omnom!

and so today, on ts11 album release eve,

i implore all of you (and myself) to open our hearts juuust a crack,

and keep on the lookout for the gold nuggets that are going to be there. assume taylor will perjure herself a bit during this trial, relax, allow yourself the enjoy what we get, like nobody else truly can.

and so eye enter into evidence…

literally a bajillion things let’s be real like oh my god

our tarnished post of eyes, my indentations, shaped like…occulations,

our talismans and charms.

the tap, tap, tap of me selecting bert memes, my veins of bloodshot pink.

all’s fair in love and…

poetreye.

[taylorxtiva]

A list of all my Tiva fanfics

Author: Whoa_MyNinja

Read them all on A03!

I Run to You

Summary: When Ziva has a nightmare about Somalia, there is only one person that she wants to run to, much to the annoyance of Ray. But it was different with Tony. It was always different.

Set some time in the middle of season 8.

TW: Mentions r*pe and violence. Nothing graphic or detailed.

Fond Farewell

Summary: We had a connection, and obviously a very fond farewell..." Tony told Tim, as they sat on the bench overlooking the park, with Tali in her stroller.

My take on the 'fond farewell" between Tony and Ziva in 11x02, that led to... well.. you know...

The Oceans We Cross

Summary: Tony and Ziva are perfectly happy living their safe, domestic life in Paris with their daughter, Tali. But, when one of their own gets gravely injured protecting Director Vance, everything changes. Before they know it, they're on a plane to Washington DC, being dragged back into a life they thought they'd left behind.

From old friends and foes, to danger and desperation, they are reminded of all the sacrifices they have made... and of all the oceans we cross for the ones we love.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Summary: It was finally over. Ziva David was finally free. And it was time for her to return to her family.

A post 17x11 fic, of the reunion we all deserved but never got.

‘Couldn’t live without you, I guess.’

Summary: f there was ever a time and place to tell someone you loved them (albeit, cryptically), then while you’re bound to a chair, and pumped full of truth serum in the middle of the Somalian desert while rescuing said someone, would be it.

The Chain

Summary:

Set between 7x09 "Child's Play" and 7x10 "Faith".

Tony gives Ziva a thoughtful gift for Hanukkah.

Friends Don’t

Summary: Songfic. "Friends Don't" by Maddie & Tae.

'Friends don't call you in the middle of the night, couldn't even tell you why, they just felt like saying hi. Friends don't stand around playing with their keys, finding reasons not to leave, trying to hide the chemistry. Drive a little too slow, take the long way home, get a little too close, we do, but friends don't.'

My Whole Heart

Summary: Ziva tells Abby about her feelings for Tony. Inspired by the scene between Tony and Abby in 13x34.

Here to Stay

Summary: Ziva has finally reunited with Tony and Tali in Paris. But anxiety is still her enemy. His, doubt. And now they're together – what does it mean? What does it mean for them to be a real couple? After everything they've been through together, can their love withstand the storm?

Set in 2019, after 17x11.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Summary: Senior is in town for Christmas, and he's very surprised that his son and his girlfriend are... well, not a couple. So he thinks it's time to do something about it.

Set during 10x10, "You Better Watch Out".

Part canon, part AU.

From A to Z (oneshots)

Summary: NCIS contains four letters of the alphabet... but what about the rest?

From A to Z contains one-shots, drabbles, and short fics for every letter of the alphabet, centering around our favourite MCRT team.

May also feature occasional appearances from the special ops team in LA! Quite Tiva-centric, but also featuring other couples too! Canon and headcanon. Some canon divergence, AU, 'fix-it' fics.

Stakeouts, Secrets, and Other Simple Things (SSAOST)

Summary:

Rule 100: You don't keep secrets from the people you love, unless it's a matter of life or death.

One blood test.

One secret.

One family.

When a blood test reveals some life-changing news, will it bring people together, or will it threaten to destroy everything?

[humblequestvinyl]

penthouse

PENTHOUSE, EDDIE DIAZ X FEM!READER

APART OF THE 'ROLLING UP THE WELCOME MAT' SERIES

SUMMARY: y/n’s packing up the penthouse with eddie, reminiscing on the times they had together, both good and bad.

inspired by penthouse by kelsea ballerini

previous chapter | next chapter

lowercase intentional! wc: 1.1k 

warning: swearing, vvv much angst! divorce meeting/hearing, anger & a courthouse

a/n: i swear on 911 on abc i did not forget abt this series, i was just busy doing smth for taylor swifts eras tour. anyway enjoy <33

“BUCK I HAVE TO GO PACK UP THE HOUSE.”

y/n told buck softly, before quickly leaving his house, and getting into her jeep.

the entire ride was silent. no music, no singing, and all of LA’s traffic was quiet as all could be. the girl was left alone with her thoughts, thinking about how badly it would hurt to roll up the welcome mat they had picked out right after they had moved in.

december 16th. exactly two weeks after their wedding date, and four days after they had gotten back from their honeymoon. a penthouse with a backyard for chris, and maybe a few more kids down the road, outlooking the mountains.

a penthouse that was filled with so many birthdays, holidays, and endless fights between the two. a penthouse the diaz’s thought they could call their forever home.

guess that’s kind’ve hard to do when you’re playing house in a home that didn’t feel like one.

it took the girl exactly 12 minutes to get to her old home, seeing eddie’s car already sitting in the driveway, and she dreaded going in. having to be in the same room as him, having to try to hold a conversation with him for the first time in two months.

finally taking a deep breath in, she walked inside, seeing eddie already packing up the kitchen, leaving half of it for y/n to take.

“take it all.”y/n spoke up, causing the man’s head to snap towards her, with almost a glare of some sort, “i’ve got enough plates back in nashville.”

“i’m only here to take my clothing and whatever else is mine.”she told him, before walking towards their old bedroom, leaving him standing there silent, something that wasn’t new between the two.

grabbing a box that was leaning up against the wall, she walked into the closet, seeing all of her clothing scattered on the floor, just the way she had left it. the first thing that had caught her eye was the black jumper she had worn in 2019, with flashes of the night before running through her mind.

all of her old tour costumes, red carpet dresses she wore with eddie right by her side, and all of the clothing she would wear while they stayed up late at night, watching the bachelorette. all packed away into a box labeled ‘storage’.

the last thing that stood was her wedding dress. 

the gorgeous silk wedding dress she spent hours upon hours searching for with her mom, going to endless bridal appointments looking for, and spending way more money than she was willing to admit. 

all being packed away into a box, forcing her to act like nothing had happened.

packing up her office, her half of the bathroom, her half of the storage room they had in the penthouse. all of it being gone, trying to get rid of the memories associated with them. pain went through her chest, with tears building up knowing she was the reason they were packing up the boxes, and moving out of the penthouse she adored, but knowing she couldn’t stay there anymore.

family dinners, dancing in the living room with eddie to their favorite taylor swift song, endless family game nights (with buck joining them everytime) and the christmas parties they always hosted. all gone because she was blowing up the life they had together.

picking up her guitar case off of the floor of the closet, she walked out to the jeep, stuffing everything she could into the car before walking back inside, seeing eddie standing in front of their dining room table.

“what do you want to do with the table?”eddie spoke up, not daring to look at the girl in front of him, “you were the one who bought it, figured you’d want it.”

“keep it, sell it, donate it.”she suggested, before shrugging, “i don’t care eddie. do what you want with it.”

“you want nothing to do with anything in this household besides whatever was distinctly yours?”he questioned as she placed her old key on the counter, shaking her head slightly.

