#kyle alessandro fluff

[rovasdiary]

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: nurse they’re on the roof again

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀

꩜ the morning after doesn’t feel like winning.

not right away.

there’s screaming in the hallway. laughter echoing off every hotel wall. a stack of neon flowers shoved into your arms before you’re even fully awake. cameras. lights. confetti clinging to your socks.

you smile until your cheeks hurt. you say thank you on autopilot. you sign three posters and kiss someone’s cheek and do a full-on interview on someone’s instagram live before you even brush your teeth.

but your chest is tight.

and it’s not just the hangover of adrenaline.

you haven’t seen him since the rooftop last night.

not in the hallway. not in the elevator. not when you walked past norway’s door and pretended not to look.

he hasn’t texted.

he hasn’t said anything.

you tell yourself it’s fine. he probably just needed time. he probably didn’t know what to say. he probably—

you feel sick.

you sit through the group press event, gold mic in your lap, blinking through flashes and answering questions with a voice that doesn’t sound like yours.

“how does it feel to win for the netherlands?”

“unreal.”

“did you expect it?”

“not at all.”

“what inspired your song?”

“…memories.”

you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

you don’t check it.

your hands are too sweaty.

people keep hugging you. you keep nodding. you keep looking around like your eyes are hunting for something they can’t admit.

you feel like a ghost inside your own win.

you find a moment to breathe behind the staging curtain.

just five minutes. you sit on the floor, back against the wall, curling your fingers around your necklace like it might keep you grounded.

and that’s when he finds you.

slow steps. quiet shoes. his voice is soft, careful.

“hey.”

you look up.

he’s holding a paper coffee cup. one of those ugly hotel lobby ones. your name’s written on the side. and a tiny heart.

“i didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

your stomach flips.

you want to scream why wouldn’t i?

you want to cry why did you leave without saying anything?

you want to ask was last night real or did i dream it again?

instead, you just blink.

“i didn’t know if you wanted to see me.”

his shoulders drop a little.

you take the coffee.

you sip.

coconut milk. vanilla. just how you like it.

you feel your throat sting.

“congrats again,” he says quietly. “you… you were unreal.”

you force a smile. “thank you.”

he looks like he wants to sit down beside you. but he doesn’t. not yet.

there’s a space between you that feels fragile.

like if either of you moves too fast, it’ll break.

he runs a hand through his hair. eyes flick to yours, then away again.

“you disappeared after,” he says.

you shrug. “so did you.”

he nods.

silence.

the kind that scratches at your ribs.

you finally look at him. properly. and you hate that your heart still jumps at the way he’s wearing the same hoodie from last summer. the one you used to steal when the nights were cold and your hair was wet from the pool.

you look down at your cup.

“i don’t know what we’re doing,” you admit.

he exhales slowly. “me neither.”

“i want to talk about last night,” you say. “but i also want to pretend it didn’t happen. because it hurts less that way.”

“hurts?”

you nod. fast. embarrassed. “i keep thinking you’re gonna say it didn’t mean anything. that it was just nostalgia.”

he crouches in front of you.

not too close.

but close enough.

“it wasn’t,” he says. “i swear to god, it wasn’t.”

you blink hard. look away.

���i want to believe you.”

he’s quiet again.

but when he speaks, it’s slower. like he’s figuring it out as he says it.

“i don’t know how to do this. with the cameras. with the distance. with people watching.”

you nod.

“but i know how to care about you,” he adds.

your throat catches.

“i still do.” he finishes, voice barely above a whisper.

you clench your jaw.

“you can’t say that if you’re not ready to mean it.”

he looks at you like it hurts. like it kills him. like he knows he deserves that.

and then—softly, without pushing—he holds out his hand.

you stare at it.

your chest aches.

but you reach for it anyway.

not because it fixes everything.

but because you want it to.

he doesn’t let go of your hand.

not even when you stand up. not even when the curtain lifts a little and the noise of celebration tries to crawl back in.

you expect him to. really, you do.

but his fingers stay curled against yours. soft. steady. not possessive—just present.

like a lifeline.

you don’t say anything.

you just tug him with you, through the side hallway, past a catering cart and a fire exit sign, down the stairs until your shoes echo off the concrete.

the door at the bottom is marked no re-entry but you push it open anyway.

he hesitates. just for a second.

then follows you into the night.

outside, it’s colder than it should be.

not freezing. but sharp enough to sting the tips of your ears, to make you wish you’d brought a coat.

kyle shrugs out of his hoodie before you can even pretend not to shiver.

“you’ll be cold,” you protest, voice too thin.

he just hands it over without looking at you.

“i’ll live.”

you slip it on.

it still smells like him.

you hate that it makes your chest clench. you hate that it makes you feel seventeen again, in love with the idea of someone who looked at you like you were sunlight.

you hate that it’s not just the idea anymore.

it’s him.

and he’s standing five inches away, shifting his weight like he wants to say something that’s been buried for too long.

“this is weird,” you murmur.

he glances at you. “what is?”

“being here. with you. after everything.”

“yeah.”

“it feels like—like we broke something, and now we’re trying to pick up the pieces without knowing what the hell it looked like before.”

he gives a quiet laugh.

“i think it looked a lot like this.”

you shoot him a look.

he shrugs, smile crooked, eyes soft. “us. sneaking out. avoiding people. too scared to say the wrong thing, but still not shutting up.”

you huff. “we were never good at shutting up.”

he nods. “that’s how i knew it was real.”

your breath catches.

for a second, the silence is thick.

then you say it.

soft. scared.

“what if we can’t get it back?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

just watches the streetlamps blur against the sidewalk. cars passing like ghosts. the city alive and uncaring around you.

“maybe we’re not supposed to get it back,” he says finally. “maybe we’re supposed to build it differently.”

you don’t know what to say.

so you just… nod.

because that’s all you can do. because you’re not ready to trust it. not yet.

but you want to.

god, you want to.

