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#I can’t believe they’re 22 :’(

fakeversacepurse · 3 months

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18 -> 19 -> 21

I can’t believe i’m not even 22 yet and i’m almost 240lbs, I’ve wrecked that tight little waist! Tumblr has absolutely ruined my brain irreparably and all i want to do now is smoke, eat, watch porn and grow.

I’m the fat friend in every group and it’s so humiliating to know everyone saw me get this fat they know I have no will power, and they’re right.

I want to drop out of university and start gaining full time, start camming while shovelling takeout or chugging cream. I want to be teased and fattened publicly, made to to humiliating tasks, lose all dignity.

I want to make sure I can never leave this porn addiction, make pleasure and hedonism all I live for.

Ruin my brain, make me dumb, fat and horny <3

THEY/THEM PRONOUNS

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eldritch-thrumming · 3 months

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what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

#the not as hot as ur pictures thing is a real thing my ex said to me after we’d been together for like six months lol called me ugly 😭#legally blonde au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie legally blonde au #this will EVENTUALLY be steddie if i write more lol #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #i’m setting it up!!!!!#eddie will be a bartender not a law guy sorry!!!! lawyer!eddie just don’t feel right to me #steddie fanfiction #steddie blurb #guess what i watched tonight #well i also watched mean girls lol #here have this half finished thing #i wanted to finish it before posting but

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anobsessedchocolatechip · 6 months

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Okay Christine Daae is THE MOST UNJUSTIFIABLY OVERHATED CHARACTER IN MUSICAL HISTORY. THERE I SAID IT.

This VERY YOUNG WOMAN somewhere from 15-22 lost her father, the only person she ever had, at a young age and found her way of expressing grief through music. a MUCH OLDER MAN (we are not going to deny this fact please) saw her and decided to take advantage of that grief in order for her to fall in love with him (I know he had his reasons but it STILL HAPPENED) and after she found out how the man manipulated her she still understood why he did it, even after he KILLED PEOPLE she saw that he just wanted her love, and even after he threatened to KILL HER AND HER FIANCÉE for EXISTING (“now let it be war upon you both”) she was VERY smart and knew how to break the murderous trance that Erik was in, by showing him the one thing she knew he needed, compassion. She has the unique ability to see good in people when it’s not visible to anyone else, even after it seems like they’re past the point of ever being good again. That’s some LUKE SKYWALKER SHIT. She is literally a HEROINE who does not let anyone’s shit get to her, not raouls dumbass plan, not Erik’s anger. She wants to SING HER SONGS and she WILL, DAMN IT. Yes she’s naive sometimes but what did you want?? Her to be perfect?? Then you’d just call her a Mary Sue. Also she was a GRIEF STRICKEN YOUNG GIRL WITH FAITH IN THE WORLD OF COURSE SHE’D BELIEVE A NICE VOICE TEACHING HER TO SING AND BELIEVE IN HERSELF.

Christine Daae is a SMART, BRAVE, EMPATHETIC, ABSOLUTELY AMAZING CHARACTER AND IF I SEE ONE MORE PERSON BLAMING HER FOR *ANYTHING* THAT HAPPENED TO HER I AM GOING TO EXPLODE.

(Disclaimer: this is not an anti erik or anti raoul post, this is a PRO CHRISTINE DAAE POST) (GOD I LOVE HER)

Edit: Jesus some of you guys saw “this is not an anti Erik post” and said this sign can’t stop me because I can’t read 😇😍

Also if you hate Christine and feel the need to make that clear in the comments it will be deleted because this is a Christine positive blog and I will not allow mean people in my little corner of the internet where I share my little opinion with some cool little people who agree with it ❤️ shout out to all the people out there who disagree but didn’t feel the need to curse me out in the comments, I see you and appreciate you 😌

#phantom of the opera #poto #christine daae #the phantom of the opera #erik phantom #phantom #erik/christine #raoul x christine

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randombush3 · 5 months

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audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et t�� a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 7 months

Text

🎃⁀➷ 31 days, 31 spooky prompts for Whumptober *ੈ✩‧₊˚🕷️🍂

1. ❝ don’t look, try not to show any fear as I tell you this, but I think that pumpkin behind you is alive, and it’s looking at us. ❞

2. ❝ please, I’m not crazy. that scarecrow is alive and it’s trying to kill me. you have to believe me. no one in this town is safe! ❞

3. ❝ you remember that body that was admitted to the morgue last night? the one that has human bite marks that looks nasty infected on the arm. yeah, well, this is going to sound insane, but it’s gone. the body’s missing. ❞

4. ❝ babe, you’re dead. this is the afterlife. we’re all ghosts here. ❞

5. ❝ do not come out of your room when it’s nighttime. no matter what you hear, you must stay in your room throughout the night. ❞

6. ❝ the bats, they’re biting and killing people. we have to run. now! ❞

7. ❝ is that a person sitting on the tree branch? why is she smiling like that? what’s wrong with her eyes? oh my god, she’s crawling down. oh my god, she’s crawling towards us! ❞

8. ❝ you haven’t heard of the blood moon curse? you must be new here. ❞

9. ❝ if you hear a voice calling your name from the woods at night, do not answer. ever. ❞

10. ❝ I got bitten, and I need you to kill me before I turn and become like them. please promise me you’ll kill me before I hurt anybody. please don’t let me be like them. ❞

11. ❝ no, don’t make eye contact with it. keep on walking, but do not run. ❞

12. ❝ there will be a ritual tonight and they will use you as a human sacrifice. you have to get out of here. ❞

13. ❝ shhh, she can’t see us, but she can hear us. be quiet. ❞

14. ❝ what do you mean the doll is alive? it’s just a doll. ❞

15. ❝ one of us is possessed. there’s one way to find out who. ❞

16. ❝ we’ve been walking in circle. we’ve walked past this house before. you see that lady in the window staring at us? she was also there the last time we walked past her property, staring at us through the window exactly like this. it’s like she hasn’t moved at all. ❞

17. ❝ you need my blood to stay alive. drink it. drink. or you die. ❞

18. ❝ I think there’s someone living in the walls. I can hear them breathing at night. ❞

19. ❝ this is a mistake. we should never have come here. the myth is real. we’ll never get out alive now. I’m sorry. gosh, I’m so sorry. ❞

20. ❝ if you see the shadow, you only have 3 days left to live. ❞

21. ❝ are those claw marks on the trees? they weren’t here last night when we set up the tent. ❞

22. ❝ I don’t think the blood on his clothes is fake, neither are the human organs in those jars. we have to get out of here. ❞

23. ❝ I’ve seen it all. the devil is real. it’s too late now. all of us are going to die tonight. ❞

