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daniswoso · 4 months

Text

I hate the way I can’t hate you.

Ona Batlle x Reader.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, verbal arguments.

******

When you played for Levante, you met a girl. The most perfect girl in the world, to you, at least. Ona Batlle. She was kind, caring, considerate; her eyes were brown and reminded you of quiet fall nights. Her jaw was sharp and her mousy brown hair was always tied back in a plait.

Her personality was one of the best you had ever seen. She had the ability to care so fiercely for others while also keeping a level head, she was always soft spoken and polite but also charismatic and humorous. She was possibly the most humble person you had ever met, too.

You may have been young, but you were sure as hell in love.

And you don't think you've been able to love quite right ever since she broke your heart.

You started out at Levante together, you played football together, studied for school together. You trained together, lived together, ate together, went to the gym together. You were attached at the hip. So when her departure to Manchester United was announced, it was saddening. But you made your peace with it.

You had both decided you were going to make it work. You had too.

Ona, for a long time, was the only constant in your life. Your family and home life had never been particularly stable or good. You hadn't come from riches or fame. You had to work hard to get where you were today. And you continued to.

When you first went pro, you promised yourself you weren't going to let relationships get in the way of your career, but somehow Ona managed to break down your walls and your tough facade. Simply by being her.

She was a part of your heart. So when she suddenly ended things half way into her first season at United, a part of your heart died.

She did it over text.

Text.

To say you were heartbroken was an understatement. It felt as though a piece of you had fallen away, crumbled as you read those words. The words you had hoped to never hear. The words you never thought you would hear.

And so you needed to get away, from everything Ona. From anything that reminded you of her. And that meant leaving the only other constant in your life, Levante.

Plenty of things have changed recently, you thought, what's one more?

And it was difficult, but eventually you settled into Real Madrid. Content with only seeing her at Champions League matches, or in national friendlies where you would have to play alongside her.

You were content, but never quite happy.

You had had many failed talking stages and one night stands, often random women from bars. You always left before they even got the chance to stirr awake, leaving their bed cold and empty. Although you always felt guilty after, you continued with it. It was what worked.

You didn't fall in love, you weren't sure you could. And leaving before they could wake was the best way to get away from the situation, preventing yourself from catching even the slightest hint of feeling for them. Wether it was because you were still holding out some hope she'd come back, or because you simply didn't want a relationship; you weren't sure.

You couldn't truly love anyone again. You couldn't let yourself truly love anyone again. Ona had broken you, and wether it was for the better or the worse you didn't know. But you had a strong feeling it wasn't for the better.

A piece of you left with Ona the day she broke things off. You were confused, young and alone at the time. In a way you still were, you hadn't quite shed yourself of your previous naïvety.

But you were content at Real now.

Until Ona's transfer to Barcelona was announced.

It was something Ona had always dreamed about, going back to Barcelona. She’d tell you, “That club made me. They’re my home. And I promise you one day I’ll go back, with you,”

She'd say it with a smirk so charming and sweet you couldn't resist but to play into her fantasies. You would stay up all night talking to each other about everything you would do at Barcelona, how you would revolutionise the defending line.

Obviously that fell through. You went to Real Madrid instead, and you had always told yourself it was out of the need to leave; but you're fairly convinced you did it out of spite.

You felt your newly constructed life crumble around you the day you saw the news on instagram. You knew she was going to come back to Spain eventually, just like she had always planned. But you didn't think it would be this soon. She seemed happy at United.

Just your luck though, right?

Although the feelings you experienced when you saw the news alone at home was nothing compared to what you felt when you shook hands with her and met those beautiful brown eyes you thought were in your past again.

The same soft hands that had held you after harsh losses or great wins at Levante.

You never thought you'd hear her voice again. See her more often than you had to.

That match you kept your head down and did your job. And it paid off, Madrid won 3-2. Immediately after, you left for the locker rooms. But you heard the clacking of studs behind you and immediately knew who it was.

Ona. The love of your life Ona. The one who broke up with you without an explanation and over text Ona. The girl who you met when you were just a naïve young adult and had fallen in love with, was there. Stood before you, her big brown eyes glistening with unshed tears while yours were already streaming down your cheeks.

"Y/N." Her voice cracked. You winced and more tears fell, it took everything in you to not turn into a fit of sobs and cries right there and then.

"Batlle." You replied. Your voice was harsh and cold, albeit a little shaky and a tear fell down her cheek and her lip quivered as she sniffed. You fought back the urge to reach out and wipe her tears away.

"Y/N I need to explain myself, por favor." She pleaded. You felt like a giant dick for what you said next, but you said it anyway.

"Not a fucking chance. You broke me the day you left me, Ona. And to make matters worse? You did it over text with no fucking explanation," you paused, tears streaming faster, your voice trembling. You studied her face, searching for any sign of guilt or remorse, instead you were met with the sight of her looking to the ground.

"I need an explanation. Why, Ona? Why?" You said, your voice probably sounding needy now but you couldn't care less. Your mean facade had faded now and you shakily exhaled.

"I didn't want to hold you back," She said, her voice quiet and timid, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly as she held back her sobs.

"You didn't want to hold me back?" You repeat, she nods. Your sadness was replaced with a fiery hot rage that had been burning deep within you ever since that fateful day.

"You weren't fucking holding me back Ona! You never were! We had a system! We were fine!" You yelled, she flinched but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Too overcome with rage and anger to feel anything else.

