For the next swap sunday please We Were Happy as a continuation of Happiness and Champagne Problems and Don't You as a continuation of Tis The Damn Season 💞💞💞
For the next swap sunday please We Were Happy as a continuation of Happiness and Champagne Problems and Don't You as a continuation of Tis The Damn Season 💞💞💞
Don’t you- Neymar jr
Last weeks swap sunday, as I’m a week behind✨
This is part 2 to mirrorball written by the incredible @f00tball-imagines (read here) hope you enjoy my angels….
Weeks pass by and im still stuck in my own head…. everytime I kiss marco, I see his hazel orbs staring at the back of my head, the nights of endless pleasure with ney still ligure my mind like a tattoed kiss. And i should feel guilty, for playing with Marcos feelings… but to tell you the truth I don’t!
Player: James Rodríguez
Word count: 1.280
Prompt: “Hello, can the next swap sunday projects be another part of Illciit Affairs (for you) and a sequel to Mirrorball (for Laura)? ✨” (Request by Anon)
A/N: Another Swap Sunday, another angsty James piece! ✨💗 This story is a sequel to @alltoolewin’s Mad Woman-inspired imagine 🥰 If you’re new here, you should read my Illicit Affairs fic first, though! 💖
His name lights up on my phone screen. Which lights up my pitch black bedroom. James pink heartlet-purple heartlet-sparkly heartlet. Because a single red one would have been inappropriate. I know damn well that my name in his phone isn’t even a name. Just my first initial. Not even a full stop after it. A lonesome letter. Because apparently, that’s much less suspicious.
James pink heartlet-purple heartlet-sparkly heartlet wants to know whether I’m still awake at this ungodly hour. After not talking to me for two whole weeks. “Yes,” I type into the message box. I’m a fucking fool for texting back. I hit send. I hit my head against the wall. I’m in love with a married man who’s kicking a ball around for a living. Who possibly can’t and won’t love anything or anyone that isn’t his daughter. I’m a fucking mess. Please, James, get a pair of glasses, another one, a better one. What do you even want from me? I can’t drink from a can unless someone’s asking the waiter for a straw. I can’t ask waiters for straws because I’m goddamn shy. I can’t. I just can’t. So why can’t James find himself someone better?
My phone vibrates twice. Three simple letters. A “W”, a “Y” and a “D”. And a lonely question mark. I don’t know who’s teaching him English slang, abbreviations, the cool stuff. I don’t even know why he’s pretending to be cool. As I said, the man kicks a ball around for a living. That’s not cool. That’s fucking weird, now that I’m thinking about it.
“Nothing.” What would I be doing at three in the morning? I spend my nights staring at my ceiling unless we’re having sex. He knows that. “You?” Did I ask out of common courtesy or do I really want to know what’s keeping him awake tonight?
He replies right away. “I’m in bed, I just can’t fall asleep.”
“Try drinking some tea. That helps.”
He sends me an emoji, the facepalming one. I have to laugh, I really cannot help it, but I do find it hilarious when grown-ass men unironically use anything more than just a normal smiley or the occasional thumbs up. James pink heartlet-purple heartlet-sparkly heartlet ups the ante then. “You’re a pain in the ass, princesa.”
“You’re a pain in-” I stop in my tracks. In my fucking vagina. I delete what I’ve written so far, just to type it out again. “You’re a pain in general, Jamesito.” I find myself giggling into the darkness. “My aches are developing aches because of you.” I add the one emoji with the bandaged head, then I hit send.
“Want me to kiss it better?” It should’ve been “you’re a pain in my vagina”. Definitely.
“James, you’re being silly. It’s half past three. Go to sleep.”
“Told you I’m fucking restless. Talk to me.” Pouty puppy-eyed emoji. Dude, please!
I sigh, putting the phone down for a second. Yeah, sure. All of a sudden, I’m interesting again. Because there isn’t anything else to entertain him. Of course. I should’ve known. “What about?” My text immediately is marked as read, homeboy isn’t even closing our chat in-between messages it seems. I should be flattered, but instead, I just feel like there’s something weird about this. Like, why don’t you talk to your wife? Why aren’t you on video call with your daughter? It’s barely nine in Medellín, I know that. Of course I know that, I’ve pinned Colombia’s local time to my home screen.