24. ❝ they are not a cult. they’re my family. I’m not being brainwashed. let me go. let me go! ❞

25. ❝ what did you just inject me with? what’s in the syringe? what’s in the fcking syringe?!! ❞

26. ❝ those blood, it’s still fresh, meaning whoever — or whatever — killed it is still around. we have to keep moving, and we have to keep quiet. ❞

27. ❝ she doesn’t like her dolls to speak at night. if she hears your voice after 8 o’clock, she will rip your vocal cord out. ❞

28. ❝ there’s something in the mist. if you breathe, you die. ❞

29. ❝ look at me, hey, look at me, these people, they look like your friends and they sound like your friends. but they’re not your friends. your friends are dead. we cannot trust anybody. ❞

30. ❝ don’t get too close to the water. the fairies have very sharp teeth and strong grips. ❞

31. ❝ be careful in the full moon night. just… be very careful, alright? ❞

TAP HERE FOR; 31 DAYS, 31 TROPES FOR WHUMPTOBER

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crowsnqueens · 9 months

Text

Bibliophile; Pt. ii

Kaz Brekker x Bibliophile!wife!reader

Summary: After Jesper watches a display of affection between his boss and his co-crow (hehe) he talks to Nina about it, eventually involving Inej and the heartrender in an investigation

a/n: this part of the storyline takes inspo from @undiscovered-horizon’s fic “Four Crow Investigation” which you can find here! i rlly recommend their stuff you should check them out!

Warnings: Mostly the same stuff as last time, you will need to read pt. i so go check her out first, Kaz is less angsty bc he’s married blah blah blah, (i’m just going to copy and paste the ones from pt. i tbh lmao) Kaz can tolerate reader’s touch, mentions of alcohol and drinking it, fluff for DAYS, reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as female, marriage??, the crows are about 22 in this (which is what i imagine to be in the show), OOC Kaz (i tried y’all)

Pt. i !!!

“I’m telling you, Nina! He kissed her forehead! There’s something going on here.” Jesper’s hands flailed about wildly as he expressed his concern to the girl across from him.

“I don’t doubt you, Jes. We just need to go about this carefully. Tell Inej.” The heartrender sipped her tea and waved the boy to go find their friend.

“Oh, I’ve known. I just can’t tell whether they’re just dating or married, it’s hard when they go about it so delicately. It’s really sweet, actually.” A soft smile lit the Suli girl’s face.

“Argh! I need to know! The anticipation is killer, I need to tell more people about this. Wylan!” The Zemini boy sauntered out of the room shouting.

“Saints, Jesper, carefully also means quietly! They’ll know we know if they hear us shouting.” Nina cautioned him.

“Who’ll know you know?” Y/n entered the kitchen gracefully and quietly. Even Inej was slightly taken aback. “What do you know that’s so secret? Can I have some of this Nina?” She gestured to the tea pot.

“Sure! And nothing too important, just the usual barrel gossip.” The Corporalnik laughed cooly as Y/n began to ascend the stairs.

“Alright. See you guys.” She giggled and waved to her three friends.

“That was too close.”

Inej and Jesper nodded together, all eyes falling on the boy.

“Stop yelling about top secret information, idiot.” Nina whispered.

“They know, Kaz” Y/n entered his office and sat in the chair opposite himself.

“About us together or our marriage?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Probably just us together, but I wouldn’t put it past Inej to know. We should just tell them, love.”

“How do we tell without telling?” Kaz questioned his wife as she used her best impression of his famous scheming face.

“I have an idea.” She smiled

“Do you know?” The boy smirked back at her, ready to listen.

“Oh, Demjin left some papers out.” Matthias walked past the kitchen table with a buttered piece of toast in hand, eyes rolling and head shaking.

“What do they say?” Jesper rushed the table with vigor and looked through some of them.

“Nina, they’re married! For three years! They’ve been wed since they were nineteen! Their marriage certificate is right here! Can you believe it?!”

“I really can’t.” Y/n’s voice carried from the bottom of the stairs to Jesper’s ears as he whipped around and pursed his lips.

“Morning, Y/n.” the boy waved a little and scrambled to the couch to attempt to disappear.

“Mrs. Brekker. Thats her official title, anyway.” Kaz waltzed in and placed a kiss to his wife’s cheek and continued to his arm chair in their living area.

Nina ran a hand over her face and gave the sharpshooter a look.

“Good going, Jes.”

The group laughed, Y/n sat on the arm of Kaz’s chair and linked their pinkies.

“Tell us everything. How did he propose?” Wylan leaned toward the two.

“Well, we were on a job…”

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #kaz x wife! reader #kazzle dazzle

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devilsandwings · 9 months

Text

Part 4 Turcotte sister AU Masterlist

11/1/22

liked by nolan_moyle, jamie.drysdale, mbeniers10, mackie.samo…

yourusername: brother appreciation post because I love my brother so much… no other reason

View comments…

_alexturcotte: I love you too? What’s this for? —>yourusername: nothing 🙃

jackhughes: I’ve known you for how many years?? I’ve never seen you be nice to him… —>yourusername: What I’m not allowed to be nice to my favorite brother? —>jackhughes: no. You are not. —> mattboldy: Favorite??? Remember when you pushed him into a pool fully clothed because he “looked at you funny”?

fan: aww they’re so cuteee

_quinnhughes: What is happening —> trevorzegras: RETWEET! —> _quinnhughes: go away

fan: all the arguing in the comments 😭

trevorzegras: little Turc being nice to big Turc? —>yourusername: literally only 12 minutes younger than him. —> _alexturcotte: 12 WHOLE minutes

lhughes_06: This is very unsettling —> edwards.73: Yea bring back mean Y/N!! —> markestapa: MEAN Y/N! MEAN Y/N! 🐐

dylanduke25: a brother is a man or boy in relation to other sons and daughters of his parents

colecaufield: I’m expecting an announcement that will piss him off… —>yourusername: WILL YOU SHUSH. Never telling you anything again.

bsf2: 😍 ahooga —>yourusername: get THE FUCK away from my brother right now

owenpower_: I’m gone one summer and you change personalities?? —>yourusername: Yep! Lobotomy at Claire’s! 🧠

Thombordeleau: Idk what’s going on in Michigan since I left and I don’t wanna know… —>yourusername: come back ☹️ I need to practice French

brendan.brisson: Did you die and come back to life? Why are you being nice to him?