"Y/N, please trust me when I say I didn't want to, but I knew I was holding you back, you were holding out for an offer from United, or Barca. I could tell-" you cut her off

"Did you ever fucking consider I was just happy at Levante?! I was captain for fucks sakes, Ona! I didn't want to leave that! I left because of you, I needed to get away from everything you!" You yelled, tears streaming down your face as Ona tilted her head back, wiping at her eyes.

"Y/N, I was right to do what I did. I mean, look at you! You're a star player for Madrid.." her voice broke again as she gestured to your grass stained Real kit.

"Right to do what you did?!" you screamed, she tilted her head to the side and shut her eyes, her lip quivering and her breathing shaky.

"I loved you, Ona! I still fucking do! I think I always will! Could you not have at least spoken to me first? Asked me if I needed space? Rather than breaking my heart and leaving me confused and trying to pick up the pieces for years?!" your anger had faded, the rage inside you simmering down now. Your upset and disappointment replacing the fury.

"Y/N-" she was cut off by you again.

"I hated you, you know?" you got out through gritted teeth, meeting her eyes as they widen and she stifled a choked sob, "Sometimes I think I still do. I hated the way everything reminded me of you. I hate the way I can't view fall the same as I used to anymore because it reminds me of your fucking eyes. But most of all, Ona?"

She looks at you, her brows furrowed and her lips tightly pressed together as they trembled while her shoulders shook ever so subtly as she suppressed her sobs.

"I hate the way I can't ever truly hate you."

And that was all it took, she broke down, mumbling apologies. But it was too late. You had retreated into your locker room, leaving Ona's Barcelona teammates to collect her.

You needed to heal. And now you had an explanation and closure, you finally could.

And the first step in that is letting go of the thing that hurt you the most. And for you, that just so happened to be the love of your goddamn life.

But it didn't matter. You would get through it.

***

Hi! Sorry. This was very sad, I was just in an angsty kinda mood haha. Also! English is not my first language so please feel free to correct my grammar lol. Hope you're all having a good day, night or afternoon and staying hydrated.

Yours truly,

author :)

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle x y/n #barcelona femeni #real madrid femenino #writer is not english #poor english #this was taken from my wattpad #football #futbol #woso imagine #woso

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didishawn · 8 months

Text

Love at First Massage (Jude Bellingham x reader)

Warnings: feet I guess (?)

Masterlist

It was Vinicius who recommended him the place, a nice, unknown, little massage parlour somewhere along the forgotten streets leading up to Plaza Mayor.

The first thing that caught his attention was how empty the place was, a bored looking lady in the reception table checking out her nails as the typical hallway music played on the background.

The sound of his steps got her attention, her eyes didn't widden -probably used to Vini and other players visiting the place-, but he could see recognition on her face as she nodded her head on greeting as he introduces himself, she stood up and leaded him up to the farthest away chair from the windows and told him to wait.

A small chair was next to his chair topped by some magazines, his face visible in one of them, he still couldn't understand spanish, but he guessed they were throwing praises at him for scoring in all La Liga matches since his debut.

"Hi, I am y/n, I am in charge of your massage today"

A voice, your voice, caught his attention, and he was hypnotised from the very first moment, truly believing that he had died and went to heaven.

He tried to greet you back, he truly did, but not a noise came out of his mouth and he missed his opportunity when you arched an eyebrow and got down to work, he was already barefoot, you put some cream in your hands and started.

It were not only, your face and your voice which were angel made, also your hands as Jude could quickly feel the sourness and tiredness slip away and his feet to feel like new.

You were not talkative, or maybe not just with him after he didn't even greet you back.

Jude cleared his throat, yet you didn't look up to him as he scratched his neck and searched for any reason to speak with you.

"Do you watch football?" he wanted to hit himself, why couldn't he think about anything else? You laughed.

"Is that an indirect way of asking whether I know you or don't?" you inquired, looking up to him, a teasing look on your eye "I do know who you are and I do watch football, but maybe my team of choice won't be of your liking, or maybe yes as everyone knows of those tweets of you recognising the real goat"

"I suppose that means you have also seen that school project in which I wrote what my dream team was"

"I did, my brother went crazy calling you an hypocrite for then going to Real Madrid in what he deems a money operation and nothing more"

"He sounds like a real fan"

"Ask Vinicius what happened the last time he came over and my brother just happened to be here. Also tell him he still owes me that money"

"So, you work in this massage parlour and as a side job you do bets with football players for the extra money?"

"Not everyone is offered like a hundred million euros, you do what you have to do, Bellingham"

So, you were beautiful, you were smart, you liked football and you were funny as well as great at massages.

Jude was already down hard, he even thought about purposely injuring himself to come back sooner.

The massage was entirely too short for his liking -it went on for over an hour, you didn't tell him how you were purposely slow to keep on chatting with him.

Turns out, Jude Bellingham wasn't just great at football, but also at mantianimg long conversations and making sure to keep eye contact even while you worked on his feet.

When you finished, Jude almost asked you to keep going, but he didn't want to seem desperate, but he did leave a special note with his phone number written down alongside a generous tip.

He couldn't help but laugh before asking you out on a date, when you sent him a photo of what you had spent your tip on.

You did look good in red and blue, but he bet you would look even better with his last name on your back.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #Real Madrid #football imagine #football player #football #english #English national team #england nt #england national team #jude bellingham imagine

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