“too many bad memories associated with it.”

—-- 

(ONE WEEK LATER.)

“HE WANTS WHAT?!”

y/n gripped her steering wheel hard as she was stuck in standstill LA traffic (one thing she wouldn’t miss), trying to get to her divorce hearing.

“he wants alimony along with child support, or half of the house with child support.”y/n’s lawyer told her, and she could feel her anger boil over, “he didn’t pay for the fucking house!”

“like yes he contributed, but he sure as hell didn’t pay for it!”she exclaimed, and she could already tell her lawyer, maeve was cringing, knowing she was right, “i will gladly pay the child support, but i want visitation with chris.”

“that kid means more to me than anything. i’m not abandoning him.”y/n stayed firm, and she heard maeve hum on the other line of the phone, “what about the other half of it?”

y/n stayed silent, debating her options.

having an alimony hearing every other week, with press standing outside the courthouse every single time, causing the divorce to be even messier, or have him take half of the house that she wanted nothing to do with.

“let him take half of the house.”she finally spoke up after a few moments, feeling her knuckles turn white, “it's better than being stuck at alimony hearings every other week.”

“are you sure?”maeve asked, and y/n stayed silent, “i know how much you love that house.”

“give him the house.”she stated one last time, before they figured out the final details as she pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse, praying everything would go over smoothly.

something that rarely happened with the two.

as y/n walked in, the h/c girl saw her soon to be ex husband standing with his lawyer, waiting for the girls arrival so they could get it over with. when they walked in, the two sat across from each other, his brown eyes met her e/c ones.

he could tell she knew. she knew about him wanting the half of the house that she adored, one that she loved so much. one they had picked out together, and now they were ripping it apart like it was just a piece of paper.

you can’t win when you’re playing house, in a broken penthouse.

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

Stats from Movies 501-600

Top 10 Movies - Highest Number of Votes

Drag Me To Hell (2009) had the most votes with 1,156 votes. The Sudbury Devil (2023) had the least votes with 363 votes.

The 10 Most Watched Films by Percentage

Aliens (1989) was the most watched film with 59.5% of voters out of 785 saying they had seen it. Roadkill (2011) had the least "Yes" votes with 1.0% of voters out of 597.

The 10 Least Watched Films by Percentage

The Purge: Anarchy (2014) was the least watched film with 71.8% of voters out of 570 saying they hadn’t seen it. Awoken (2020) had the least "No" votes with13.4% of voters out of 677.

The 10 Most Known Films by Percentage

Aliens (1989) was the best known film, only 1.1% of voters out of 785 saying they’d never heard of it.

The 10 Least Known Films by Percentage

The Sudbury Devil (2023) was the least known film, 86,2% of voters out of 368 saying they’d never heard of it.

The movies part of the statistic count and their polls below the cut.

Wrong Turn 2: Dead End (2007) Wrong Turn 3: Left for Dead (2009) Wrong Turn 4: Bloody Beginnings (2011) Wrong Turn 5: Bloodlines (2012) Wrong Turn 6: Last Resort (2014) Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III (1990) Texas Chainsaw 3D (2013) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006) Ghostwatch (1992) Nekromantik (1988)

Hostel: Part II (2007) Hostel: Part III (2011) Antiviral (2012) Dead Ringers (1988) Drag Me to Hell (2009) Becky (2020) Stepfather 3 (1992) Roadkill (2011) Black Sheep (2006) Awoken (2019)

Exeter (2015) Excision (2012) Psycho Goreman (2020) V/H/S/94 (2021) The Lair of the White Worm (1988) Mad God (2021) Dash (2022) Don't Open Till Christmas (1984) C.H.U.D. (1984) Satan's Slave (1976)

Bad Taste (1987) The Deadly Spawn (1983) Let's Scare Jessica to Death (1971) Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981) Laid to Rest (2009) Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2 (2011) Rosemary's Baby (1968) The Midnight Meat Train (2008) Underworld (2003) The Last House on the Left (1972)

Little Shop of Horrors (1960) The Hills Have Eyes (1977) Aliens (1986) Wrong Turn (2021) A Haunting in Venice (2023) Old (2021) Cloverfield (2008) 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016) Cloverfield Paradox (2018) The Invitation (2022)

Saw II (2005) Saw III (2006) Saw IV (2007) Saw V (2008) Saw VI (2009) The Curse of La Llorona (2019) Saltburn (2023) Saw 3D (2010) Jigsaw (2017) Spiral (2021)

Child's Play 2 (1990) Child's Play 3 (1991) Bride of Chucky (1998) Seed of Chucky (2004) Curse of Chucky (2013) Cult of Chucky (2017) Paranormal Activity 2 (2010) Paranormal Activity 3 (2011) Paranormal Activity 4 (2012) Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones (2014)

Paranormal Activity: The Ghost Dimension (2015) Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin (2021) The Purge: Anarchy (2014) The Purge: Election Year (2016) The First Purge (2018) The Forever Purge (2021) Don't Breathe (2016) Don't Breathe 2 (2021) American Psycho 2 (2002) Dawn of the Dead (1978)

Day of the Dead (1985) Night of the Living Dead (1990) Diary of the Dead (2007) Survival of the Dead (2009) Happy Birthday to Me (1981) Bloody New Year (1987) Saw X (2023) Pieces (1982) The Sudbury Devil (2023) Demon (2015)

Butterfly Kisses (2018) 12 Hour Shift (2020) Bloody Birthday (1981) Def by Temptation (1990) The Hunt (2020) Godzilla (1954) The Babysitter (2017) The Babysitter: Killer Queen (2020) The Silenced (2015)

[nuancedeaths]

Lowkey obsessed with the idea that Soap and Ghost have been pining after each other shortly after meeting in 2019 and that MWII takes place JUST after they accidentally let their guard down and kissed. Like, nothing serious, but its awkward between them and Soap hasn't even seen Ghost's face. Its all a huge mess and Ghost's best shot at dealing with it is trying to avoid Soap, and Soap is being overly enthusiastic, trying to initiate conversations, touch, anything to get Ghost to communicate with him.

They manage to go a week after the kiss without really speaking to each other unless absolutely necessary, but then there's the whole thing with Hassan, and when Shepherd informs Ghost he and Soap will be leading the mission, he can't help but mutter "fucking hell" as he notices Soap approaching with a massive smile on his face, just KNOWING he won't be able to dodge this one.

They manage to keep things professional there, but Ghost can tell Soap's trying so hard to get his attention.

He still has strong feelings for Soap. They may have been drunk at the time of the kiss, at some sort of personal celebration of Gaz, but he doesn't regret it at all. It is, however, very awkward now, even if he doesn't want to talk about it.

On their way over to Las Almas, he figures they should clear the air and rip the band aid off.

He begins just as they're about to land, "listen, about the other night..." but Soap stops him. His journal is open in his lap and he scrawls a note along the bottom of the page, tearing it out and handing it over to Ghost just as they're landing and have no time to keep talking.

Don't sweat it, sunshine

And if THAT doesn't make Ghost's heart flatline on the spot... he's just thankful Soap can't see his furious blush as they're walking up to the waiting man.

"Alejandro!"

"Sergeant MacTavish!"

"Call me Soap."

He then turns to face Ghost. "Laswell says they call you Ghost."

Ghost can see the look on Soap's face, knowing very well what he'd just written on that note and what he was about to say–

"Actually, I think he prefers–"

"That'll do!"