11/2/22

liked by kandre.miller, tyler__duke25, zachwerenski…

yourusername: been busy lately…

view comments…

bsf1: OMG A SOFT LAUNCH??? —>yourusername: is that what’s it called… had no idea…

_alexturcotte: So this is what that post was for 😐 WTF

bsf2: so now that you have a bf… —> yourusername: NO YOU CANNOT DATE ALEX GO AWAY —> trevorzegras: Can I date Alex? —> yourusername: I’d prefer if you didn’t

_alexturcotte: WHO IS HE?? DO I KNOW HIM? —>yourusername: no comment —> _alexturcotte: What.

trevorzegras: Who is he? 🔨 —> yourusername: I’ll tell you after I tell Quinner

rutgermcgroarty: Omg I thought we were gonna keep our relationship secret 🤭 —> yourusername: I’m gonna block you and don’t use that emoji anymore

mattboldy: only took him four years… —> yourusername: Matthew shush —> _alexturcotte: FOUR YEARS? Did he go to high school with us??? YOU TOLD MATT??

adamfantilli: when do I get to meet this man? —> yourusername: When he comes to play the red wings ig —>_alexturcotte: SO HE PLAYS HOCKEY 100%????

colecaufield: I know who he is! —> _alexturcotte: WHO TELL ME RN —> colecaufield: its me. We’ve been dating for seven years. She’s the love of my life —> _alexturcotte: just tell me who it is Cole

jackhughes: Well now I wanna know who this is —> yourusername: no, you’ll tell Alex

lhughes.06: still can’t believe HE bagged you —> yourusername: he is very nice TO ME ☹️

_owenpower: You guys are cute ig —> yourusername: thank you giraffe —> _alexturcotte: Why does HE know?? —> yourusername: We’re besties 😒

mbeniers10: Do I know him ???????? —> yourusername: not from college…. —>_alexturcotte: What does that mean WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

_quinnhughes: interesting

markestapa: Wait a minute… —> yourusername: He’s not a Wolverine calm down (nor was he) —> edwards.73: So he’s not in college anymore?? —> yourusername: nope

bsf1: stop messing w these poor boys 😭 —> yourusername: well one of them is lying… —> _alexturcotte: So he’s in the comments? —> yourusername: Maybeeee

Next part will be coming out soon, I don’t have to work for a few days. Ty for all the love. My requests are open!!

#jack hughes x reader #ethan edwards x reader #cole caufield #nhl imagine #umich hockey #alex turcotte #hockey tumblr #quinn hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #owen power

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lemonlover1110 · 10 months

Text

Baby Steps

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 22] June 26

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Happy to co-host Gojo NSFW Week 2023! Come join us on Twitter!

Satoru is in disbelief as he holds his son for the first time– Tears stream down his face as he looks at the cute little face. He’s just the cutest human ever, and he hasn’t been here for a full day. God, he’s crying even more because his baby won’t be this small again. He doesn’t want to let go of his baby. He’ll forever remember this day, June 26.

“Can I hold him, Satoru?” You can’t believe that you have to ask to hold your own son. Satoru only let you hold him to feed him, and it’s irritating; sure, there will be times that you will be begging for someone else to hold him, but today is not one of those moments. He just got here. He isn’t paying any attention to you, and you have to slightly raise your voice, “Satoru!”

“Huh?” He asks, finally looking up from his baby. You have to ask him again,

“Can I please hold my baby?” Satoru hesitantly nods before standing up and handing you the baby. You can’t believe that you have to ask him to hold the baby that just came out of you. He gives you the baby, and you stare at him in awe. You’ve been anticipating this moment for what feels like an eternity, and he’s finally in your arms. Any pain is worth it– At least in this moment, you know that bleeding for a month straight will change your mind.

“We need a name for him.” He says, and you hum in response. You’ve had time to think of baby names, but your mind has been too busy with your possible death. Holding your baby in your arms makes you realize that you’ve missed out on so many fun activities that would make pregnancy better. But it’s fine, as long as you have your little baby. “Do you have any?”

“I don’t.” You answer. Satoru bites down on his lip, thinking of the perfect name. A name that’ll follow him for the rest of his life. Satoru tries to think of the perfect name, but that’s just so hard to pick now. The baby doesn’t have any sort of personality yet; he’s only been alive for a couple of hours. “Do you have any in mind?”

“I don’t either.” He confesses. And he tries to think of names, but none come up in his mind. A smile comes on his lips, and he jokes, “How about Satoru Jr.?”

“God, that name is awful–” And just as you say that, the door to your room opens and you watch as your parents walk through the door. They’re quick to go to your side to finally be next to you after everything that has happened. Oh– And to finally meet their precious grandson.

“Your baby boy.” Your mom comments, her voice breaking as she sees the baby. Although she doesn’t want to say how she’s more excited to see you again, rather than meeting her grandson. Both are big events, but for the past six weeks, she’s been more worried about your wellbeing. Same is for your father. She pushes the hairs away from your face and asks, “Are you okay, baby? Is everything alright? I’ve been worried sick.”

You talk to them, avoiding sharing many details because you don’t want to think too much about everything that has happened. They fawn over their grandson, and Satoru smiles as he watches you four. Your parents argue on who gets to hold the baby first, and in the end, your mother wins. She sanitizes her hands before she picks up her grandson, putting on a baby voice as she talks to him.

“Have you two thought of a name?” Your father asks, and you shake your head. You have to name him because you can’t call him your baby boy for months on end until you finally pick the name. The baby begins to cry, and you hear your mother coo at him before she hands him back to you. You waste no time in feeding him. Meanwhile, your father asks, “How much does he weigh?”

“Seven pounds six ounces.” Satoru answers without missing a beat. The door opens again, and you look up from your baby to look at Kaya who walks in through the door. The biggest grin comes to your face and she smiles back as she walks in with a teddy bear, flowers, and a balloon. Satoru takes it from her, thanking her and although she wants to make a snarky remark, one that highlights her weird relationship with Satoru, she bites her tongue.

“Congratulations.” Kaya awkwardly smiles at Satoru before she walks to your side. She kisses your cheek before saying, “I’m so glad you’re okay. And look what you surprised us with.”

“You know I have to make a dramatic entry.” You joke, causing her to laugh. You haven’t been this happy in a long time. This truly is the greatest day of your life.

“So what name have you guys picked?” Kaya asks, only to receive the same answer that your parents got. It makes her say, “Please don’t make him a junior.”

“He’s not becoming a junior.” You assure her, and it makes Satoru roll his eyes. Well, he was definitely joking but he doesn’t like hearing it from Kaya.

“I think this is the first time I see you without your shades. You have some freaky eyes.” Kaya tells Satoru, and he rolls his eyes once again. She then looks at your baby, “Please check that your son doesn’t have the same eyes.”

“Kaya, aren’t you being a bit rude?” Your mother interrupts, and Satoru holds back a smirk. As if his sister got in trouble for making fun of him.