“Can I call you?”
You have a fucking phone in your hand. You certainly can. “No. Come over.” I hate myself for putting myself through that. I hope he’s got somewhere to be in the morning. I can’t help but wish for him to turn me down.
Now… Now it’s my turn to send him a facepalming emoji. No. Next Christmas, dummy.
“Okay,” he replies after a split second. Okay, I’m coming over? Okay, cool, a stupid little emoji? Okay, fuck off? Okay what? Another second passes. Buzz buzz. “I’ll be there in ten.”
“Drive safe,” my fingers type out. Crash that fucking car. After running me over, of course. End our misery. Please and thank you. I roll out of bed to put on some pants. He can deal with my washed out tee, he’s seen worse. My naked body, for example. I stumble into the bathroom to pile on mascara, to take the fluffy, pink scrunchie out of my hair, to wash the thin film of cold sweat off my forehead. I don’t know nervousness when it comes to him. There’s just… anxiety. Every time we have one of our little fall-outs, my amount of working braincells gets reduced by two.
I sit down on the toilet lid to catch my breath. I’m gonna get dicked down and then discarded. It’s okay, I’m used to it. I’m a one-trick-pony. But I’m just so good at that one trick that James keeps on crawling back to me. The pinkish polish on my nails is starting to chip, so I decide to adorn my fingers with a few rings to distract from that. They look cheap, they were cheap, but I consider them cute, so it’s alright.
I don’t like texting after my autocorrect has dubbed him Hummus not once, not twice, but several times. He doesn’t like calling as his stutter tends to get worse on the phone. So this is nice. The real thing is always nice. “I missed you,” he rasps with his arms still wrapped around my torso. “I missed you, too,” I whisper back. Lies. I spent a long, long time cursing his name, relatively sure that I would never be moaning it again, that we were over and done. “I still haven’t said Happy New Year,” he states the obvious. We haven’t spoken since Christmas. “No,” I confirm, shaking my head. It was the worst New Year’s Eve of my life. I’ve seen the pictures Daniela had posted on her Instagram. At least James has had a great time, apparently.
“Sorry. I thought I should leave you alone.” Yes. Because that’s the easy way out. “But… Happy New Year. I guess.”
“Thanks. To you, too.” It truly feels like New Year’s. Waiting for the big something, just to end up disappointed because the big something turns out to be some underwhelming bullshit. “Better late than never.” There’s still snow on the streets, so it’s alright, I guess.
“You’re fucking annoying, James.”
“Oh. Why?” And fucking stupid as well.
“Did you really come over to stand around in my hallway and wish me a Happy New Year? What are you? A caroler?”
“You told me to come.”
“I’m not used to you doing as you’re told.” I force a laugh. I’m not used to niceties and such. I’m used to… the bad stuff.
He just shrugs. He’s so unbelievably apathetic, I hate it! “You have the place to yourself tonight?”
“No. You’re here with me.” I know quite well that he was referring to my roommate. Who, in fact, is staying with her boyfriend for the weekend. I know quite well that he only asked because he is the furthest thing from an exhibitionist I could imagine.
“Ah. Yes. True.” So damn stupid! I wish I could get up and leave. But I’m already standing and there’s no way to escape my own apartment. “Well?” I ask in an awful attempt to make conversation. Well, he’s gonna fuck me. He’s gonna break my heart once again and I’m gonna like that. We’ve been there before. And we’re gonna be there time and time again.
Player: James Rodríguez
Word count: 349
Prompt: “For the next swap sunday please We Were Happy as a continuation of Happiness and Champagne Problems and Don’t You as a continuation of Tis The Damn Season 💞💞💞” (Request by Anon)
A/N: It’s Swap Sunday again, hooray! 🤠💗 This story was inspired by We Were Happy by Taylor Swift and is a sequel to Happiness, probably one of my favourite pieces that my love @alltoolewin has written! 🥺✨ (Happiness is a sequel to my Champagne Problems-inspired imagine, so you probably should read that one first if you’re new here! 🥰)
I might have hurt him. But he hurt me too, so it was okay. It’s been weeks of back and forth, weeks of living in denial and drowning in regrets, weeks of living life on autopilot. That voice in my head that keeps on telling me that James was the one who fucked up, the voice that keeps on making him a villain, was the first to realize that I’m not in love anymore. Oh, it’s been weeks of not missing him, but missing the memories. I know that by now.