And later, in the Alone mission, their professional resolve falters a bit, knowing they'd need to draw on their personal relationship to get through the ordeal. Their usual flirtatious personalities come back, any cover up getting really thin.

"Oh, so you do like me?"

"I like you alive."

Soap doesn't even try to hide it when they're reunited with Rodolfo, making his intentions very clear, with "that's why I love the Ghost," and later when Rodolfo asks about calling him Johnny, "nah, only Ghost can pull that off."

When Ghost takes off the mask, he doesn't care about the rest. He looks only at Johnny, this was for Johnny and only for him. He watches his face his reaction. It feels like something far more than what it looked.

And they 100% made out after they get back from "killing" Graves and Johnny tells him how pretty he is while they're sitting together somewhere private.

They go out for drinks with the rest of the 141 later that night, sure that the rest of the team will be able to see something between them, but they manage to keep it secret...

...for now

[foxes-that-run]

2024 Haylor timeline

Timeline Tag, or years 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023 and 2024.

1 January - 17 HSleaks - Guess I’m alright, One and only Voice note, Spanish Girl.

3 January - Harry in the Caribbean with TR. Taylor LA.

6 January - By your side lately leak on anniversary. Rumour H LA.

7 January - Taylor at Golden Globes in LA.

11 January - Harry bought stake in SS Daley. Taylor in NY zebra top & sunglasses at night

12 January reports Travis and Taylor are fighting after Christmas Day, (helmet throw).

15 January - HS too much sauce leaked. Iheartradio posted it.

17 January - Deux Moi H LA 6 - 16 January

19 January - a photo of TR with Jeff at LOT Wembley last June.

20 January - Joe, TR and Zayn at Loewe show at Paris FW, some guy gives TR a neck rub. Stalker arrested at Taylor’s NY apartment

22 January - a stalker was charged for harassing Harry :( after he came back to  London earlier. TS stalker on the same day

29 January - inappropriate viral deepfake images of Taylor. X bans ‘Taylor Swift’ search. TK kiss Back to Nashville after 10 hours.

30 January - Taylor search on now kiss viral. 

1 February - Harry’s 30th birthday.

4 February - Grammys, LA TTPD announced

5 February - Joe Alwyn whinging he dated TS. Joe liked tweet

7 February - eras Tokyo, Holy Ground/Dear Reader. Says “I’ve been working on Tortured Poets since right after I turned in Midnights …I’ve been working on it for about two years, I worked on it throughout the US tour” Tyler share snippet of music

9 February - Travis Kelce hasn’t spoken to Taylor in a week since the Grammy’s, didn't know rest of line in Karma or what country she was in said he felt the power of his beard.

11 February - TK wins Super Bowl. Taylor fly's Tokyo-LV-Melbourne to be there and drunk dances. TK yelled at and pushed coach then partied after kids killed at parade for Chiefs. Harry wears packers beanie. Taylor makes ick face when TK screams 'Viva Las Vegas'

14 February - Harry and TR photographed leaving dinner at night. Blind item that TR is calling paps, they are then not seen together again for a month.

15 February - Daily Mail: “Put the beer down, Travis - it's not IF Taylor dumps you... but WHEN: After the coach bashing, drunken disorder and tone-deaf post-shooting selfies, image-obsessed Swift will now shake off brand Kelce”

16 February- Melbourne,  Red and YLM

17 February - rumors Joe cheated in October 2021. Taylor said “a song to match the moment” and played a medley of "Getaway Car", "August" and "TOSOTD" , then TIMT

18 February - Taylor “Melbourne, you are the love of my life”. Surprise songs - CBBH (3rd ever play) and Daylight mashup then teardrops on my guitar on piano. Harry then went to a Man U football game (in pants without elastic!!) smiling!!!! With Sony CEO.

20 February - Taylor dinner in Sydney. Harry train London - Paris, bodyguard Paddy indicates work. FW next week

23 February - Travis comes to Australia, not for the 4 days Taylor had off but when she went back to work. Taylor fly's jet back to the US to bring Travis and friend to Australia. Taylor goes to the Zoo twice, once with the band and once with Travis. Travis rents a silver Lamborghini and drives it too fast and runs red lights in the Sydney CBD. Travis comes to one concert. Scott swift again lined up TK for a photo ops to kiss Taylor. Surprise songs HYGTG and White Horse/Coney Island mash up with Sabrina Carpenter.

24 February -  Gemma has a baby! 8 months after Harry sung Sweet Creature at Wembley. 💚 Travis flys back to the US to attend a Chiefs party, left noon the day after the show. His total flight time was 26+ hours to spend 51 hours in Australia. Counting return time for the jet the time in air was longer than he spent in Australia. IION/IWYW and Haunted/exile.

26 February - Columbia records shares a TikTok of empty as it was scene ‘where you want to go?’ Maroon

27 February - Scott swift punches a pap in Sydney. Harry at trader Joes in la.

2 March - Taylor plays IDWLF/Dress and Mine/Starlight. At the Brit awards Roman Kemp pranks Calvin Harris to drink a drink called Harry Styles Bath water, a Saltburn joke. This all happened almost on the anniversary of the Shake an Apple of a Tree Tweet

3 March - TR play opens in NY, Harry doesn’t go. He was in LA.

6 March - DBATC/Babe surprise songs. TKs BFF unfollows Taylor

7 March - blind item rumor boybander and GF seeing other people.

8 March TK at the Singapore show, brings a friend and manager, TK texting during IKYWT. Sparks fly/ gold rush and false god/slut surprise song. Harry back in London, TRs play from 3-31 in ny and not seen attending. Pleasing ‘Single at last’. Jacks album released, Taylor didn’t mention.

9 March - TK at last eras for 2 nights looks bored, a bit dazed with glasses in dark, phone taken off him, no kiss at end.

10 March - twitter users say x, x highly publicised that Taylor and Travis attended exclusive Gucci post Oscar’s party where photos are banned, Taylor not seen. 5 days later a photo of Travis holding an Oscar inside the Gold party…. No Taylor… TK liked photo with trump

12-14 March - TK no Taylor at gym, Justin Timberlake concert and lunch. Taylor hasn’t been seen since Singapore.

14 March - Eternals 2, a marvel movie starring Harry was cancelled because the studio is focusing on movies that are assured success.

14 March - Harry backstage at Mitch’s show in NY!! TRs play was on 10 mins away, she came after, arriving at 9:30/10, they left before encore with TR look to be arguing, Harry was walking alone an hour later. First time seen in a month. New leaked angle of MSG Karaoke with Harry and Taylor - maroon added as a surprise song to eras film

15 March -Harry walking around NY with TR and separately with Maxwell Ritz. And at the white cube gallery.

16 March - page 6 reports Bob Iger who paid Taylor $70m for the eras movie, says saw TS & TK in no photo event.

17 March - Harry in Brooklyn at townhouse with TR with bag, last sighting for another month+. Taylor repeats Joe in Bahamas holiday with TK for beach. 300 photos from Backgrid drop at once and TMZ video.

19 March - Harry returns to London. Seen carrying a white rose with James Cordon.

20 March - on his podcast TK talked about babies life&style. Blind item that Taylor doesn’t appreciate narrative contribution.

22 March - Harry in UK studio RAK. Taylors flight goes via KC>LA. TK Cleveland funeral

24 March - Taylor seen for the first time in a week at Nobu with Travis, Taylor stern words. TK sweatpants with holes. The 300 Bahama's photos all drop the next day.