“Oh c’mon, look at them.” Kaya responds, and your mother rolls her eyes. When your baby unlatches, Satoru takes him from your hands and takes a seat, grabbing the burp cloth and throwing it over his shoulder before he begins to burp him. He just wants to do everything for his little one.

“Is your family coming, Satoru?” Your father asks, changing the topic, and you’d almost feel embarrassed because Satoru’s parents don’t have an idea, but you’re so focused on the fact that you just had a baby.

“They’ll meet him when we’re back home. They can be a little too much.” Satoru answers.

“Seiji is a cute name.” Kaya brings up, and a smile comes to your lips.

“That’s the perfect name!” You exclaim. Since Satoru has no other name in mind, and the name sounds good enough, he agrees.

“That’s better than Snoopy.” Satoru comments, making some brows raise except yours. Before anyone can ask, Satoru shares, “Ten minutes after he was born, she suggested the name.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” You’re quick to say. “God, I can’t wait to leave and go home. I hate it here.”

“I have so much planned for us when you’re back home.” Kaya says. “We have to do the baby shower–”

“Baby shower? You know that’s supposed to happen before the baby is born.” You point out.

“I don’t see the harm in having one. Even if it’s a month or two too late.” Satoru says. It’d be a fun event too, and like that everyone can meet the baby instead of having people coming in and out of the house daily. “Just wait a couple of months.”

“You can always do a baby shower for the next baby.” Your father suggests, and you look absolutely mortified.

“I’m not having any more kids. Seiji will be my first and last one. I’m not putting myself through that pain again– Let’s not even mention I didn’t have any complications.” You respond. They stay quiet, just listening to Satoru pat his son’s back and the occasional burp until there’s not more. Satoru stops, and just focuses on holding his baby again. He’s so engrossed by the cute little nose, his cute little eyes– And he yawns, Seiji fucking yawns and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears again. He’s waited so long for this.

“Well are we going to hold the baby or will you just keep hoarding him?” Kaya speaks up, making you laugh,

“He’s been doing it the entire time. He just lets me hold him to feed him.” You share, making your parents laugh, however, Kaya has a different reaction.

“Well, he’s my son so I have the right to hold him.” Satoru argues. Satoru just didn’t know he could love a tiny human so much. Satoru could’ve died earlier when the baby had his hand wrapped around Satoru’s finger.

“You didn’t do any of the work, she carried him for nine months!” Kaya defends you.

“Yeah, because she carried him for nine months I should get to hold him for now.” Satoru says as he looks for Seiji’s blue pacifier. When he finds it, he puts it in the baby’s mouth. “Are you guys staying for long? It’s getting late.”

“We’re going back to the hotel soon.” Your mother says. She walks over to you and kisses your forehead, “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

Your parents say their goodbyes, dragging Kaya out with them. They promise they’ll be back by the morning. When they’re gone, Satoru walks back to you and hands you the baby, kissing the tip of your nose, “He’s just the cutest.”

“He is.” You respond, smiling down at your son. “Seiji. That’s the perfect name.”

“It is.” Satoru has to agree. He then pecks your lips, “Thank you.”

He feels this heavy weight in his chest, a foolish smile on his lips as he looks at you– He can’t blame the smile on his son because just looking at the baby makes him burst into tears. It’s unusual for him to cry, but then again, this is a life changing moment and he just can’t contain the tears. But this feeling is different, and he’s sure what it is, he just doesn’t know if it’s the right moment to tell you… He doesn’t want you to think that it’s just because you gave birth to his son. He wants you to know that even if Seiji wasn’t here, he’d still–

“He has a head full of white hair, he’s already your twin.” You tell him, and he chuckles before correcting you,

“He’s bald.”

“Hmm… I do hope that I saw wrong because I’m going to be mad if my only kid looks just like you.” You tell him.

“I want him to be my twin. He’ll be my only kid too.” Satoru responds, making you roll your eyes.

“You can procreate with someone else, it won’t hurt you one bit.” You remind him, and he shakes his head. You furrow your brows before you ask him, “What do you mean by that?”

He takes the baby from your hands and puts him down in the bassinet. God, he almost feels guilty for putting his baby down instead of holding him the entire time. He just had to talk to you for a moment. He deeply inhales, and he feels extremely nervous because he just doesn’t know how to start it off. He just had a baby and he’s feeling nervous about this. He grabs your hand before opening his mouth,

“I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to think that it’s because we just had a baby. Even if Seiji wasn’t a factor, this would still happen.” He begins and you’re out of it. You have no idea what he’s talking about, until the words finally leave his mouth, “I love you.”

“Huh?” You can’t believe your ears. You were expecting your baby to be the biggest surprise of the month, and somehow his dad outshined him. He grabs your hand, and puts it to his chest. You feel how it feels as if it’s about to beat out of his chest, the same way that your heart beats. You end up smiling at him as he repeats,

“I love you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo

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greynatomy · 8 months

Text

strangers to lovers pt. 3

haven’t visited this leah social media series in a while so here you are.

let me know what you think!

-grey

———

liked by leahwilliamson, yourfriend and 36,748 others

yourinstagram been working on a few new songs for a possible new album????

oh, yeah… i got a few live performances too and tickets are on sale now!

view all comments

yourfriend yass bitch can’t wait to hear it

↳ yourinstagram thanks bitch

user1 new songs? NEW SONGS!

user2 she’s got live performances!!! i’m in the queue i hope i get tickets

user3 I GOT TICKETS SHRBFJDKD

caitlinfoord @/leahwilliamson we have to go

↳ mackenziearnold @/caitlinfoord @/leahwilliamson i’m inviting myself

↳ leahwilliamson @/yourinstagram might have to bring my best mates then?

↳ yourinstagram i’ll see you there ;)

↳ user4 they’re def flirting

january 5, 2022

liked by user1, user2 and 264 others

ynismywife y’all i was front row and she LOOKED INTO MY EYES

view all comments

user1 u r so lucky

user2 i’m so jealous

yourinstagram thank you for coming!

↳ user3 yn what are you doing here

↳ ynismywife URBDJBFBD QUEEN I LOVE YOU

↳ user4 she lurking through her fan pages

↳ yourinstagram @/user4 i’m just so full of myself

↳ user4 @/yourinstagram gurl

february 22, 2022

liked by yourinstagram, alexscott2 and 35,348 others

leahwilliamson All my people in one place for belated birthday celebrations. Meant the world!!

view all comments

user1 happy birthday gorgeous!!

user2 god is definitely a woman

ynfan1 is that @/yourinstagram in the second pic?