“you still write?” he asks suddenly.

you pause.

“…sometimes.”

he waits.

you chew your lip.

“i wrote a song after you left. it was terrible. like, objectively bad.”

“worse than my glitter cowboy song?”

you roll your eyes. “don’t flatter yourself, alessandro. nothing’s worse than that.”

he grins.

but it fades quick.

“i wrote one too,” he says. “about the pool. about that night you almost drowned trying to show off.”

“i wasn’t showing off. i was just—”

“—trying to backflip with one shoe on and a popsicle in your mouth.”

you glare.

he laughs again. quietly. like he’s afraid to make too much noise.

you both fall quiet.

you don’t know how much time passes.

you don’t care.

the cold air bites your cheeks. his hoodie is too big. his hands are in his pockets now, shoulders hunched like he’s holding something in.

you look over at him.

his eyes are already on you.

you break eye contact first.

“what now?” you ask, barely a whisper.

he exhales slowly.

“we figure it out,” he says. “if you want to.”

“i don’t know if i’m ready.”

“that’s okay.”

“i might ruin it again.”

he pauses.

then, softly: “we both might.”

you nod. once.

his shoulder brushes yours.

not on purpose. not quite.

but you don’t move away.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

oh btw reader is the dutch competitor, also wrote the song she sang but will not be showing you guys lol (also she’s dutch cuz im dutch, sorry claude)

[soavk]

Hi, could u write a kyle Alessandro x reader fic where they are cuddling after a long day, I love ur writing so much

sweet dreams

Warnings: none just fluff.

[12:40 am] may 12 2025

as you open the door to the hotel you were staying at the tv was playing some show kyle probably fell asleep to, you were finally with your boyfriend.

you and kyle haven’t been left alone in a while due to Eurovision. Fans are going crazy over you two.. well they are actually going crazy about kyle, youve just been getting hate comments for the most ridiculous things

Like people are saying ur “insane” for not knowing when kyle is rehearsing when you literally said that kyle doesn’t know either, but that doesn’t matter. or atleast not right now because all the matters right now is finally being alone with him.

he mutters out a “hi baby” you could tell he was sleeping.

You practically flop on the queen sized bed with kyle jumping up a little, you groan back in response of the comment he made. Scooting up to him he turned around and opens his arms to you.

“mm.. how was your day” you asked hoping he wouldn’t fall back asleep like he always does

“it was fine, but.. uh lots of interviewers asking me about you.”

“What’d you bring?” Pointing to the bag you placed on the table

“Snacks I thought we could share”

He hums back in response

Kyle held you by the waist and pulled you back to his chest. It was peaceful to be alone with him after all of the rehearsals and planing, but this moment felt better than anything probably because you wanna fall asleep more than anything in the world.

you and Kyle drifted off to sleep together.

[openwiindow]

Hiiiii can you write a oneshot with Kyle alessandro? One fluff and one smut please?

And if you write for male reader can you do that but if you are not comfortable with that that’s okey😁

FINALLY OVER

pairing: kyle alessandro x male!reader

(you can read it as gn!)

Performance is over. Eurovision is finally over. It was good experience, but God it was finally over.

The whole show you had fun, it was really fun meeting new people and becoming close friends with some of them but you were tired.

Only thing on your mind is how you want to rest. Rest in your hotel room, with your boyfriend just laying on the bed with only TV noise in the background.

And it was finally time for that.

After Kyles performance, after finale and received points for his show, and after after party it was finally time to rest. Just two of you.

You lay on the couch, in your hotel room with Kyle laying on you.

His hair is a mess, make up rubbed and smudged on his face while being half a sleep.

You almost fall asleep your self until he spoke.

“It was fun, but im glad it was finally over.”

You don’t say anything, you hold him closer until he spoke again.

“My whole performance i was looking at you. I couldn’t wait to get you alone in the room, where is quiet and it’s just us.”

“I thought, while performing, you were busy flirting with every camera your eyes have saw that night” you say with teasing voice.

He smirked, he looks at you and with teasing voice back “But they weren’t the one i wanted to kiss or be with after.”

“You were incredible back there.”

Kyle hums happily, lays his head back at your chest and after a while, falls a sleep.

In the moments like this, when Kyle was doubting him self, and his decision for going on eurovision, he knew it was all worth it with you on his side.

[silly-mox]

What's it like dating Lukas from Katarsis headcanons?

Tags: a bit suggestive lightly, fluff, a little bit of angst only when he loses/and reader does also, different timeline to where Katarsis did win/or reader did.

Note: reader is gender neutral for this

Authors note: I hope you enjoy this! And I did write these too lighter by Kyle Alessandro also wasted love by jj<3

︶︶︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶︶︶

︶︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶︶

- Lukas is very attentive to your needs and wants, always there to read your mind if you need help or anything. Especially if you're introverted like him.

- Lukas gets shy easily in public, and isn't big on pda though he still wants to have some contact with you so he'll hold your pinkie or hand sometimes.

- though Lukas is not shy in private, being very touchy in the comfort of your shared home/apartment, not scared to initiate anything or cling to you in any way he can kind of like a koala sometimes.

- The band likes to tease him a little when it comes to the two of you, because they think you're both adorable and like seeing Lukas get flustered from the teasing.

- if you are not a contestant in Euro, you will sit with him and the band in the green room and be a moral support cheerleader. Lukas also might bring you onstage for the performance if you want to.

- if you are representing a country for euro, you two keep it private mostly, and behave as friends mostly in front of media and cameras though behind the scenes. Everyone knows you two are a thing just by looks, lingering touches, the way Lukas will get bashful or you giggle at something he says.

- I definitely think at some point the media or a fan will catch on, and realize you two are dating the news will spread like wildfire.