26 March - TR VF article where she says “My work is the most interesting thing to me, so that’s what I’ll say about that.” And talks about finding safety for herself, in August she talked about safety within a relationship.

28 March - Harry swan lake London, later hosts football party and runs from paps

1 April - TK and umbrellor arrive in LA, plane flew L.A.-Nashville-Philli (his brother)-La for Easter, Taylor not seen for a week, not at iHeartawards. TR Columbia

5 April - Taylor barnies diner no LK

6 April - Taylor releases Apple Music playlists of her own songs in stages of grief. Video emerges of Joe saying his costars Alison’s name in a sex scene (in the Final Cut of CWF episode 3, (at 11:55 in) Character name is Frances (and Joe says F Frances at 12:10). He threw a party in Taylor’s house with the co star on 19 April 22, Taylor’s 22 Brit award is in photo. One tweet Harry in LA Aiport.

7 April - rumour Taylor’s jet went to Nashville. Photo of TR Columbia.

8 April - LT Larry denial got him lots of media.

9 April - Taylor seen in a car LA TK dinner

10 April - second sighting of Harry in LA

11 April - Harry pictured at Masters golf torment, Niall also there! Taylor “recently” with Selena, Sabrina. TK graduation, blind drinking too much.

12 April - DM: “Taylor Swift must be getting sick of this about TKTK & Taylor sushi park in the evening.

13 April - Taylor and TK at Coachella, watch bleachers and ice spice, TK very possessive manhandling, picking her up, shaking and smothering her. Taylor looks out of it, happy

15 April - Harry Japan w/GF Twitter sighting. Also sightings in Hampstead.

19 April - TTPD, Harry seen in Japan. Taylor posted short with TK included

20 April - Harry seen in Japan with TR, TR seen at airport on 24th

25 April - Taylor, Gigi, TK & Bradley Cooper (Gigi's partner) dinner in California. Blind MH didn't sign an NDA and there is mutually assured destruction.

27 April - TK and Taylor at mahomes charity event, Travis embarrassing, yells viva Las Vegas again and Taylor looks intoxicated /out of it while he pulls her along. TK party no TS in Vegas. Plane flew to LA then Nashville next day

29 April - Harry seen in London

[aduckinpain]

Orange heals when you bleed Red

Tags: Carlando, Carlos Sainz centered, Carlos Sainz Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Rookies Carlando through the years and how they handled everything, Happy Ending, The Singapore radio of 'It's on purpose', Monza, Silverstone, Qatar, Las Vegas, Singapore 2023 Grand Prix, how each of these affected them

Word Count: 2.8k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

Privilege follows him like a shadow. Sticking to his feet, intensifying in the spotlight, multiplying when numerous gazes fall upon it. 

Privilege has him grateful, appreciatory. It has him indebted.

Privilege raised him. Made him who he is.

He shook privilege’s hand as a baby, clutching its hands with his tiny fingers. 

He holds privilege’s stick as a man, leads it around. Lets it lead him.

He looks privilege in the eye. Feels his irises swallow the honeyed brown around them. 

Privilege was the key to many things in life but success. 

Success, the kind he wants, eludes him. It escapes the second he wraps his hand around it. Avoids him like the plague. 

Carlos Sainz exhales, breath stuttering, as if imprisoned in his lungs.

His breath clings. 

His thoughts escape. Fleeing. Never looking back.

The shadow flutters.

Darkness engulfs.

The red, bright and all-consuming, contrasts.

It never smiles.

Only glares.

Names hold weight, he learned this young. They hold impressions and expectations. 

After a certain amount of time, names become a weapon. You can wield them, strike, hide them under your pillow. In any case, the wrong move can hurt you.

Names hold weight.

Life can be tricky.

Success can be shared.

But talent can’t be made. It can’t be invented.

It can be discovered, cultivated.

Talent is a dog learning tricks quicker than others. 

But what is a dog without its owner, but a hound ready to bite? 

When talent meets privilege, unlike popular belief, it dodges success. Forgets its existence.

At least, that seemed to be his case.

Carlos tried blue at first, met yellow. Lingered in orange and clutched red. 

Blue was new beginnings, bright futures.

Yellow was transitory, linked two points together. His present to his future. 

Orange was special. It will always be. In sleepless nights and frustrated, unshed tears, orange turned his head at Carlos. But with time even orange moved on, changed, adapted, improved.

Red was an unfathomable dream. It was never in his sights until it showed its cards. 

If you asked him what color he bled, Carlos Sainz would always say red. 

But red didn’t bleed Carlos Sainz.

It had no plans on getting hurt for him. 

In 2015 he met Max Verstappen. Max was young, brash, determined. Max was a risky move a step away from a plunge. Max was everything he wasn’t and didn’t want to be. 

Being raised by a prestigious family in Spain, taught Carlos a lot of things. He was measured and sustained, rhythmic, unfaltering. His tutors made sure of that.

So while he found Max delightful, he prided himself on his maturity.

At the end of 2017, Carlos met Nico Hülkenberg. A quiet man, with years under his belt yet no plans of grandiose.

If there was one key factor in Carlos’ personality it would be that, no matter how calm he seemed, competitiveness would be his fuel. While he appreciated the silence that came from his teammate, he could never understand it.

In 2019, Lando Norris walked in his life, stumbled down his stairs, and plopped himself right in the middle of his living room. His presence always there, his gaze always turning. 

When the year started Lando was new to F1, and very, very withdrawn. He second guessed about everything and anything that could be said and tended to stay quiet if people didn't directly speak to him. So Carlos took it upon himself to make the young man feel comfortable, more confident. In the beginning, It started slow, but the build up came quick. 

Before he knew it, Lando had made a little Lando-shaped hole right there in his living room and his bed. Curled up inside it, covered himself with a blanket and got comfortable. Peered at him from under those unbelievably long lashes, framing green skies.

He took it for granted.

Carlos craved. He was greedy.

He is greedy. Any man with enough power, will always search for more. 

So while he clutched the newly found contract of 2021, the new goal sewn of red, Carlos forgot. Miscalculated. Assumed.

Assumed, that nothing would change, only get better.

Assumed, that nothing would change, it would take a bit more work, but the thread wouldn’t break.

He was wrong.

The news weren't taken well. Lando had gone quiet in the meeting. The members of the team started hugging him, even though they still had time. 

Lando walked out. 

Carlos followed.

Carlos always follows. 

He tried opening the door to the driver's room. Called out his name. But after a while decided that Lando would have to get out for work at some point, he’d just intercept him there. 

Hours passed and starting to get impatient, Carlos asked Jon the second he saw him.

‘He went home Carlos. He’s gonna need some time for this.’

Concern slowly filled him. 

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked. 

That night the door opened and the green skies had turned gray. The clouds glared, but they also wept. 

They talked for long, his own words of reassurance filled the void, the empty space. Promises whispered. Arms blanketing the man in his arms. 

Things would happen, but they wouldn’t change. 

He promised that.

But words said in an empty space with no one to listen to, can’t be fulfilled. 

Words said in an echo-less chamber, don't even return to you.

Not for a while at least.

His first win in Silverstone felt like a message, an ode, a song. The music flowed in his veins and pulled at his cheeks. It rose his hand up in the sky, it held the trophy. 

Your first win is always special, almost a liberty most don’t find, but it would never really top the emotional impact that his, no, their, podium had.

A McLaren 2-3. Orange filled their view. Blinded them momentarily. There was no better moment than that, right then and there. Carlos flinched instinctively when he felt champagne on his face. He opened his arms and let himself feel pride. The second the bottle finished, he wiped his eyes, and hugged the sky. 