↳ ynfan2 that definitely looks like her

yourinstagram 🎂

↳ leahwilliamson 🍾

april 19, 2022

liked by leahwilliamson, yourfriend and 40,747 others

yourinstagram happy birthday to my forever crush (no one tell her)

view all comments

yourfriend happy birthday leah! was a fun celebration @/leahwilliamson

↳ leahwilliamson thanks for coming

leahwilliamson someone sent this to me… thank you for coming to celebrate

↳ yourinstagram wouldn’t miss it for the world

user1 are they dating?

↳ user2 no, that’s just how they are

↳ user3 yn’s crush on leah been known since like 2020

↳ user4 they could be dating?? look at how leah and her are dancing. she’s giving heart eyes

↳ user5 let’s not spread rumors

liked bu user1, user2 and 2,728 others

ynupdates thread from @/charli.yln on twitter. what do you guys think?

(glad i helped with your research gurl)

view all comments

user1 ohmygod she is so right with this

user2 i can actually see it now. yn went from freaking out at any mention of leah and now she’s cool with it

↳ user3 or they met and became friends

↳ user4 @/user3 but yn was so public about her crush and leah basically flirted back in that halloween post?!?!

charli.yln HI! this was me! can’t believe you saw it but i tell no lies

↳ user5 girl you on some detective shit

april 25, 2022

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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diorsluv · 3 months

Text

feather , part 22

“ with you out my life ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by lhughes_06, _quinnhughes, edwards.73, and 81,177 others

yourusername she’s officially a single pringle nowww ‼️ if u see me on tinder no u dont 🫢🫢

view all comments

jackhughes i love pringles

→ yourusername pringles don’t love you back

→ trevorzegras jack’s been a single pringle longer than you have yourusername

→ lhughes_06 oh 😒

luca.fantilli is that why you popped up when i searched up the girl of my dreams

→ yourusername good thing it’s called a dream for a reason 🥰

→ luca.fantilli i knew i shouldn’t have turned to tiktok for pickup lines

→ lhughes_06 oh 🫤

username20 why is luca flirting with mini drizzy this aint right

mackie.samo swipe right when you see me

→ yourusername why are you all doing this

→ rutgermcgroarty not if she sees me first

→ adamfantilli jokes on you she swiped right on me already

→ lhughes_06 oh 😓

trevorzegras not for long 😘😘

→ yourusername get the hell away from me i’m barely legal

→ trevorzegras you are not “barely legal” 🙄 AND ALSO stop making me look like the bad guy

→ yourusername you are the bad guy

→ trevorzegras i’m fighting the urge to strangle you

→ yourusername i don’t my brother would really appreciate you saying that 😒

→ lhughes_06 oh 🤬

edwards.73 your hands look pretty

→ yourusername hand kink????

→ edwards.73 WAIT NO FUCK

→ markestapa eddy this is not what we discussed

→ luca.fantilli bro you did it wrong

→ edwards.73 i’m sorry 😕

→ lhughes_06 oh 😨

username12 why the hell does luke keep going “oh”

→ username3 and why the hell is everyone tryna make a move on my girl 😟😟

colecaufield my friend’s younger brother was asking about you

→ yourusername jokes on you i know you don’t have any friends

→ jackhughes is this about who i think it’s about

→ colecaufield no one of our friends’ brothers actually asked me about her.. jackhughes

→ lhughes_06 oh 😞

markestapa damn how’d you manage to crop me out of that first pic

→ mackie.samo the implications are wild

→ dylanduke25 wow u were in her bed 😱

→ yourusername yes dylan he was in my bed WAITING FOR ME TO PAINT HIS NAILS

→ markestapa HELL NO i was just watching you do yours 🙄🙄

→ lhughes_06 oh 😧

username99 luke keeps oh-ing i’m slightly scared for him!

username45 SHE’S FINALLY FREE

→ username24 escaped booking.com’s basement

→ username27 BOOKING.COM???? 😭😭😭

username71 are they all commenting this shit on purpose lmfaoooo

username36 if their goal is to make luke mad i’m sure they’re succeeding

→ username2 fr i can hear him sobbing from here

jamie.drysdale

liked by _alexturcotte, mackie.samo, rutgermcgroarty, and 64,312 others

jamie.drysdale reminder to never break up with someone over text

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

_quinnhughes she’s gonna kill you LMAO

→ jamie.drysdale oh please she can’t even push me

→ trevorzegras jamie last time she quite literally almost knocked your head on the corner of the counter

yourusername first of all JAMIE I CANT BELIEVE YOU

yourusername THIS IS SO FUCKING FOUL

yourusername LIKE THATS AN OUTDATED PIC YOU CAN’T USE IT

yourusername I’M NEVER FUCKING VISITING YOU AGAIN

yourusername and it wasn’t text it was warzone because he blocked me on everything else 🙄

→ jamie.drysdale one, that’s embarrassing, and two, STOP SPAMMING MY COMMENTS

→ yourusername ok mr proper grammar

→ jamie.drysdale your so annoying

→ yourusername okay i take it back your grammar is ass

adamfantilli aw was she crying

→ jamie.drysdale yeah we got a noise complaint from our neighbors

→ yourusername i can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not 😕😕

→ adamfantilli aw were u crying ☹️😔😖😣😩😪

→ yourusername aw did i accidentally block you ☹️😔😖😣😩😪

colecaufield don’t tell me she was actually crying over blaker

→ jamie.drysdale she was!

→ yourusername she was not!

username27 first pic is me knowing dryshughes is never gonna happen

→ username89 IT WILL HAPPEN

→ username37 DONT PUSH UR NEGATIVE THOUGHTS ONTO US

→ username14 ur praying for our downfall arent u

username54 honestly tho she’s a mood

username28 i cant believe jamie actually posted this

jackhughes i just realized you have her saved as “fucking menace 🥰”

→ jamie.drysdale i hate her

→ yourusername don’t u think that’s a little mean jimmy johns????

→ jamie.drysdale god here you go AGAIN with the nicknames 🙄

→ yourusername YOU LAUGHED AT MY NICKNAME FOR JACK WTF DO U MEAN

→ jackhughes HUH WHAT NICKNAME????