- Lukas definitely would take the brunt of the questions and even say don't ask you much, and answer or say they don't have a right to ask such a question as it invades your guys privacy.

- he is very protective of you and your private life, he sees your relationship as a safe haven and something untouched by the media so he'll keep it that way.

- they put you and Lithuania in the same semifinals, and you were eliminated near the end while they had moved on. Lukas had immediately gone to your area leaving the band to celebrate them making it and comforted you immediately.

- you will accompany him to finals except as support if you didn't make it to finals yourself, or Lukas will try to incorporate you into the finals performance somehow so you still have a chance to win except with him this time.

- when Lithuania learns they lost Eurovision he immediately goes to hug you for comfort, which you obligated and just held him for a moment and reassured him. Especially if you were in the performance and didn't win a second time. But hey at least you two did it together.

- if you and Katarsis both qualified for finals, it's a whole power couples thing, and even a bit of light-hearted competitiveness between you two as performers.

- he is very supportive of you and even though he wants to win he would be very proud of you if you won yourself. He shows a lot of his love and support through actions over words. Especially because the media kinda puts you two against each other.

- Lithuania did win Eurovision you ran to their section so fast to celebrate, immediately running to hug Lukas and the others to congratulate them and celebrate. Being so proud of your boyfriend and his bandmates.

- you guys might also celebrate privately ;) in your hotel room after the show.

- if you win Eurovision Katarsis go to your section and all celebrate with you just as excited and supportive even if they aren't the most energetic they still are happy for you especially Lukas. As he feels a lot of pride for his partner and the accomplishment they had just made.

- you two have a TikTok account, that's mostly just silly goofing off and not really being serious. If introverted it's still goofy just in a more casual way.

- if you both are contestants in euro, you actively promote his song all the time. Even going as far as to do a cover of it, while he also would do a cover of your song with the band to show support.

- the band absolutely loves you, and you're good friends with Emilija, since it's finally someone else to talk to (especially if you're female).

- you fit in nicely with the band especially if introverted being just as casual or awkward, and not really wanting to be there. Which makes Lukas very happy considering he's close with his bandmates so it's his love and good friends all getting along.

︶︶︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶︶︶

︶︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ 𔓕 ︶︶︶

Note: Make sure to tag me or reblog, if you got inspiration or anything else from my work please! If you have a request please use my inbox, I'll write anything in my rules and people I write for. And can make exceptions also!

Hey i hope you’re doing good after this eurovisions final results 💔anyways i need something for lukas from katarsis like dating headcanon or wathever you want, thanks 🙏

Omg I got you anon<3 I will make this after I drop the blurb I have today for something else, and I shall post it tomorrow or today as well! Also thank you I'm still coping w the results of euro💔.

[rovasdiary]

omg I have an ideia for Kyle 😭

Do you know that live where the beautyblenders asked Kyle who was in the room?

Would it be possible to be something like that, which was the way they meet Kyle’s girlfriend?

such a good idea omg ty for the request!

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: teasing, swearing, accidental hard launch, instagram live, jj and sissal, not extremely accurate (i think that’s it???)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆

꩜ you weren’t even awake when it happened.

or… not fully.

you’d been curled up on the left side of the bed for over an hour, half-asleep and wrapped in the hotel’s fluffy duvet, your back turned to kyle. you were still nursing the last stretch of a cold — sore throat, fuzzy brain, that kind of half-sick that makes you delirious.

kyle had crawled in beside you after his rehearsal. barely containing his laughter as he looked at his phone.

you didn’t question it.

he’d whispered something like “i’m just gonna join jj’s live for a sec, promise i won’t be loud,” kissed the top of your head, and started the stream with his volume low.

on the live, jj and sissal were already yelling at eachother.

“bro you’re in bed?” jj asked. “you didn’t even put a hoodie on?”

“kyle, this is a professional environment,” sissal said with mock seriousness.

“i am wearing pants,” kyle replied.

“you better be.”

he was lying slightly propped on his side, arm bent under the pillow, phone angled just enough to show his face and some of the bedding behind him.

except… as he shifted to laugh at something jj said, his camera tilted. just a bit.

and in the background — barely lit, mostly out of frame — was the soft, unmistakable silhouette of a girl under the covers. your figure was turned away, but it was obvious you were real. and you were in his bed.

jj blinked.

sissal leaned in closer to her own screen.

the chat exploded:

“IS THAT A GIRL???”

“WHO’S IN KYLE’S BED RN???”

“HELLO???? WHO IS THAT???”

jj gasped so loud it glitched the audio.

“kyle. kyle. don’t lie to me. who is that.”

“what?” kyle asked, trying to play dumb, but his face was already turning red.

“THERE’S A WOMAN IN YOUR BED.”

“THAT’S A WHOLE PERSON,” sissal yelled, dramatically pointing at her screen.

you shifted slightly in your sleep. your face peeked out. someone in the chat screamed in all caps:

“SHES REAL. HE HAS A REAL GIRLFRIEND. I THOUGHT HE WAS KIDDING.”

“okay okay wait—” kyle started, panic setting in. “it’s not—”

“IT LOOKS LIKE THERES SOMEONE IN YOUR BED,” jj yelled.

“a GIRL,” sissal added.

“she’s not like us, she’s—”

“not famous?”

“not a contestant?”

“IS SHE A SPY?”

chat was still going feral:

“i’m unwell”

“how long has this been going on???”

“plot twist: he’s been dating a normal the whole time 😭”

you stirred again and mumbled something like “mmphone’s bright, babe,” which sent everyone over the edge. “OH MY GOD SHE JUST CALLED HIM BABE. HE’S GONE. HE’S GONE.”

kyle, sighing, finally gave in. “okay. yeah. that’s my girlfriend. and yeah, i’ve been keeping her to myself. because she’s not famous, and i wanted her to have peace, and also—she’s kind of shy.”

from the blankets, your voice cracked out a very sleepy:

“…don’t expose me on instagram live.”

after the live ended (mostly because kyle threatened to block jj), he flopped back beside you in bed, face buried in the pillow.