On that day it wasn’t just adrenaline and pride. It was warmth, safety, familiarity, promises. 

He might even say, early stages of love. For him at least.

For the other party, the boat had sailed for a while.

That’s why when the news came, Carlos can’t help but think that while turning to the newly entered ship in the harbor, he didn’t see the small boat he left behind, sinking, turning upside down and floating, unmoving, on the vast sea.

He rowed his own across the still waves, let its anchor besides the ship. He let himself be lifted aboard.

The sky turned dark, a storm came. Before he knew it, he couldn’t even find the remnants of a single wooden plank on angry, dark waves.

He didn't turn around to search for them.

Being with Ferrari, was being a part of history, a legacy. Whether anyone admitted it or not, Ferrari was a dream. It was the dream. The impact it had with one win, would equal another team’s full season. 

Ferrari was a name.

Ferrari held weight.

But Carlos, try as he might, couldn’t seem to hold Ferrari. With all his experience of having names on his shoulders, he could never reach it. Arms extended and hands open, the weight was never distributed to him. 

Il predestinato.

No matter what he tried, he couldn’t turn into the legend. The destined.

Couldn’t quite get the feel of it.

Until Monza 2023.

It may have not been a win, but a Ferrari podium in the heart of F1 is something that could have healed all of Carlos’ past, present and future. 

The crowds, the atmosphere, the champagne, the height. He could feel each scream of his name, let it reverb, paint it red. Closed his eyes and felt the heat, the sun. 

He felt green skies gazing up at him. 

For the first time, he felt the red take flight.

When he blinked at the sun that morning, he had not expected to be called by Sylvia asking him to check Twitter. 

He turned around, slipped his hand under his pillow to pick up his phone and weakly put the code in. Eyes scrunching at the unexpected sight of the screen. Brain foggy.

He would say time froze, but it was his own body betraying him. 

It happened again.

His own mother, making assumptions, accusations, thrown around as if she’s veiling them in secrecy.

‘No honor’ she wrote.

There was no permission given, she hadn’t asked Carlos if she could post something that was going to affect him, no warning, no nothing.

Shame and guilt curled in his stomach.

This happened once, with his father. He hadn't reacted well. So she knew. She knew the consequences along with his unwillingness, and yet, hadn’t given it a second thought on pressing that button.

'I'm just being honest to protect you, son.' He didn't need protecting, never asked for it.

Refreshing the page, he saw people start mentioning something along the lines of Charles’ reply. 

‘Honor’ as a caption, with his 2019 Monza win.

He called Charles Leclerc, apologies slipping through his lips. Charles knew, he wasn’t phased. He understood. No blame was thrown. Their camaraderie was strong and Carlos Sainz was a grown ass man, who could make his own statement if he wanted to. He completely agreed with the way the situation was handled by his teammate. He closed the call, one last apology was heard. Reassurance was replied.

With newly found anger, he called his mom. This time not for a message. An ultimatum. For both of them.

It changed. Evolved. Because it was almost as if a switch had turned for Lando. He became quicker, more confident, sassier, self-assured.

While Carlos would love to say the pride that was felt was because of his help along the years, he couldn’t help but feel as if he, himself, was a catalyst. 

For a while they talked every night. It almost felt like their usual year, they just couldn’t always be physically present with each other. But the season picked up, and they’d have periods of quietness.

It felt strained. It felt strange. This wasn’t them.

It felt foreign.

He was beginning to feel nostalgia for a still-existing friendship. For blurred lines and comforting moments.

After all these years the naive one, seemed to be him all along, expecting things to stay the same, as if people don’t change. 

As if life doesn’t move with no permission. 

For a year, it felt as if they were killing pretenses.

Carlos felt Lando slipping away.

Carlos felt the season slip away.

Carlos was slipping away.

Oscar Piastri, a new McLaren rookie with a lot of potential and blah blah blah. The important information was that he was Lando’s new teammate. While beforehand he knew Daniel Ricciardo, this one, was uncharted territory.

So maybe the moves he pulled were unnecessary, and the words he said were out of line, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least that’s what he excused himself with at the beginning.

When Lando called him one night, serious, he soon realized what it was about.

Okay so maybe it was deliberate and childish.

Maybe he was jealous.

The first step to acceptance and forgiveness was acknowledging the problem in the first place.

The next day, he arranged a small coffee break with Oscar. He was better than this. Respect was always his number one priority. Apologies were listened to by both parties and understanding lingered in the air.

Everything went well.

Now he just had to get his involuntary feelings in check.

Location: Marina Bay Street Circuit, Singapore, The Ritz-Carlton Millenia, Room 455

Date and time: Sunday, 17.09.2023, 16:19 PM

Even trust is too weak of a word to explain the unwavering power Carlos let Lando have in those last laps.

‘A reminder. Norris has DRS. He is in DRS proximity.’

‘Yeah, it’s on purpose.’

He pressed the pedal on the last corner. He passed the checkered flag. 

The fireworks exploded.

‘Imagine if we got a 1-2. Imagine!’

They didn’t need to imagine. At the end of the day, at the end of the troubles and tribulations, they were bigger than the universe.

It was always Carlos and Lando.

Lando and Carlos.

Carlando.

Because Lando was right there, showering him in champagne, soaking up his heart. The sky may have been dark but it was shining. 

When he wrapped his arms around his light, Carlos felt whole again.

He didn’t need red or orange or yellow or blue.

He just needed Lando Norris, right there, next to him.

In his living room, in his bed. 

In that little hand carved space.

The thread wasn’t broken, it just had gotten loose for about a year. So they wound the yarn up, bit by bit, piece by piece.

While Qatar was unremarkable to him, that wasn’t the case for Lando.

Track limits. If Carlos could fight them physically, he would.

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked. 

He went in. Took him by his hand. Layed down. Bundled him up. Let him sink in the quietness, gather courage from it. Let him speak in the silence, this time hearing every word.

There were promises this time as well, but they were loud and assertive, assured.

They were heard.

They were true.

Sochi 2021 gave him a taste. The year after he left, he watched Lando slam around like a puppet hanging from its strings. Watched him lose his maiden victory. Watched him crumble.

An already vulnerable year, turned into a nightmare.

And yet he bounced back, and Carlos forgot what it was like watching him tumble on the track.

Las Vegas 2023. A race that hadn’t happened in 70 years and for a good hour or more, a race he wished had never happened in the first place.

‘Yellow flag. Yellow flag.’

‘Who crashed?’

A flash of orange passed his vision. He felt his breath withdraw.

‘Norris on Turn 11.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Checking.’

A few minutes had passed, but it felt like an hour of racing. Each turn crushing him even more.

‘Keep your calm.’

‘Is he okay, Adami?’

“Yes, he got out of the car.’

The race ended and to be frank, Carlos couldn’t care less. He got out of his car and immediately started asking if any updates were given. When he seemed to get no definitive answers, he tried his hand at texting Lando. Then calling him.

No answer. No reply.

Carlos called Jon.

The next time anyone searched for him, he was in a taxi going to the hospital.

The radio message after the crash looping on his phone. In his head.

Lando was shaking.

Lando was in pain.

Lando.

Entering the hospital doors, Carlos found Jon waiting for him in the lobby. No communication was needed, he just turned and lead the way.

Door after door, every time he passed by a number, Carlos could feel himself hold his breath. Finally they reached it.

The darkness opened a pathway.

‘Fair warning. They’ve given him a lot of painkillers.’