→ yourusername don’t worry about it jacky boy

edwards.73 i could’ve sworn i heard a witch screeching but ig it was her crying

→ mackie.samo it’s okay man we all heard it

→ jamie.drysdale can confirm that’s what it sounded like

→ yourusername can confirm i’m being harassed by my friends and brother

→ dylanduke25 we were never your friends yourusername

→ yourusername oh 😥

yourusername i forgot to say i’m not heartbroken

yourusername so STOP MAKING ME LOOK LIKE I’M SAD

→ jamie.drysdale i thought i told you to stop spamming my comments

→ yourusername i’m not even spamming ur such a baby 😒

→ jamie.drysdale RESPECT ME IM OLDER

→ yourusername whatever

next chapter notes ) like i said in my other post i’ve been so tied up in school it’s been hard to get these chapters out WITH GOOD QUALITY nonetheless i hope it was still enjoyable albeit late 😭 also i forgot to mention but u mightve noticed the song lyric at the beginning of the chapter is NOT in order (yes it annoys me) but i didnt wanna repeat lyrics so that’s just how i’m gonna put them in for the rest of the song: if the lyric has been repeated then i’ll skip it til i get to the next new one 🙏🙏

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

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #ethan edwards #dylan duke #mark estapa #mackie samoskevich #adam fantilli #rutger mcgroarty #luca fantilli

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fictionaltrvlr · 6 months

Text

Roman Empire this, Roman Empire that. I don’t really think I have a Roman Empire-

The Overwhelming Hatred of Rachel Zegler

This rising star of a 22 year old woman is being torn apart by men and women alike and I’m so tired of it.

I’m disgusted by the amount of hate she’s getting and you best believe I’m gonna lay it out. I’ve tried to organize this but I’m really tired so bear with me.

Main Controversy

Her saying that it’s no longer 1937 and Snow White doesn’t need to be saved by the prince is not her saying that women can’t want to have a husband or a family. Simply that they don’t need a man to give them value.

And to be clear, yes, okay? Yes. Women should be allowed to soft, they can want families, they don’t need to be badass to be happy. They can fit “traditional” roles. Women can want different things. Meg March, the icon that she is, “just because my dreams are different than yours doesn’t mean they’re unimportant.” 100% yes. But Rachel wasn’t saying otherwise.

She said the prince was a bit of a stalker so they’re not doing that this time… and yes? The prince was weird. I thought we agreed on that. Snow White was 14 in the original and got kissed while she was unconscious by an adult man… but sure, ✨iconic✨.

And it’s fine if you don’t like the *apparent* girlbossification of Snow White, but people are acting like Rachel wrote the movie?? Did it ever occur to people that maybe Disney wants the “girlboss independent woman who doesn’t need a man” picture presented?

She’s doing press for the movie, is she maybe taking the direction Disney gave her?? Also… we. haven’t. seen. the. movie. The teaser only just came out!

Strike Comments

Her comments being popularized during the strike is already suspicious enough. Is it not in the studio’s interests to portray the strike and those taking part in it as unreasonable?

Her saying she deserves to be paid fairly for the hours she spends in a dress playing an iconic Disney character is completely valid. She wasn’t saying she’s the most amazing actress ever or that she plays the hardest roles or does the most complicated stunts. Just that she deserves fair pay… like every other striking actor and writer??

Childhood Relationship With The Character

Her saying that Snow White scared her as a child and she didn’t revisit it until she got cast. Why does that matter so much?? There were scary things in that movie! The witch, the poison apple, the forest coming to life and trying to grab her.

Tastes change as we grow and Rachel has shared her excitement about getting to play the character now.

She was a child. *screaming*

The Extremely Different Treatment Men Receive in The Same Situations

May I present, Robert Pattinson?? Mr I hate these books and felt like I shouldn’t be reading them?? Mr Edward is creepy?

He mocked and joked about the Twilight series every chance he got and people ate it up. They loved it and still do. He’s funny, he’s confident, he’s so real for that.

Harrison Ford wanted his character to die off and said it had run its course. He was praised for his humour and honesty.

Oh but Rachel is ungrateful. She’s rude, she’s cringe, she’s mean, she’s annoying. She’s irredeemable, she’s overbearing, she’s smug, off putting. There’s just something about her that we don’t like…

She’s pitted against other successful women, like Halle Bailey. She’s pitted against Kristen Stewart. Against Elle Fanning, Jenna Ortega. Ignoring, may I point out, how hated so many of these women have been at the different points in their careers?

This is how Brie Larson is being treated and now she wants to leave Marvel too.

Women can be sarcastic. They can joke and speak their minds. They don’t have to package every thought with a pretty little bow so it’s palatable to you.

Rachel’s statements are being misinterpreted and twisted. But on top of that, even if she was what people are saying, have we forgotten about Tom Cruise? Leonardo DeCaprio?

These men are insufferable and problematic and yet some of the biggest names in the industry and, again, confident. Boss. In charge. Charismatic. Not annoying, not petty, not “oh you should be grateful you have anything!!”

Let me pull out Taylor Swift for a hot second because she does a wonderful job of describing the different ways we talk about men and women.

A man does something and it’s strategic. A woman does the same thing and it’s calculated. A man is allowed to react, a woman can only overreact. […] A man shares his experience in writing and he’s brave. A woman does the same thing and she’s over sharing, she’s over emotional, watch out!

America Ferrera when she said that the only difference between being bossy and being a boss is that one is a woman.

People need to listen to “All American Bitch” again -

I know my place, I know my place, and this is it! I don't get angry when I'm pissed I'm the eternal optimist I scream inside to deal with it All the time I'm grateful all the time I'm sexy, and I'm kind I'm pretty when I cry Oh, all the time I'm grateful all the time

And not that women need to be grateful because they don’t, but just to be clear, she is grateful.

She has expressed how lucky she was to get Shazam and how much she enjoyed it and made amazing friends. She was excited to play her version of Snow White. She shared pictures of herself as a child dressed as Snow White. She’s thrown herself into it.

Conclusions

Hate trains fun, I get it. But let’s not pile on young women when they’ve not even done anything wrong. Question why all of a sudden everyone hates this person, what are the facts, what else is going on, what confirmation bias do we have?

There is something so much worse to me about seeing other women tear her down. Like yeah, men will be pigs, but what are you doing? It’s so sad.

And women like hunting witches too, doing your dirtiest work for you, it’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together… (Mad Woman, Taylor Swift)

Rachel seems like such a joyful person and people are out here bullying her like she kicks puppies on the weekends.

Claiming to be a feminist because you want a wide variety of princesses (ie, ones that get saved by their prince), and then sending death threats to another woman for possibly appearing as though she holds a different opinion about one princess - is not only a contradiction, it’s just baffling.

Anyway stan Rachel Zegler

That’s my speech, please do contribute collaboratively if you want :).

#in this essay i will #rachel zegler #feminism #snow white 2024 #taylor swift #misogny #america ferrera #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #shazam #text post #raging feminist #all american bitch #mad woman #feminist #west side story 2021 #lyrics #thank you for coming to my ted talk #thoughts on things

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baoreal · 11 days

Text

Valentino finds him crouched against the wall of the motorhome that they share with Honda on the other side, still seething with white hot rage after yelling at Márquez. Screaming at him had done nothing to get the anger out of his system, and then he’d heard Marc telling the press he wasn’t even going to bother discussing Marco’s outburst, and now he’s trying very hard to calm down before he goes to congratulate Pecco. His brother doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity, and right now, Marco wants to kill somebody.