“i literally got exposed by my own phone,” he groaned.

“technically by your own arm,” you teased, nudging his bare shoulder. “live while in bed was bold.”

he groaned louder.

“they’re gonna make edits out of it, aren’t they?”

“babe,” you said gently, “i’ve already seen three.”

later that night, he posted a blurry close-up of you in bed, face turned away, with a tiny pink heart emoji in the corner.

caption:

“the girl in the bed. caught. not sorry.”

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

i lowk hate this, also i know that this isn’t exactly what they said and that there were more people there but it’s SO HARD to write multiple people who are all yelling AND making it look good in general. hope you enjoyed!!

[rovasdiary]

headcanons for Kyle as a boyfriend

basic request but OKAY! here you go xx

kyle alessandro x fem!reader headcanons . ✧.*

warnings: fluff & swearing, that’s it i fink!

꩜ he calls you “my girl” and “baby” the most, but when he’s tired or tipsy, it slips into “angel” and “sweetheart” and you pretend not to melt every time.

꩜ he’s terrible at not flirting in interviews. if someone asks about “favorite contestants,” he’s like, “oh i mean, i respect them all—but you’ve seen her, right?” and you’re in the back mouthing stop it with wide eyes.

꩜ you steal his jewelry. constantly. and he lets you—until one day he’s like “…babe. where are all my rings?” (they’re on your nightstand. he still kisses your hand when he sees them on you.)

꩜ you once found a crumpled up note he tried to slip into your bag before you went onstage. it just said “don’t forget you’re the best thing to ever happen to music. love you.” you kept it in your mirror case.

꩜ he always takes way too many candid photos of you, but most of them are cute: forehead kisses, you reading in bed, you stealing fries off his plate. he has a hidden folder on his phone just titled “hers.”

꩜ he always waits side-stage when you’re performing, lips pressed together, hands clasped—he looks like a nervous boyfriend in a rom-com. after you finish, he’s always the first to hug you, saying “you killed that” a little too loudly.

꩜ he randomly says “i’m proud of you” in the middle of conversations. like you could be talking about groceries and he’ll just drop, “hey. by the way. i’m proud of you.” and then go back to comparing pastas.

꩜ backstage selfies are always blurry because kyle insists on holding the phone but gets too excited. they end up as part of your private camera roll titled “weirdo whose stalking me”

꩜ kyle’s love language is touch, so he’s always leaning on you, holding your hand, lying across your lap. even when you’re brushing your teeth, he’ll wander in and wrap his arms around your waist like he’ll forget how to breathe without contact.

꩜ during rehearsals, you two would hum each other’s songs under your breath. not even on purpose. it just sort of happened. like muscle memory.

꩜ he likes reading your lyrics and will annotate them like you’re in a book club. leaves little notes like “this line made my chest hurt (in a good way)” or “you’re fucking insane and i’m in love with your brain.”

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

i love making headcanons but they’re so hard to come up with also i tried to do like 50/50 eurovision and then just in general

[rovasdiary]

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: same as last time

𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄?

꩜ the elevator ride is silent.

not awkward. not exactly. just full. full of everything you haven’t said yet. full of glances that keep brushing up against memory. full of breath that feels one second from catching in your throat.

kyle stands beside you, arms folded, jaw tight. like he’s trying not to think too hard. like if he keeps his body still, his heart won’t do anything stupid.

you’re not sure yours got the memo.

you get off on the top floor. pass three hallway plants and a cleaning cart. take the last door at the end—one of those access exits that’s probably meant to be locked but never is.

the second it opens, you’re hit with wind. cold and sharp and clean, sweeping across the rooftop like it knows how long it’s been since you last breathed properly.

kyle steps out behind you, jacket tugged tighter around his ribs.

“same sky,” he says after a second. “as last year.”

you glance over.

he’s looking up. the city lights bounce off his face, painting his skin gold at the edges. you want to trace the shadows there. you want to ask if he still hears your voice in the songs he writes at 2 a.m.

instead, you sit on the edge of the rooftop and cross your legs.

he hesitates for a heartbeat, then joins you. close, but not touching.

you both watch the street lights blink below for a while.

you break the silence first.

“i was scared,” you say. not looking at him. just… putting it out there. letting the wind carry it if he won’t.

he turns slightly, shoulder brushing yours.

“of what?”

“you.”

a breath.

“me. how much i liked you. how fast it all felt. like… like it was a dream, and the second i left spain, it’d vanish.”

he doesn’t answer immediately.

then—

“it didn’t vanish for me.”

you nod slowly. “me neither.”

he pulls something out of his jacket pocket. crumpled, soft-edged. he hands it to you without a word.

it’s the paper plane.

the note you left him.

the one with your messy handwriting and the dumb doodle in the corner. the one that said “don’t forget the weird summer girl who steals bracelets and sings too loud.”

you stare at it for a long time. it looks older now. like him.

“you kept it,” you say again. softer, like maybe if you say it gently enough, it won’t make your throat sting.

“i couldn’t throw it away.”

he shrugs. doesn’t look at you. doesn’t have to.

“you were the first person who made it feel easy,” he says. “like music. like breathing.”

you feel your chest pull tight.

“kyle…”

“i’m not asking you to fix it,” he adds, fast. “i just—i needed you to know that it wasn’t nothing.”

you nod.

then, slowly, you pull your phone out of your coat pocket. swipe to voice memos. scroll for a second. hit play.

your voice filters into the air. rough, tired, cracking on the chorus.

it’s the first version of the song you performed tonight. a demo. a night recording. no backing track, no polish. just you, and your guitar, and a lyric that had no title yet.

he goes still beside you.