I’ve stopped talking about what happened that night after Colombia’s loss against Germany. Recently, social media has finally shut up about the disaster that was supposed to be a proposal as well. I like to believe I’m over it, but sometimes… Sometimes, it just hits me how fucking happy we were. I remember evenings in Barranquilla, the way the sun was pouring its light into the water, I’ve always been scared that I would have to witness the sinking of a ship or something equally traumatizing. No idea why. We were happy. The good was just so… good. But in hindsight, it couldn’t always overshadow the bad. It starts making sense. Maybe I did have a reason to say “no” to him.
I remember sneaking into the most random sporting events with him. “What kind of circus is that?” I had giggled as we were watching a bunch of pre-teens chasing after a football like dogs after a rabbit. He just threw his head back and his arms around my neck, laughing as if he were a little kid himself, and shrugged. “Don’t know. But I don’t care. Because you’re here with me.” Memories like icicles. Ouch.
Actually, things have been so good that I should’ve known. Everything was perfect. Of course he was going to propose sooner or later! James is one smart cookie - and not putting a ring on it would’ve been stupid. So maybe I’m the dumb fool for upsetting his plans, for ruining a good thing, for throwing away seven years of happiness…
Do you ship @alltoolewin with a footballer? 😇
I obviously ship her with her hubby Mason 🤠💗
But Laura x breadstick is my OTP, of course 🤡
Anything your working on atm? :)
Yep, I’m currently working on Cowboy Like Me with Kylian and Dancing With Our Hands Tied with James ✨
Thanks for being patient with me, everyone! 🤡💗
Ella I had a dream that you announced your marriage with James but then you were caught cheating on him with Falcao by some papparazzi, it was SO WEIRD omg 🥴😥
Oh dear, what a mess… 🤡😂
Ngl it feels illegal to be able to read your stuff for free haha
Aww, you’re too kind! Thank you! 💗✨
Ur bio says "Don't flirt with me unless you're James Rodriguez" buttt what if Ima breadstick??
Oh well, I would make an exception for you, I guess 🤡 Breadsticks are always welcome! 🥖✨
What’s up with the breadstick asks tho? Send help, @alltoolewin 🤠
Sorry if this is creepy but Ive read some post about you getting tattooed, how many do you have? :)
No worries, you’re not being creepy at all! ✨
I have six tattoos at the moment, I’m hopefully getting my next one real soon! 🥰
Hiii Ella, I have a request for swap sunday: Part 2 of Champagne Problems and Part 2 of Cardigan! Have a nice day 💋💓
We hope you enjoy our stories! 🥰
Happiness- james Rodriguez
Week 2 of swap sunday with my bubba @f00tball-imagines ✨
This week i wrote part 2 to her amazing champagne problems piece! Please check hers out here!
I can’t make it go away by making you a villain
You knew you were stupid to think that after you said no that he would fight for you! That he would chase after you find you, hold you, tell you everything okay and that he understands. When in reality you were sat here under an old oak tree, leaves falling round you as you process everything that happened in the past week. Saying no to the ‘love of your life’, leaving him kneeling there in front of all your loved ones without an explanation why. You tried to come up with excuses everytime someone brought it up! It didnt feel right…. i was shocked…. it was too public…. he’s too clingy… it would fall apart like his last relationships…
Excuse me while I go cry in a corner 😭🤡
I have a pen
I have an apple
This ladies and gentlemen is what me and ella send eachother…… hence why Marcelo is a breadstick! 🤠
Player: Ben Chilwell
Word count: 243
Prompt: “Hiii Ella, I have a request for swap sunday: Part 2 of Champagne Problems and Part 2 of Cardigan! Have a nice day 💋💓” (Request by Anon)
A/N: Please enjoy my contribution to this week’s Swap Sunday, a project with my love @alltoolewin! 🤠💗 This story is a sequel to Laura’s Cardigan-inspired imagine and is based on Coney Island by Taylor Swift ft. The National ✨🥰
He once could make hell feel just like home. But now that he’s gone, the lack of him makes Coney Island feel like a ghetto. He broke my soul in two when I was merely eighteen, now, at twenty-three, it’s still in bits and pieces. Five years later, I’m sitting on a bench in Coney Island, still wondering, “Where did my baby go?”