Seeing his look of concern, Jon quickly reassured him that it was purely just because of the unexpected impact and precautionary tests,  and let him in.

A loud gasp met his ears the second honey locked eyes with green fields.

‘Carlos!’ the name's vowels dragged out along with a nearly non-existent ‘r’ sound.

Relief was felt through his body, since a long while. His muscles stopped tensing the closer he got to the hospital bed with the clearly drugged male on it.

A goofy grin on his face, was all Carlos needed to embrace the man in front of him.

Lando melted.

Carlos calmed.

The boats found each other again. Anchored together.

Abu Dhabi came and went. Different news kept hitting the internet. Rumors, confirmations, whatever. The future was entirely unknown.

But he’d learned from his past.

He could handle anything, cause he seems to have one constant in his life.

This constant comes with unruly curls and wrinkled smile lines and each morning he makes sure the green sky shines and grins and laughs. 

Each morning he raises his head, looks at the warmth between his arms, caresses brown locks and awakes blurry greens.

Each morning he showers kisses across his face. Presses his lips on every birthmark.

Each morning he feels strong, warm, safe, assured.

Each morning he feels content.

And he is Carlos Sainz.

Scuderia Ferrari F1 driver. A dream to others, a reality to him.

And he has Lando Norris. A dream to others, a dream to him.

Success comes in different forms. His came as Auroras in the night sky. Entered smoothly, seamlessly.

This was his privilege, and he cherished it in his heart.

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Carlos himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

They are grown men who at the end of the day we'll never know what sort of relationships they have with each other. The way I've written Carlos' "conflicts" with Oscar and Charles, is that they have talked it through and there is no animosity between them. They can deal with their big boy problems.

Analysis time yay:

Privilege is Carlos' family. They're a well known name across Spain.

Success can be shared, is again a link to the fact that he comes from a privileged past, however this is not the success he craves.

Each color is a team.

Blue is Red Bull.

Yellow is Renault.

Orange is McLaren.

Red is Ferrari.

Carlos' living room is his heart and his bed is his mind. That's where Lando lives rent free.

A person is a boat, like Lando at the beginning and Carlos later, but a team is a ship, like Ferrari. On Lando's case there was a brief mention where his boat was also his love for Carlos.

The continuous use of the sky is directly linked with Lando's eyes or presence.

The destined is obviously Charles.

In the Singapore segment, I've added the hotel and room, because up to the reader's interpretation, at the end where I start using the living room and the bed again, it can also be the actual physical room. And they could be like, cuddling.

Lando's exclamation of Carlos' name was something more like 'Caahlos <3'

Lando is still a dream to him, cause he's reality that's too good to be true. Don't worry though it is definitely real.

Again at the end there is no conflict with Carlos, Charles and Oscar.

That Vegas crash made me really, really want to write Carlando, cause the radio message after absolutely broke me. This is a bit different from the others, but as usual, if it takes time I'm posting it.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or liked!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen, Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[readingwiththereids]

yanda! speaks: hi my loves! so here’s chapter 1! i’ll hopefully have chapter 2 out by tonight since this one doesn’t really have any carmy in it but i really hope you like it still! also let me be so real and say that i did use google translate for the spanish parts and realise that i probably should have left this part to actual hispanic/latino authors, so if you’d like to give suggestions or just yell at me if the translations are wrong, please do so. i face claimed alisha boe as my baby camila but feel free to visualise any other person as well! lots of love and light 🤎

masterlist

night rain ; chapter 1

2022

Music, the soft sizzle of pans on the stove and a beautiful, sweet aroma flooded the small home as Camila’s mother rushed into the kitchen while putting on her earrings.

“Mija, what are you making? It smells wonderful.” Tina asked as she peeked over her daughter’s shoulder.

“Raspberry souffle pancakes.” Camila smiled, slapping her mom’s hands from taking one of the berries on her right in a dish. “My little pastry chef,” Tina said as she kissed the brown girl’s curls. “¿Quieres venir conmigo a la tienda hoy?” [Do you want to come with me to the shop today?]

“Mami, I already told you that I-”

“You don’t want to go in yet, I know but Camila, you’re going to have to tell him at some point. The more time goes on, the less understanding he’ll be when he finds out that you’ve been hiding an entire-”

“I know, I know.” Cam sighed.

Rubbing her daughter’s shoulders, Tina attempted to comfort her. “It’s okay, I know you’re not ready. Is she up yet?”

“No, but I'll wake her up soon when I’m done.” Camila said as she flipped over the last pancake.

This caused Tina to immediately perk up, asking “Can I do it? Please please please?”

Before the young mother could even answer, the older of the pair was already quickly shuffling in the direction of the bedrooms. The heartwarming sound of Emelia’s giggles rang through the home as Tina walked in holding the child in her arms before handing her over to her mother.

Emilia Antonia Ivy was born in the late fall of 2019 and was the perfect byproduct of Camila Ivy and Carmen Berzatto alike. Though not even yet reaching the age of three, Emmy already demonstrated having the biggest heart and mind that her mother had ever seen. She was polite, kind, never threw tantrums and was always eager to watch her mother in the kitchen. She enjoyed seeing and mimicking the same focus exhibited on her mom’s face while cooking, characterised by a small pout. However, it only reminded Camila of the toddler’s father more than anything.

Camila and Emelia moved back to Chicago to stay with Cam’s mother and help her deal with the death of her chosen son, Michael who had committed suicide a few months prior. From the moment Camila heard the news, she instantly thought about everyone else who might need her at that moment, completely forgetting her own pain that seemed to be consuming her chest. She was unselfish in that way, or maybe too selfish, rather opting to focus on everyone else than allow herself to hurt. And so she packed their bags and flew straight to Chi-town to take care of her mom, help Sugar with the funeral and even check on The Beef, though making sure to leave the shop before Carmy’s arrival.

It had been about three years since she had seen the man who she once called the love of her life. Granted he was only demoted from that title by his very own child, but Camila still loved him very much. One however could attempt to dispute that statement by the fact that she had still not told him about said child. At first it was understandable, most of her friends and family supported her choice for the first couple of months, but then months turned to years before it just never felt like the right time.

“Morning, Bear.” Camila laughed while smothering the two-year-old’s face with kisses before setting the girl on the kitchen stool and pushing a plate of warm pancakes dripping with white chocolate sauce in front of her.

“Why don’t you two ever eat your pancakes with syrup like normal people?” Tina laughed, watching both girls tear into their respective plates.

“Because of the tartness, Abuela.” Emmy said with her mouth still full.

“What, are you gonna go to the CSI now too? Huh?” The older woman smiled as she tickled the toddler on her sides. Just then, she realised she would be late for work and so she bid her two next of kin goodbye.

“You wanna go to the park today, Bear?” Camila queried excitedly.

🏷️ list: @rexorangecouny

[dm me to get on the tag list &lt;3]

[l-e-e-woso]

131 with niamth charles

Wasn't The Same - Niamh Charles

Italics = Spanish

Prompt 131 - “I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you.” 

_________________________

You had grown up in Barcelona and the football culture was everywhere, I mean Camp Nou was a 15 minute walk from your home, nothing could get better than that…right?

That’s where you were wrong, it could get better. Unknown to you, your parents had signed you up to play in the Barcelona youth team and somehow you got in. 

It had become very clear very fast to the coaches that you had a lot of talent at the sweet age of 10. Which is when you became the Captain of the youth team until 2014 when you tore your ACL at the age of 15 which is devastating for an adult nevermind a young child. 