“you wrote it about me,” he says, like he already knew, but hearing it still knocks the air out of him.

you nod once. “every version of it. even the one i never played live. even the one that didn’t make sense without you.”

the wind curls between you again.

then he pulls something up on his own phone. a video.

you blink as the grainy clip begins to play—him on a balcony, singing softly into his phone mic, barefoot and sunburnt and glowing.

“i was gonna post it after your performance,” he says. “but i didn’t. felt too much.”

the song is short. barely a minute. but it’s about you. it sounds like you. it says your name halfway through and doesn’t even try to hide it.

you press your hand to your mouth when it ends.

you don’t mean to say it out loud.

but it slips out anyway.

“i was a mess,” you whisper. “after i left.”

it hangs there like a confession. not quite a scream, not quite a secret. your voice doesn’t shake, but your whole body feels like it wants to. like your skin’s too tight and your chest is all glass.

kyle doesn’t say anything right away. just watches you with something unreadable behind his eyes.

so you keep talking. because now that it’s out, it won’t stop.

“i didn’t eat for two days. couldn’t write. i’d walk past someone wearing your cologne and have to pretend i wasn’t about to cry in the fucking cereal aisle. and i—”

you stop. you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

“i hated myself for not saying goodbye properly.”

the wind blows hard. your hair whips across your face. it almost feels cinematic, if you weren’t so tired of your own drama.

finally, he speaks.

“you didn’t tell me.”

you laugh, bitter and breathless. “i didn’t think you wanted me to.”

his expression twists, and suddenly he looks like the one with a cracked ribcage now.

“you really thought that?”

“you were always so casual,” you say, quieter. “like we were just… borrowing time.”

“no,” he says. quickly. too quickly. “no, i was—i was scared. i didn’t want to be the one who needed more.”

“so neither of us said anything,” you mutter. “great.”

he rakes a hand through his hair. looks up at the sky like maybe the stars will explain how two people could burn so bright and still manage to miss each other completely.

“you don’t know how many times i almost called you,” he says, voice hoarse now. “i wrote your number on the inside of my guitar case. carried it around like a promise i didn’t deserve to keep.”

you stare at him. there’s a sound building in your throat. you don’t know if it’s a sob or a laugh or both.

“you could’ve called,” you whisper.

“you could’ve stayed.”

your breath hitches.

the rooftop is suddenly too quiet. too big. the city spins below you like it’s mocking how small this moment feels—and how huge it really is.

he looks at you again. properly this time. like he’s memorizing everything he ran out of time for last year.

“do you think we’re allowed now?” you ask.

the words tremble on the way out, but you don’t take them back.

he swallows. his hand finds yours again, gentle this time. not desperate. not reaching. just there.

“i think,” he says, “i’m tired of pretending i don’t still know how you take your coffee.”

you let out a small, helpless sound.

something breaks and settles inside your chest.

your fingers curl into his without thinking.

“i still like coconut sunscreen,” you whisper. “even though it makes me smell like a popsicle.”

he gives a small, almost-shaky smile.

“i like popsicles.”

“pretty sure you just like me.”

“yeah,” he says. “i do.”

you lean your head against his shoulder.

for the first time in months, you feel your body exhale.

no promises.

no perfect endings.

but maybe—

just maybe—

something worth starting again.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

oh hi, you ready for the next one? it’s a bit angsty mb. lmk if you enjoy!

[rovasdiary]

Can u do a part 2 for Cruel Summer (Kyle Alessandro) ?🙏🙏

here you go, enjoy!

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: same as last chapter!

𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄

꩜ the room is too bright.

that’s the first thing you think when you step into the backstage lounge. too white. too sterile. too many reflective surfaces for the thoughts already ricocheting around your skull.

you’re only here because your manager insisted. “ten minutes,” she said, tapping her phone screen like that was a reasonable leash. “smile, hydrate, take a photo if you see anyone interesting.”

you said “fine” and hoped your voice didn’t crack.

you hadn’t seen him yet tonight. not since rehearsals. not since you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the hallway mirror and immediately spun around like a cartoon character avoiding a boss fight.

but of course he’s here now.

of course he’s standing by the drinks table, fiddling with a paper cup like he doesn’t know how to hold things anymore.

kyle alessandro.

norway’s golden boy.

the same boy who once said “you look like a song i’d ruin my throat for.”

the same boy you left behind last august with a kiss and a coward’s smile.

he looks good.

he looks tired.

he looks like you’ve been living rent-free in his ribcage and he only just realized it’s affecting his posture.

you try to leave before he sees you.

you’re halfway to the hallway when you hear him say it.

“you always bail when i show up, or is that a new thing?”

his voice is quieter than you remember. a little rougher. like it’s been sandpapered by late nights and too many half-finished demos.

you stop. you don’t turn around yet.

“you think i’ve been avoiding you?” you say, aiming for light and landing somewhere near brittle.

he laughs, once. no humor in it.

“i know you’ve been avoiding me.”

you inhale. turn around slowly. he’s still by the drinks table, but his eyes are on you now, and it’s like the whole room shrinks to just him.

“you’re the one who said ‘no pressure, no promises,’” you say.

“yeah, and then you left without saying goodbye.”

“i wrote you a note.”

“oh, wow,” he deadpans. “a note. how romantic.”

you flinch a little. not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right, and it hurts more than you expected.

“you kept it,” you say quietly.

his expression flickers.

“yeah. i did.”

for a second, neither of you speak. the buzz of fluorescent lights fills the space between you like static. your fingers twitch at your side, aching to grab something—his sleeve, his hand, the ghost of the summer you ruined.

“you looked happy tonight,” he says eventually, voice softer now. “on stage, i mean.”

“i was.”

he nods. looks down. presses his thumb into the side of the paper cup like he’s trying to feel something through it.

“i heard your song,” you add, because you’re tired of pretending you didn’t. “it was good.”