Vale crouches in front of him, one of his big hands finding the curls on the back of Marco’s head. “Ben detto” he murmurs softly. “It’s not your fault, he clearly hasn’t changed at all.”

Marco scrapes his hands over his face, wincing at his nose. “He didn’t even react when I screamed at him. Just stared, and then told someone else to remove me from his motorhome.” His fists clench. “And then he says he’s not going to waste time discussing me! Figlio de puttana!”

Vale ruffles his hair. “I’ve been telling you, he’s a crazy motherfucker. He’ll never learn.”

“Hey!” A voice he doesn’t recognize rings out on the other side of the wall.

“Hey, man, ¿qué pasa?.” That one, he’d know anywhere.

“Classy move out there today, completely sidestepping the questions.” It’s not a driver. Someone from the Honda team, probably.

Márquez snorts. “Bezzecchi is what, 23?” He must be changing out of his leathers. They’ve clearly not realised that there’s someone left on the motorhome next door, because they’re making no effort to lower their voices to avoid being heard through the paper-thin walls.

“24, I think.” Says the other voice. He’s almost 25, actually. He rolls his eyes at Vale. What does it matter that he’s young? He has half a mind to go back in there and yell at him some more. Fuck him. Youth does not mean he’s not legitimate competition, or a good driver.

“Eh, still barely an adult.” Márquez again. “Everybody is a fucking idiot in their twenties, but I’m no longer in my twenties. I know how this circus works now, and what would happen if I said anything personal about him to the press. I don’t mind giving my opinion on what he’s done on the race, or what I think he’s done on the race, but anything beyond that is a no, even if he’s a dickhead.” He pauses. Then adds, softer. “Actually, I don’t think he’s a dickhead. He’s just young, and we have both heard everything he said today before, and we both know they’re not his words. I can’t fault the kid for following a god blindly, I used to do it too.”

The world tilts three degrees on its axis. Valentino’s face goes white as a sheet.

“Look at you. Is this what maturity looks like?”

Márquez’s laugh sounds bitter. “I already said it in my documentary, but I don’t wish what Valentino put me through at 22 on anybody. 22 is a stupid age. You think you’re immortal, but you also think you’ll die if you don’t win this championship. Or not die, but the team will drop you if you stop performing, which is just as bad. There’s always someone behind you waiting to get on your bike, if you can’t stay on it. Your body can recover from almost everything, but the press and the team are already counting down the seconds until it gives out. It's an environment where it’s almost impossible to make good decisions, especially in the middle of a race where you’re going 300km/h, your only thought is that you have to be 1st, and you have 2 milliseconds to see and react to anything.” Something opens on the other side of the wall.

“You must still be angry at him. Especially after everything you heard today.”

There’s no need to clarify who “him” is. It’s clearly not Marco.

Something closes. “I’m not even angry anymore, more like. Disappointed? Disappointed with Valentino, because he was supposed to be my friend but he thought badly enough of me to believe that I’d do all those things he accused me of. Didn’t even let me explain. But also disappointed in myself, because it really is the worst feeling when you are just being yourself and your idol, friend, favourite person” - Marco can’t look at Valentino - “in the world publicly says that makes you a danger for everyone and poison for the sport you have dedicated your life to. And suddenly everybody despises you. You don’t just shrug something like that off, no matter how hard I’ve tried to pretend I have.”

There’s a metallic thunk, like someone dropping a bag on a bench.

“I can only be myself. I’ve never learned to be any other way, and I will never play mind games. I want to keep winning until I physically can’t anymore, and then retire and be done with all of this.”

“Are you going to set up your own training academy?” Suggests the other man, timidly.

There’s a meaningful pause.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the documentary, but only two drivers came to see me before I got the surgery. A surgery that involved re-breaking my arm on several points and rotating the bone. There was a chance I might never come back to motogp, and most people didn’t care, not even my own teammate. And even younger drivers like Bezzecchi clearly believe everything that has been said of me, after all these years and after riding with me. I don’t think I will have any kind of legacy other than a number of championships and a bad reputation for my riding style. And a lot of scars and metal in my body. I don't think mentoring will ever be a possibility. I don’t think I want to teach anyone how to ride like me, when this is what it gets you.”

Marco can feel his own face drain of blood. There’s no emotion to Márquez's voice. He’s clearly thought this over plenty. It sounds practised, rehearsed, and utterly sincere.

“You still said very nice things about Rossi in a recent video, even after all of this.”

“I told the truth.” Comes Márquez’s response. “They ask what I think about him as a driver, and that has never changed. He’s the best. Always the best.”

He sounds as certain as anything. The sky is blue, the sun is yellow, and Valentino Rossi is still the best ever MotoGP driver in Marc Márquez’s world.

Valentino’s face is doing something so raw that Marco feels filthy when he hazards a look. He averts his eyes again.

“As I said, I’m not even mad. I would be happy if he decided to stop hating me one of these days. I still like Valentino. I think what he’s done with the academy is great, the way he’s basically adopted those kids. I try not to think much about him other than that.”

He sounds wistful, Marco realises, like part of him wishes he could have been one more of them at the ranch. Like part of him envies that they got that with Vale.

“Except when one of said kids goes to your motorhome to yell at you.”

Marc snorts again. “Hm, maybe he should have taught them better manners, that’s true. But he’s Valentino Rossi. We wouldn’t like him half as much if he had manners.” And with that, the voices finally fade, Márquez clearly done changing. And then it’s just him and Valentino, still crouched on the floor on the other side of the wall.

Valentino looks ill. Properly green, and Marco understands, because he’s feeling queasy himself when he thinks of everything he’d yelled at Marc only hours earlier, everything he has said about him loud enough for everyone to hear.

Valentino has approximately eight years of that.

God help them both.

#I have been on my Rosquez feelings so I had to engineer a situation where Valentino has no choice but to confront his sins head on #and then grapple with the realization of how much irreparable damage he’s dealt Marc #marc/vale #rosquez #realistically would Marc ever bare himself like this? Absolutely not #but let’s pretend that Bezz yelling at him in Valencia caused a weak moment and the jagged edge was visible for a millisecond

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thisismeracing · 5 months

Text

King of my heart | MS47 | Part. 23

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!hamilton!reader ― Warnings: graphic description of unprotected sex (fingering, dirty talk, and p in v), mentions of alcohol, and jealousy. ― Summary: It the ending of the season and fans get a glimpse on Mick and Yn’s perspective. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

part. 22 | series masterlist | part 24

November, 2023

lewishamilton

liked by pierregasly, temsbaby, and others

lewishamilton You'll always be my baby sister, my bisty. I don't care how old you are, if you're dating, if you have kids of your own, or if you get married, you're forever the baby I held and knew I would protect with my life. Happy birthday theofficialyn 💙

view all comments

pierregasly Happy birthday, Hamilton baby! 🥳

⤷ hammertime_ why this is so funny to me

⤷ theofficialyn pierre 😠 hamilton baby sounds as if he’s my dad lol

ynfan my fav sibling duo 🥹💖

landonorris happy birthday to my fav brit girl! 💗💗

schumimick imagine having these genes and being born this pretty!

mickschumacher 🥹❤️

⤷ leclerccookies not even mick can’t resist baby yn!