After a year of rehab you got back on the field but it wasn’t the same as before, it was like a switch had been flipped. You tried to not throw yourself into tackles, passes wouldn’t connect, giving the ball away at crucial moments in the game, distancing yourself from teammates, not going to team bonding at all and turning up late or not at all to training.

This caused the manager to give you the talk because he gave you a year after your rehab to get your act together but it did not work. He didn’t want to let you go because he knew what type of player you could be but he couldn’t take any more chances on you. So you got transferred to Liverpool in 2016 where you played until 2019 when Barca placed a bid on you which Liverpool could not say no to.

Playing for the Barca first team had always been your dream since you saw Messi when you were a little girl and Alexia when you were in your teens. It had been your ultimate goal to be able to play on the same team as La Reina Alexia Putellas.

Now Alexia was like your older sister and best friend, where you found one of them the other wasn’t far behind. This had caused the fans to start speculating things about the two of you, which you both quickly put to rest saying that the two of you were basically siblings.

_________________________

When you transferred to Liverpool at the age of 17 you were very nervous, you hadn’t been to another country ever so this was a very new experience for you but you knew you had to power through it if you ever wanted to get back to play for Barca.

Suddenly everything changed when you met Niamh Charles, even though you knew very little English the two of you instantly hit it off.

After just a few months at the club you and Niamh started dating, the whole team thought the two of you were adorable and constantly teased the both of you. Over the four years you were at Liverpool your and Niamh’s relationship only got stronger.

The two of you were starting to take the next step in your relationship aka moving in together, you got told that you were being transferred back to Barca and you just couldn’t say no which left Niamh heartbroken but ultimately she understood. You told her it was a four year contract and you would come back after the contract ended.

_________________________

When you got to Barca you were in awe of all the players, especially Alexia. I mean she was your idol and you were playing in the Barca first team with her. This caused a lot of your new teammates to tease both you and Alexia.

After about two and a half years you were starting to feel very depressed without Niamh beside you so you turned to Alexia for help because you simply did not know what to do.

One day you just turned up to Alexia’s apartment with tears streaming down your face which caused her to look at you in concern when she opened the door. “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s 1am.” Alexia says while letting you into her apartment and sat down on her sofa while you cuddled into her side.

“I don’t know if I can do this without her…I cannot go another year without Niamh. We were talking on facetime the other night. She was saying that she doesn’t know if our relationship is going to last much longer if we continue to be separated.” You say as tears stream down your face and you grip onto Alexia’s shirt tightly as she rubs your back trying to sooth you.

“Look I’ll talk to Jona, he will most likely want you to stay till the end of this year and then he could look into transferring or loaning you to the WSL. I’m not promising anything but I will try my best to help you.” Alexia pulls you into her tightening her arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you Ale…” You mutter as you drift off into a deep sleep on Alexia’s shoulder.

_________________________

Whatever Alexia did, it worked. You were transferring to Chelsea, you couldn’t thank Alexia enough, you told her that if she ever came to London she could stay with you to which she obviously said yes.

At this precise moment you were walking to your first training session with Chelsea. You already knew literally already knew all of the girls thanks to your daily facetimes with Niamh.

Niamh was currently facing away from you talking to Guro, Erin and Sam when they spotted you but you put your finger to your lips because you wanted to surprise Niamh.

You crept up behind Niamh and wrapped your arms around her waist then whispered in her ear. “I told you I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you.” This caused Niamh to gasp before turning around and kissing you passionately as a few tears travelled down her face. 

“You asshole! You didn’t tell meeeee!” Niamh pouted at you which made your heart beat like a thousand times faster than it already was. “But…I love you.” Niamh whispers as she pecks your lips as her arm around your neck so you couldn’t move anywhere. 

“I love you with my whole heart Niamh Charles…”You whisper back to her with your thick Spanish accent and a huge grin.

The two of you pull away from your hug to see most of your new Chelsea teammates looking at the both of you with small smiles.

“I’m glad you're finally here! You have no idea how much she talks about you, she never shuts up!” Sam says as she points at Niamh as most of the team laugh at Niamh’s embarrassment which causes you to chuckle.

“Aw you talked about me!” You say in a teasing tone so Niamh playfully pushes you and glares at you. “Shut up…” Niamh blushes but you knew she would get her payback once the two of you got home later that night.

_________________________

Taglist:   @sofakingwoso @dutch-gay86 @gt713 @mmmmokdok @xxforeverinadayxx  

[alicenpai]

✨ MY STORIES 💫

(page under construction, check this post occasionally since it will be continuously updated! page created Apr 14 2023, last updated Dec 28 2023.)

Art tag of my characters (all)

Lost and Found Children

The Magician’s Protegee

Both of these stories are near and dear to my heart. Due to life obligations like school in the past, work, convention/merch schedules, I unfortunately haven’t progressed in these stories as I would have liked over the years. My dream is to one day create stories that impact people, as other people’s stories have changed me.

⭐

LOST AND FOUND CHILDREN

Synopsis: A search for their missing parents lead twins Flynn and Nate to fall into a deep darkness, unraveling secrets about their family and the country they once trusted.

Lost and Found Children is a story about mystery, overcoming trauma, blood family vs found family, the fear of growing up even in adulthood, the fear that you are not who you wished to grow up to be. The characters explore their identities in a post-war torn society, and witness their love being tested in that wildly changing world.

The story explores the horrors of war, and is also a study on the horrors of child abuse and when child rearing is left in the wrong hands, which can have devastating lifelong consequences. More importantly, it is a story about how love persists despite all odds.

Fun trivia:

The story has changed settings many times, from a tragic Victorian familial drama, to a modern school mystery, a 1920s crime drama, now it’s a historical fantasy.

This is a story I’ve been writing since I was 13 years old. The current iteration is from 2019, and I started revamping it as part of a school project. As it is a very old story that I literally grew up with, revamping it seriously has been a huge task, finding difficulty in deciding whether I should remove, keep, or add things like themes and characters. As of right now, a number of characters are still very much unrefined!

Flynn and Nate are not actually my oldest OCs.

Inspirations:

Growing up, I consumed a lot of Japanese media, and I mix what I learn from real world history with series that have impacted me a lot, like Fullmetal Alchemist, Pandora Hearts, Violet Evergarden. I draw influences from these periods: the industrial revolution in England & the west, late 1800s England, and early 20th century American history, especially the interwar period.

For the character designs, I'm inspired by historical fashion and JRPG aesthetics. My aim is to design them more simply and more humbly (a la Ryoko Kui style), but I still try for a whimsical old world look, bordering on fantastical. I do want a bit more steampunk look to my story moving forward, and that's an aesthetic I need to experiment with and study in my artwork a lot more often.

🌱

THE MAGICIAN’S PROTEGEE

Synopsis: In a distant, idyllic future where robots and humans coexist - a healthcare android lives day to day with his adoptive daughter, patients, and their ragtag android and human friends.

The story is a light-hearted, slow-paced, slice of life series - but it will also deal with complex topics like artificial intelligence, existentialism, and the fear of outliving the people you care about the most. THE MAGICIAN'S PROTEGEE IS UNDER HIATUS. (as of Nov 2023)

Fun trivia:

This story used to be about the Victorian occult (hence the title), also about a doctor who saves people from the ghouls that plagued Victorian society. However, without a greater purpose to the story, and only using the setting as a cool backdrop, it was a "monster of the week" series that I didn’t have any interest in writing. I scrapped the Victorian setting, in favour of writing a fantasy world I could fully have control of. It’s very different from LaFC, but it’s also a story I wish to tell from my heart. LaFC is like, the moody night story, and TMP is the sunny day story.