“yours was better.”

you huff a laugh. “i won, if that’s what you mean.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

you blink. heart catching on that old, familiar ache.

he takes a step closer.

just one.

“i mean it was you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “it sounded like you. like last summer. like that night we sat on the roof and made up chords for songs that didn’t exist yet.”

you look at him. really look at him.

he’s nervous. you can tell. his foot is tapping and his hand keeps adjusting the sleeve of his jacket like maybe if he distracts himself enough, this won’t feel so terrifying.

“you still smell like that sunscreen,” he says suddenly. “the coconut one.”

“and you still wear that ugly bracelet,” you shoot back, trying not to smile.

“you gave it to me.”

“i stole it.”

“semantics.”

another beat of silence. then—

“i missed you,” he says, all in one breath. like he’s ripping off a band-aid he’s been wearing for ten months.

your chest tightens.

you want to say same. you want to say i wrote six songs about you and deleted all of them. you want to say i was scared and stupid and i never stopped thinking about you.

but you’re not sure your voice will hold.

so instead, you whisper, “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“i didn’t expect to see you, either.”

you both laugh, soft and a little bitter.

“do you hate me?” you ask, quieter than you mean to.

he shakes his head. “no. i just… i didn’t know what we were.”

“me neither.”

“but i wanted to.”

you swallow hard. shift your weight from one foot to the other. it feels like the floor’s gonna open up beneath you, but at least if it does, he’s close enough to fall in too.

“can we…” you start, then stop. your throat’s tight. “can we maybe talk? like, really talk? no cameras. no chaos.”

his eyes soften instantly. something unspoken in him eases.

“yeah,” he says. “i’d like that.”

he tosses the empty paper cup into the trash and walks toward you. not rushed. just calm. steady. like this is something he’s been walking toward for a long time.

he stops when he’s close enough for your sleeve to brush his wrist.

“no pressure,” he says again. “but… maybe a little hope?”

you nod.

just once.

and when he opens the door for you, you step through it together.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

yall want me to drop part 3?? i’ve got 3 more in my drafts. just gotta make em look good

[rovasdiary]

haven’t seen anyone write about him so i took matters into my own hands, enjoy!

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: mutual pining, some swearing, SLIGHT angst if you squint, smoking in future chapters, too lazy to proofread

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

꩜ you saw him before he saw you.

technically, he wasn’t even looking your way—just standing behind a small group of press, tugging at the sleeves of his silver jacket like it didn’t fit right, like he hadn’t already worn it on stage three times. his hair was messier than usual. his hands kept fidgeting like they hadn’t gotten the memo that this was meant to be chill. and god, he still did that thing—tilting his head when he was listening to someone, nodding a little too earnestly, like the world needed encouragement just to keep spinning.

you should’ve walked the other way.

you should’ve grabbed your mic and followed your team toward the green room and pretended like you didn’t feel your stomach drop into your knees the second you saw him.

but you didn’t.

instead, you stood there for a second too long. long enough for your stylist to give you a weird look. long enough for the music in the press lounge to change. long enough for kyle alessandro to turn his head, look up—

—and freeze.

his lips parted slightly. he blinked. once, twice. then his eyes widened, just a little. like he hadn’t prepared for this, either.

because of course he hadn’t. this wasn’t supposed to happen. he was supposed to be norway, and you were supposed to be the netherlands, and sure, you were both on the list for this stupid media week warmup, but nobody had said he’d be here. not at the same showcase. not within ten feet. not looking at you like you were a memory that had just materialized out of thin air.

and suddenly, it was summer again.

your lungs forgot how to work. your dress felt too tight at the ribs. and you remembered—in vivid, excruciating detail—how his voice sounded in the dark. how his fingers had traced half-written lyrics across your back. how you’d left him in spain with nothing but a paper plane note and a lie about timing.

you didn’t know he’d kept the note.

you didn’t know he’d be smiling like this—soft, surprised, stunned—like seeing you again was something good. not something that cracked open every part of him that had tried so hard to move on.

he didn’t say anything.

neither did you.

his manager called his name first. yours called it a second later.

and just like that, you both looked away.

you didn’t see him again until rehearsal. he was standing just offstage while you sound-checked, sipping water from a beat-up thermos and pretending not to look directly at you.

you pretended not to care.

but you knew. you felt it. his eyes on you. the hesitation in his step when you walked past him on your way out. the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, or say something, or—

but no. he didn’t.

and neither did you.

because it wasn’t summer anymore. it wasn’t barcelona rooftops and stolen kisses behind gear trucks. it was a big stage, and bright lights, and a thousand cameras waiting to catch a single second of weakness.

so you kept walking.

and behind you, kyle didn’t follow.

the first time you met him, he was upside down.

literally.

it was some strange rooftop party in barcelona, the kind that smelled like citrus and wine and bad decisions. you were there with your friend from a songwriting workshop—just tagging along, pretending not to hate the crowd—and he was hanging off the edge of a couch, legs up against the wall, trying to play guitar backwards.

“i call it creative blood flow,” he said, when you raised an eyebrow.

you were unimpressed. “you’re gonna pass out.”

he grinned, upside-down and entirely too confident. “worth it if the verse slaps.”

he ended up passing out ten minutes later, but the verse actually did slap.

you didn’t know he was from norway until halfway through the night. didn’t know he was kyle alessandro until three days later, when you saw his name on a busking schedule near the marina.

but you remembered his face. the way he lit up when people sang along with him. the way his smile cracked a little more on the right. how he let you steal his bracelet without protest and then asked if you’d come to his show that night as “payment.”

you hadn’t planned to stay the whole summer.

but somehow, you did.

somehow, kyle became your safe place. your late-night songwriting buddy. your stupid, sweet, annoying almost-boyfriend. the guy who danced like a glitchy npc and kissed like he couldn’t believe it was allowed.