It was supposed to be a light-hearted little trip, one that my best friend had organized after seeing me in ruins once again. Once again, my misery was Ben’s fault. But right now, I shouldn’t be this miserable. I was doing good, I felt like I was getting too old to care. But then he showed up at my doorstep. I had expected him to come back sooner or later, he’s never been good at surprises.
I watch the merry go rounds, the surburban mums with their kids with their cotton candy, the big ferris wheel in the distance. I think of happier times. Of Ben standing in my hallway. With a big cake. Singing Happy Birthday to me. I think of bright lights, of the time he took me to the local arcade, the way he never won me a trinket. Disappointments. That’s what he’s good at. I’ve known that all along. But, still, here I am. Sitting on a bench in Coney Island, watching the sun go down, disappointed but not surprised, wondering, “Where did my baby go?”
My name is James, up the toffees ✊✊✊
A long, long list of all requests I currently have in my inbox 🥰💗
Please keep in mind that they probably won’t be written and published in this order! 🤠
- Anonymous said: “❣Request❣ You meeting James’s family (his mom and daughter) and your suuuuper anxious but it ends up being fluffy? Love youuuu”
- Anonymous said: “Hellooo, love your stories so much! 💜💜💜 Could we get a James x Neymar x reader one where you’re with James (maybe even married) and at first he’s super jealous but they all end up having a threesome or something? 🤗🤗 Thank youuu 💫🌷”
- Anonymous said: “You should write something about you & James at your baby shower! Like Samu is your son & your pregnant with him! Make it fluffy AND angsty! Oh and you should include @alltoolewin bc you guys are my brotp 🌻💞🥰”
- Anonymous said: “Heyy, you need to write something about Betty × James! Taylor even says “James get in let’s drive” in the song!!“
- Anonymous said: “Elllllaaaaa, your basically the only who could make this prompt work: OC is James’s son’s surrogate mother but they fall in love, yadda yadda yadda 😅 Maybe turn that into a series? 🥺”
- Anonymous said: “Could you or Laura write an imagine based on Renegade by Big Red Machine & Taylor Swift? It would fit right in with the Folklore Evermore series”
- Anonymous said: “Can I request a super sad Marco Reus imagine based on Marjorie? Like, your pregnant and you guys wanna call your daughter Marjorie but you end up miscarrying. If it’s too sad / if the request makes you uncomfy just delete it. Love you 💓”
- Anonymous said: “Hello Ella, can you or Laura write The Lakes as a honey moon fic with a player of your choice? Hehe xx”
- Anonymous said: “Heyaaaa can one of you write some wholesome Mats Hummels? You can pick a song of your choice😊😊”
- Anonymous said: “ELLAAA, some James angst x Dancing with our hands tied would be greattt 🥺😍”
- Anonymous said: “Hi Ella, can you do “Call it what you want” with Kai Havertz please ❤”
- Anonymous said: “Dress with Declan Rice please if it hasn’t been taken :) x”
- Anonymous said: “hi, i was reading your folklore/evermore masterlist and i wonder if you could do cowboy like me with kylian? thank u!”
- Anonymous said: “DCL x My Tears Ricochet pleaseeee ☺😚”
Updated on 08/08/2021
Tis the damn season with Jamesss? I wont ever get enough of your writing for him!
Just posted it! 💗✨
How can you be so close to Ella and not be scared of her? She's a wag, she writes fanfics like a professional, idk she is so intimidating to me😳😳 I don't understand lmao I try so hard to like her but shes like a Mary Sue to me
She is the most amazing person on hereeee no cap! & she’s not intimidating at all honestly….. get to know her & you’ll never speak to anyone sweeter!