The current iteration is from 2020, also developed for a school project. As I was much older (than 13 haha) when creating this series, I had a pretty clear image of the story and its themes compared to writing LaFC.

Inspirations:

The inspiration for the world building comes from series like Eureka Seven, Kino's Journey, and Aria (Kozue Amano). I also draw a lot of inspiration for world building and writing from American post WWII/cold war society and culture, especially the boom in science fiction and spy fiction. I also take inspiration from early-mid 20th century Hong Kong, China, and Japan for worldbuilding and setting - their visual motifs, response to western technology and changing attitudes and culture.

[humblequestvinyl]

blindsided

BLINDSIDED, EDDIE DIAZ X FEM!READER

APART OF THE ‘ROLLING UP THE WELCOME MAT’ WRITING SERIES

SUMMARY: entering back into the city that holds the most memories, y/n plays a song for her best friend, holding all the secretes of her former marriage.

inspired by blindsided by kelsea ballerini

previous chapter | next chapter

lowercase is intentional! wc: 1.3k

warning: MAJOR fighting, talks about fertility/wanting kids, marriage problems, fighting, alcohol, & major angst

a/n: ERAS TOUR ERAS TOUR ERAS TOUR!

IT WAS ALMOST A WEEK LATER,

and the ending show of y/n’s tour, leaving her in the one place she didn’t want to be.

los angeles california.

so she sat in her dressing room, dreadfully getting ready for her show when she heard a knock on her dressing room door, which soon opened revealing one of the only people she was willing to see in LA.

“buck!”y/n exclaimed as a smile spread across her face as the firefighter walked into the room, and wrapped the girl in a hug as she sat in her chair, “i’ve missed you!”

“missed you too shorty.”he joked, causing y/n to roll her eyes before her stylist continued to curl her hair for the show, “you excited to perform tonight?” 

“only because you’re here.”she told him, and he chuckled, “speaking of, did chris join you tonight?” buck shook his head no, knowing the girl had been trying to see him for at least a month but with her tour schedule and eddie refusing to communicate with her, she hadn’t been able to.

“eddie’s excuse this time was that it’s a school night and he didn’t want chris to be late tomorrow.”buck explained, causing the girl to hum, knowing he was right, “chris wasn’t too happy.”

“i mean i wouldn’t be either considering eddie refuses to answer any of my calls to try and talk to chris, and the only time i do see him is over facetime with you.”y/n explained, causing bucks face to go sour, knowing how much the girl hated it, “i’ll drag him back to court if i have to, but i don’t want to put chris through that.”

he nodded, before the two chatted for a few minutes, before y/n’s face lit up and she scrambled for her phone, “i wanna play you something i wrote!’

“did you record it?”buck questioned and the girl nodded, going into her files and loading up a voice memo she had of it, “it’s called lost on me for now, but i might change it.”

the girl hit play before the song started to play, before her voice started to ring through bringing back all of the memories of their relationship,

“were you on the other line, or driving in your car?”

—-

(AUGUST 29TH 2019)

“EDDIE WHERE ARE YOU?”

y/n asked as she leaned up against the kitchen counter of the diaz’s home, and she could hear cars passing by in the background, “its almost time for dinner, chris wanted all of us to eat together.”

“i’m out.”eddie stated plainly, and y/n glanced down the hall, hearing chris playing video games with buck, “you guys eat, i’ll grab leftovers.”

“eddie-”was all y/n could get out before the line went dead, causing her to drop her phone by her side, completely defeated. her head snapped up as she heard chris’s bedroom door close shut, seeing buck walk down the hall, with a wide smile spread across his face.

“did eddie say when he was going to be back?”buck questioned as he walked towards the girl, immediately noticing the defeated look on her face, “don’t tell me,”

“he said for us to eat, and he’ll grab leftovers,”y/n repeated, avoiding bucks eyes, “again.”

“he’s gotta stop doing this.”buck muttered, before going towards chris’s bedroom so the three could eat, knowing chris had his first day of school the next day. a small tear fell down the woman's face, before she went to set the table, leaving one empty plate on the counter for her husband.

this was wrong. all of it was wrong. 

from her husband not coming home and letting their son down, all of the secrets he would be hiding from her, pretending that nothing was wrong, just to prove that he was right.

it was wrong, and she absolutely hated it.

was he just blind from all of their problems? thinking if he pretended that everything was fine, their marriage would be as well? 

the h/c woman was broken out of her thoughts as soon as she heard laughter quickly coming down the hall, and she forced a wide smile onto her face for the boy she considered her child, thinking if she pretended that if everything was fine, he would be too.

“where’s dad?”chris questioned as y/n dished up a plate for the group, and she glanced at the boy with a fake smile. before she could even come up with a reason, buck spoke up with a slight chuckle.

“captain nash was short handed because there’s a bug going around the firehouse, so he needed your dad to go in for work.”buck explained, and y/n felt relief wash over her, knowing she didn’t have to figure out an excuse to give to chris. 

y/n gave buck a ‘thank you’ look, before she walked over to the two, with plates in her hand for all of them, “tonight's dinner is chicken parm with pasta and garlic bread.”

“thank you.”the boys exclaimed, before digging in, and y/n sat at the end of the table, with her plate in front of her, but her appetite completely gone.

was eddie pretending that everything was fine, or was he just blind?

—

(NOVEMBER 12TH 2019)

“I SERIOUSLY DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO Y/N,”

eddie told the singer as the two stood in her nashville apartment, the night before the cma’s that y/n was supposed to sing at the next day.

“i want you to be there, not drunk and be happy for me eddie!”she exclaimed, feeling the cheap ass rose they had been drinking running through her veins, “i want you to come home every night and spend time with your family!”

“i do spend time with my family!”eddie tried to argue, and y/n rolled her eyes, causing the firefighter to give her a look, “i’m not the one whos constantly in the studio, constantly on tour!”

“bull-fucking-shit! i’m in the studio trying to make an album to provide for this family because god knows you don’t!”y/n exclaimed, seeing eddie getting furious, “maybe that’s why you’re never home is because you cannot handle the fact that i’m the breadwinner in this house!”

“i’m never home because anytime i try and bring up kids you brush me off like it’s nothing.”eddie stated lowly, and tears pricked at y/n eyes knowing how many times they had this conversation, “i want more kids y/n, and the fact that you keep brushing me off like it’s nothing is why i’m never home.”

“i’ve told you so many times i don’t want any kids eddie,”the h/c choked out, with baby hairs sticking to her tear stained cheeks, “its not news to you, you’ve been in this fucking conversation so many times.”

eddie shook his head, before storming to their bedroom and slamming the door shut, leaving the girl sliding against the wall, sobbing knowing that was their biggest fight of their entire relationship.

she could feel everything crumbling beneath her, and she absolutely hated it. she hated everything about it. she was losing control of everything she had and y/n hated it.

he wasn’t blind, he was just pretending everything was fine.

–

“I KNOW THE TRUTH WAS HARD TO HEAR, YOU’VE GOT YOURS AND I’VE GOT MINE BABY,”

“were you blindsided, or were you just blind?”the recording faded out, and y/n looked over at buck who had been listening intently to the song itself, knowing how much that meant to her.

“so you’re making an album from the divorce?”he questioned, and a small smile was spread across the girls face as she nodded.

“i’m making an ep about the divorce.”