you kept it quiet. no one else needed to know. it was just the two of you, and barcelona, and a playlist full of drafts neither of you had the nerve to finish.

he asked you, once, if you’d ever write about him.

you didn’t answer.

you left a week later with a hug that lasted too long and a goodbye that wasn’t really a goodbye.

just, “this was fun.”

and him, standing barefoot in the doorway, asking “will i see you again?”

you had said, “maybe.”

you didn’t know “maybe” would feel like a lie for the rest of the year.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

hope you guys enjoyed! tell me if you want more (idc im going to make more anyway)

[rovasdiary]

rova’s masterlist! . ✧.*

no smut! for annaka 18+ dni, for kyle -16 & 21+ dni

𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

annaka fourneret ⋆·˚ ༘ *

꩜ headcanons

1/2/3/4

꩜ texting

1/2/3

꩜ champagne coast

| ꩜ i know you

| ꩜ let it happen

| ꩜ bags

| ꩜ les

| ꩜ sundress

| ꩜ 3 nights

| ꩜ tumblr girls

| ꩜ american teenager

| ꩜ girl, so confusing

^coming soon!

꩜ sailor song

꩜ space song

꩜ wildest dreams

꩜ heartbeat

꩜ coincidence

꩜ do i wanna know?

꩜ they don’t know about us

꩜ the night we met

꩜ ur so pretty

꩜ crush culture

꩜ cherry

꩜ irresistible

꩜ beside you

kyle alessandro ⋆·˚ ༘ *

꩜ headcanons

1/2/3

꩜ texting

1/2/3

꩜ cruel summer

| ꩜ novacane

| ꩜ is there someone else?

| ꩜ carolina

꩜ work song

꩜ hey lover

꩜ lighter

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

here you can find all of my posts! make sure to request :)

[rovasdiary]

Can u do an imagine during Eurovision time with Kyle? 😊 (girlfriend reader)

love eurovision kyle!!!

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: not gf reader mb, thought this fit better because otherwise it would mean they met before eurovision and im too lazy to write a backstory n shit

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

꩜ there’s a kind of silence that exists backstage at eurovision—not truly quiet, but muffled, like the world knows it’s standing on the edge of something loud. lights flicker through velvet curtains. footsteps echo from across the arena. someone’s laughing in the dressing room hallway, high-pitched and nervous, but it doesn’t reach where you’re sitting. not really. not here, tucked away in a dim corner of the green room, knees pulled up to your chest, watching the lights dance on the ceiling like stars trying to find a pattern.

you’re still in stage makeup. shimmer clinging to your temples, lashes curled, lips painted in the kind of red that smudges on water bottles and skin alike. your team’s scattered somewhere, half prepping for the next round, half trying to get you to eat something. but you’re not hungry—not for food, anyway. your nerves come in waves. not the loud kind. more like a tide, pulling in and out, leaving behind a sheen of adrenaline on your skin.

you hear him before you see him. sneakers dragging, breath a little too loud, like he’s just jogged in from somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. you don’t turn your head. you don’t need to. you know kyle by his rhythm now. by the way he enters a room like the sun slipping in through a half-open window. not with force, just warmth. casual. natural. and once he’s there, it’s impossible to ignore.

he drops onto the floor beside you, sprawling like he doesn’t have a performance in less than an hour. his hoodie is oversized and wrinkled, pulled over the mesh shirt he wore for rehearsal. one of the rhinestones is missing from the collar, probably left behind on someone’s mic or scarf or neck. he smells faintly like hairspray and citrus and something a little sweeter. maybe yours. maybe his. it doesn’t really matter anymore.

you glance at him without speaking. he looks up at you like he was already waiting for your eyes. his lashes are dark. his mouth is soft in the corners. and for once, he doesn’t say anything either.

it’s strange, how the world keeps spinning at full speed and yet here, with him, everything stills. you should be stretching. warming up. thinking about camera angles, crowd engagement, breath control. but all you can think about is how close his knee is to yours. how his fingers tap on the floor in a quiet, erratic rhythm. how his whole body leans toward you like it doesn’t know how not to.

you’d met him during the first rehearsal week. he was all light and charm and silver jewelry, walking around like he belonged on every stage in the building. but it was the quiet things that got to you—the way he helped someone carry their costume racks without needing to be asked. the way he lingered after your soundcheck just to say, that was so good, and didn’t follow it up with a joke. the way he looks at you now, like there’s no one else in the entire arena, even though you’re sure every camera in europe is about to turn your way.

someone calls your name in the distance, clipped and rushed. he doesn’t look away from you. not even for a second. your name in someone else’s voice doesn’t matter to him. you think that should scare you. instead, it settles you.

his hand brushes yours. it’s not intentional—probably. but he doesn’t pull away. his pinky hooks around yours, barely there, like a secret. like a thread between two lives that aren’t supposed to intertwine. and still do.

you turn your head, just enough for your hair to fall away from your cheek, and for a moment, you study him. really study him. the line of his jaw. the curve of his mouth. the tension in his shoulders that doesn’t match the way he smiles for the public. he’s quieter now. not performing. not flirting. just here. just with you.

the intimacy of it all is overwhelming.

because here you are—two people from different countries, different lives, both caught up in something massive, something once-in-a-lifetime. and instead of chasing the spotlight or the scoreboard, you’re sitting on the floor beside the boy who sings like he bleeds melody, and all you can think about is how his fingers feel curled around your own.

you breathe in slowly. he matches it. not on purpose. just because your bodies have started syncing in ways you don’t talk about. he’s humming something now—soft, under his breath. maybe it’s your song. maybe his. maybe something new, half-written in the spaces between performances and green room glances.

you rest your head on his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t shift. just leans into it, like he’s been waiting for you to do it all night.

the moment is fragile. not because it might break, but because it’s so honest. and honesty is rare in this world. in any world, really.