Also i can confirm that she is absolutely STUNNING! like FLAWLESS! never seen anyone closer to perfect ✨
Love you my 🤠!
Player: James Rodríguez
Word count: 570
Prompt: “Tis the damn season with Jamesss? I wont ever get enough of your writing for him!” (Request by Anon)
A/N: Wow, some Christmassy James angst in the middle of August 🤡✨ This imagine was inspired by ‘Tis The Damn Season by Taylor Swift and is part of my Folklore / Evermore series, a project with the talented @alltoolewin 💗🥰 If you guys have any more requests (for our Taylor Swift series or in general), please let us know! 💖😊
I take a sip of my hot chocolate. Coffee is Colombian. Therefore, it reminds me of James. Therefore, I don’t want it. Some wise lady once said, “I like my men like I like my coffee. Hot and Colombian.” That wise lady was me. I thought I was hilarious back then. I wouldn’t consider myself wise anymore. I’ve lost all sense of humor. If anything, I would call myself a lost cause. I almost swipe my Christmas themed mug off the counter. What a shame. The green, golden, red shards could’ve kept my shattered heart company.
The spirit of Christmas dances in. In the form of my mother. Exactly what I had needed! “Tis the season to be jolly!” she chirps, dancing around me in a snowflake-printed jumpsuit. Oh, aren’t you just one special little snowflake?
Actually, no. ‘Tis the damn season to mourn a long lost love. “Shut up!” I want to say. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” I choke out instead. He went back to Madrid, but right now, he’s probably in Colombia, spending some much needed quality time with his family. His wife and daughter. His mother who has never really warmed up to me for whatever reason. His sister who always thought her brother deserved someone better. I bet his house is full. Oh, so full of love.
“Cheer up!” my mum says. She knows something is up. She knows me so well. Too well.
I just raise my cup to her. “Cheers,” I mutter through gritted teeth. I don’t know what to tell her. Maybe I could just burst into tears and let the act of doing so speak for itself. I want to make a scene, “He was my first love, you peasant!” I want to scream, but she knows that. Of course she does! She was the first to tell me that the boy is as dumb as a bucket of shrimp, apparently. According to her. Whatever.
It’s a quiet dinner, the uncomfortable kind of quiet. I don’t have anything to contribute to conversations about politics or celebrity gossip, it seems like it’s me and my nagging nostalgia against the world tonight. I have no idea what I’m even doing here. I cut up food without the intention of eating it, I pour myself a glass of wine with the intention of getting drunk, but I just can’t. I’m chewing on my cheek until I taste blood, there goes the last sliver of the appetite I never had in the first place.
I’m glad when it’s over. I stumble into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, guess I’m in the throes of the caffeine cravings, but I end up doing the dishes instead. The house is silent tonight. The crockery clanks and clinks, I don’t know why but suddenly, I remember all those times I’ve sat on the counter with my legs wrapped around his waist, I remember burnt arepas, I remember sleeping in half the day just for the sake of it. Ah, yes. Sleeping in. Guess that’s what I’m gonna be doing tomorrow. For old times’ sake this once. And because the longer I sleep, the less time I’m gonna waste on reminiscing. How amazing! I’ve always hated doing housework. Completing those mundane tasks doesn’t keep your brain busy. And an empty head leads to overthinking. But that’s okay with me tonight. ‘Tis the damn season to do so.
Why is Marcello a breadstick
Confidential information between me & ella I’m afraid hehe 🤠
What’s your favourite crisp? I love monster munch 🤣
Umm, I’m not the biggest fan of crisps, but Doritos are quite alright, I guess 🤔😂
James has herpes 😐😐😐
Oh, come on, leave the poor boy alone! 🥴😂
I ship you with.... your hubby james of course!!
Thank you, kind Anon! 💗✨
Platonically I ship you with @alltoolewin, romantically I ship you with James ❤
Aww, that’s too cute! 🥰✨
Ellaaaa Everton is playing today!!!!😍😍🥳🥳
I know! Let’s go, Toffees! 💙✨