⤷ dreiricciardo mick is the weakest for her and we know it

theofficialyn I love you, lew! thank you for always taking care of me 😭💗 my fav brother 💗

⤷ sainzfiftyfive do they have more siblings? what?

⤷ schumercedes I guess this is the joke, he’s her only brother 😂

georgerussell63 Happy birthday, Yn!!! Love you tons, please stop giving merc admin memes ideas 😘❤️

ginaschumacher

liked by lewishamilton, lilymhe, and others

ginaschumacher life gave me a little sister and I have never been so grateful. Thank you for being you, and for shining your light on everyone around you. I wish you the happiest life, Yn. I love you tons! 👩🏼‍🤝‍👩🏾💘

view all comments

fan02 Is that mickyn I see? Did gina just fed us mickyn crumbs? 😭😭😭😭😭😭

mickschumacher I had no idea you took that pic haha 💜 we look cute, ily

⤷ astonmartinha GINA POSTED MICKYN 😭😭😭

theofficialyn I love you, g! You’re a gift life brought to me and I’ll cherish and keep you forever! 👩🏼‍🤝‍👩🏾💞💞

⤷ burrowleclerc oh to be best friends with my boyfriend’s sister

carmenmmundt 🥹🥰 Happy bday, Yn!!! You’re such a kind soul, and it’s an honor to be your friend. Ily!

ylnrain I find it so gentle and endearing the way the schumacher and the hamiltons became close friends all because of mick and yn. like, she could just be acquaintance with gina, but they’re always seem together and they truly root for each other, you can see it. and then there’s mick and lewis who got even closer during these past few months, like…this is some romance book typa shit and I love it!

⤷ norrizzfour bestie ur rant was longer than the birthday wishes but I love that for you 😅🤣

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc I won't say you're like a sister to me or else your brother will push me off the track 🙄 but it's a pleasure to be your friend and to share the struggles and the good things of life with you. Thank you for always remembering about me with your sugary diet vegan desserts. Life is sweeter around you! Happy birthday, Yn ❤️

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pierregasly 👍

⤷ lewisfan not pierre jealous LMAO

⤷ theofficialyn he loves you a tiiiiiny bit more than he loves me, believe me

⤷ pierregasly yeah but he never said life is sweeter around me 🤬

⤷ arthur_leclerc he did say it was funnier tho

⤷ joris_trouche 🤔🤨🤨

⤷ theofficialyn did charles told you to comment this, arthur? 🤣

⤷ charles_leclerc I’m trying to avoid a future track collision here, Yn!

⤷ landonorris you guys so dramatic 🤦‍♂️

danielricciardo Happy birthday, Yn!!!! 🥳🥳🥳🙌🏻

carlossainz55 feliz cumpleaños, hamilton! ❤️❤️

scuderiaferrari so she HAS been bringing you sweets huh?

⤷ theofficialyn they’re all healthy I promise, I even talked with the nutritionist 😇

⤷ georgerussell63 rumor has it she didn’t talk with the nutricionista

⤷ georgerussell63 but they’re all healthy anyways, calories free and all, even I eat some!!!

⤷ theofficialyn I was about to call alex to beat ur ass!

franciscac.gomes feliz aniversário, yn! 🥹🥰💗 te amo!!!

⤷ theofficialyn I love you more, kikaaaa! 💘💘

🐦‍⬛ twitter

mickschumacher

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mickschumacher I am the luckiest guy for having you in my life. I still remember the first time I saw you, and to this day I still feel all giddy whenever you walk into the room. I wanna spend the rest of my life by your side, smiling, laughing, crying, talking, sharing every moment. I wish you the happiest birthday, and an even happier life, Schatzi. I love you 💛 here’s to many more birthdays together

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ynsunshine the mickey shirt 😭

⤷ spanishgp23 isn’t that how yn calls him?

⤷ ynsunshine exactly!!!!! 😭

estebanocon happy birthday, yn!! 🩵🩵🩵

mercedesamgf1 happy birthday to the merc’s garage sunshine 💓

theofficialyn forever 💗

🐦‍⬛ twitter

📸 instagram

theofficialyn

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theofficialyn had a great time in Brazil with some even greater people 💛💚💙🤍

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brunamarquezine te amooooo! 🩵🩵 (Ily)

keepupwthehamiltons I saw yn was with Iza too, and I’m manifesting something between iza and lewis like 😩😩 they would be so powerful together

mickschumacher ❤️

satelliteferrari mick showing up twice 🥰 she really said MY man

lewishamilton thank you for always having my back 💙

⤷ theofficialyn you’re my forever number 1! Love you, lew 😘

⤷ hamiltonsiblings my forever number 1 😀🥲☹️😭 meanwhile my brother calls me ugly in every possible language

1directiontrack I say give Yn the citizen title too 🇧🇷

mickschumacher

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mickschumacher vegas, baby! 😚

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gaslightgasly I wonder if the last pic isnt a soft launch for his new seat next year 👀

⤷ schumicedes I haven’t thought about it, but it makes sense…

mickynshipper I love how they’re the center of each others posts 😩💗

sainzleclerc God, I’ve seen what you done for others 🙇‍♀️

estebanocon I like the new haircut 😎

gaslybestie I can’t be the only one who had some very age restricted thoughts with the fourth pic…

⤷ vettelforever oh you’re def not alone on this train bestie

porscheschumi I am invested on this porsche 2024 mick!! omg omg

December, 2023

📸 instagram

theofficialyn & mickschumacher

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theofficialyn it's the most beautiful time of the year 😍❤️🎄

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lewishamilton sickenly cute, but ily 🤍

ginaschumacher its even prettier sharing it with you guys 💚

ynfan2 the way they're always included in each other's dump is so wholesome, I bet they waited way too long to do it, and now it must feel liberating

⤷ russellsainz they're showing off but I would too if I dated one of them

estebanocon merry xmas!! 🎅

sunnyyn its their first Christmas together I'm crying pls

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