you don’t know what happens after this. what happens after the final votes are tallied, after the confetti falls, after the flight back to your real lives. but right now, none of that matters. not the placement. not the press. not the questions people might ask if they notice how you look at each other when you think no one’s watching.

what matters is this.

his heartbeat. your breath. the way your hands are still touching. the way his thumb has started tracing gentle circles on your knuckle. not rushed. not shy. just steady. present. true.

you think you’ll remember this forever.

not the arena.

not the lights.

but this.

him.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

hope you enjoyed!! pls comment im so alone jeee

[rovasdiary]

Hiiii !! Thank you for doing my request ( the live one ) 🫶🏼🫶🏼 It was amazing!! 😊

Idk if it is possible but can u do more with girlfriend reader? 😁🫶🏼

of course i can!! enjoy xx

kyle alessandro x fem!reader . ✧.*

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑

꩜ it’s a sunday. the kind that hums softly instead of singing—quiet, golden, slow. the city outside is already awake, but your apartment holds onto sleep like it’s something sacred. morning filters in through the windows, casting pale shapes across the sheets, warming the corners of the room where neither of you have moved from in hours.

kyle’s still curled beside you, face half buried in the pillow, hair messy in the way it always is when he’s truly rested. one leg is slung over yours, a lazy claim, and his hand is tucked beneath your shirt, not with any heat—just to be close. he’s warm. heavy in the way someone only is when they trust the moment to hold them. when he breathes, it’s slow. measured. like he knows he’s safe.

you’ve been awake longer than him. not by much, but long enough to memorize the way the morning light softens his features. long enough to realize that you’re not thinking about your phone or your to-do list or anything else the world might ask from you. all you want is this. his breath against your neck. the weight of his arm around your waist. the way he sleeps better when he knows you’re still there.

there’s something unspeakably intimate about mornings like this. no makeup. no distractions. no performance. just skin and sheets and quiet smiles that don’t need to be translated. you shift a little and kyle stirs, brows knitting together like even unconscious he doesn’t want to let go of you. his nose presses into your collarbone.

“don’t move yet,” he mumbles, voice wrecked with sleep. “m’not ready.”

you don’t. you wouldn’t dream of it.

instead, you reach for his hair, fingers weaving through soft curls, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he loves. he melts into it immediately, one arm tightening around your middle, a soft groan slipping from his throat—half appreciation, half instinct.

there’s a kind of peace in this that you’ve never found anywhere else. not in applause, not in studio lights, not even in the adrenaline of performance. this is quieter, yes—but fuller. truer. you’ve been with kyle long enough to know how rare that is. how hard he works to be present. to slow down. to not let the world eat him alive.

you press a kiss to the top of his head, gentle, lingering.

“mm. that’s cheating,” he mutters, still not lifting his face from your skin. “if you keep doing that i’m never leaving this bed.”

you smile into his hair, breathing him in. he smells like you—your shampoo, your laundry detergent, the faint citrus from your shared body wash. you like that. the sharedness of it. the quiet proof that he’s yours in a hundred small ways.

eventually, he peeks up at you. eyes half-lidded, lashes tangled, a sleepy smirk playing on his lips. he looks younger like this. less guarded. still a little lost in dreamland.

you expect him to tease you. to say something ridiculous. but he doesn’t.

he just looks.

and keeps looking.

until you feel a warmth rise in your chest that has nothing to do with the morning sun.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, softly amused.

he shakes his head.

“i’m thinking,” he whispers. “that i love you more than i know what to do with.”

your breath catches. it’s not the first time he’s said it. not by a long shot. but somehow, the way he says it now—half-asleep, half-stunned, like the words just fell out of him—makes it brand new again.

you touch his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “you don’t have to do anything with it.”

he smiles, lazy and full of affection. “still feels like too much sometimes.”

you know that feeling. you’ve had your own days—nights where love felt like something terrifyingly infinite. but with him, it’s different. it’s the kind of “too much” you want to keep. the kind that makes you want to spend forever figuring it out.

the rest of the morning unfolds like that. slow. gentle. no alarms. no deadlines. just coffee in mismatched mugs, legs tangled under the kitchen table, music humming low in the background while kyle dances barefoot in your living room just to make you laugh. he holds your waist like it’s second nature, kisses your shoulder while the kettle boils, reads your expression before you’ve said a word.

and when the afternoon comes, it doesn’t feel like the day is ending. it feels like it’s opening. like this is what the love songs meant. not the drama. not the fire. just this—being known. being chosen. again and again, in tiny, quiet ways.

later, curled back on the couch, legs over his, your head against his chest—you think about how rare it is to feel so whole in someone else’s presence. kyle doesn’t try to fix you. doesn’t fill silences with noise. he just lets you be. and that? that’s everything.

outside, the world moves. but in here, it doesn’t matter.

in here, you’re safe.

in here, you’re loved.

and that’s more than enough.

divider by strangergraphics!

rova’s notes ౨ৎ

hope you guys enjoyed!! don’t forget to like, comment and reblog!!!

[rovasdiary]

i don’t know if u write smut because i just recently found your page but can u write kyle alessandro x fem!reader smut 🙏🙏 something like reader and kyle are in relationship and it’s eurovision time and reader sees all the girls on tiktok crushing over him and she also sees few hate comment about her and that they should broke up and when he sees that he need to show her how much he loves her etc

hey! so no hate to this person at ALL, but kyle just turned 19 so i don’t feel comfortable writing smut for him, im sorry! feel free to leave other requests

[rovasdiary]

probably going to take a short break<3 mental health hasn’t been too great so i’m sorry, ill be back very soon!!!

[rovasdiary]

can’t sleep so i’ll probably stay up all night writing, give me ideas

[rovasdiary]

yall are lucky as fuck because i just got 2 requests for kyle part 2.. well guess what? i wrote these a few days ago so part 2 will be coming out in a few minutes! just have to make it look pretty