2024 Football Asks

Hi! Could you write something where the reader lives in Madrid and decides to go out to a bar with some college friends? It turns out that one of her friends' boyfriends is a friend of Jude and some other Real Madrid players. That night, the reader ends up meeting him. She already knew who he was—thought he was insanely attractive—but kept that to herself. That night, they just have a great conversation, full of flirting, but in a fun and natural way. When she gets home, she's completely dazzled—not just because of how good-looking he is, but because he’s actually really interesting too. She tells her college friends everything, but also her best friend. A few days later, the reader is at her internship (I imagine something in the healthcare field because it takes up a lot of her time). That day, her best friend is visiting, but since the reader is still at work, her best friend goes out with some of their other friends. The reader, exhausted from her shift, just wants to go home and sleep. She’s already turned down any plans for the night. But once she’s finally home, lying on the couch, she gets a message from her best friend: "You won’t believe this. Your man is here." She thinks about going but tells herself it's not worth it—they haven’t talked since that night, so why would she do this? Then, another message: "Girl, you cannot let this chance slip away." She finally gives in and goes. When she gets there, she spots him but pretends she hasn’t seen him—even though she knows he’s already seen her. And that night… something happens.

I thought of something like this. Sorry if it's a bit confusing—I've been thinking about this story for days. Could you please write it? I love your writing, and I'm sure it would be amazing!

❦ - madrid, maybe?

summary:: madrid was supposed to be about school, work, and keeping your head down, not late nights, stolen glances, and jude bellingham throwing your whole plan off track. you told yourself it was nothing. then again, madrid has a way of making nothing feel like everything.

warnings:: fair amount of cussing, alcohol consumption, reader is lowkey drunk asf, mentions of work related stress, a lot of angst (yeah im sorry for that but i needed to), eventual relationship && reader being a bit of a bitch.

writers note:: so i lowkey spent a LOT of hours doing this but i think it was worth it..? but anyways also lmk if i should make another part of the joao felix series! it could be longer but yk.

tags: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the night had started like any other.    

it had taken more convincing than usual to get you out. after a long week at your internship, long shifts, barely any sleep, endless responsibilities, you had been desperate for a night in. a night where you could just exist without needing to be on all the time.  

but your friends had other plans. you never come out anymore, they’d whined. one drink. just one drink.

so here you were, tucked into a crowded bar in the heart of madrid, nursing something cold in your hands while your college friends laughed and talked around you. it wasn’t bad, really. the music was good, the energy infectious. maybe you’d needed this more than you thought.  

you had just started to relax when a familiar name was dropped into the conversation.  

‘jude’s on his way,’ your friend’s boyfriend announced casually, barely looking up from his phone.  

the name sent a ripple of recognition through the group. your friends exchanged glances, excitement flashing in their eyes. even if you weren’t a huge football fan, you weren’t oblivious. you knew who he was.  

jude bellingham.  

and, sure, you’d seen the photos, watched the clips. it was impossible to live in madrid and not know about him. but the thought of actually meeting him? it was something you had never even considered.  

still, you kept your reaction to yourself. unlike the others, you weren’t about to sit there and gush about him like he was some unattainable celebrity. he was just a guy, right?  

just a guy.  

but then he walked in.  

and, immediately, you realized how wrong you were.  

he wasn’t just a guy.

he was tall. taller than you expected, effortlessly commanding the room without even trying. he moved with an ease that was almost unfair, like he knew exactly who he was, exactly what kind of attention he drew.  

and, god, he was stupidly attractive.  

even more than in pictures, sharper jawline, softer eyes, an easy sort of confidence that was somehow both infuriating and completely magnetic.  

you forced yourself to look away, taking a sip of your drink. you were not going to be one of those girls.  

but then, of course, he ended up right next to you.  

the introductions were quick, casual. your friend’s boyfriend did most of the talking, barely noticing the way jude’s eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary.  

and then, suddenly, it was just the two of you.  

it started simple enough. polite conversation, the usual questions. but it didn’t take long for the banter to start.  

he was quick. sharp. he caught onto things most people wouldn’t, met your sarcasm with just as much of his own. you teased him about his spanish, about the way the entire bar had turned to look at him the moment he walked in.  

‘you’re used to this, aren’t you?’ you said at one point, tipping your glass slightly toward him.  

his lips quirked. ‘what?’

‘people staring at you.’

he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. ‘you mean you staring at me?’

you rolled your eyes, even as heat crept up your neck. ‘please. you wish.’

he laughed at that, and you knew, without a doubt, that he was enjoying this. the game of it all. the push and pull.  

the night blurred after that. conversations overlapping, hands brushing, glances held a second too long.  

by the time you got home, you were dazed. not just from the drinks, not just from the way he looked at you, but from the way he was.

you told your friends everything. and, of course, you told your best friend.  

but then days passed. and he didn’t text.  

and why would he? it was just one night. just a conversation. he probably met a dozen new people a week.  

so you let it go. focused on work. exhausted yourself to the point where there was no room to think about anything else.  

until

‘you won’t believe this. your man is here.’

you stared at the message, blinking away the exhaustion.  

‘no way.’

you were sprawled on your couch, still in your scrubs, every muscle in your body aching from the shift you had just survived.  

you weren’t going out. you had already said no to at least three different invitations tonight. you needed sleep.  

but then another message.  

‘girl, you cannot let this chance slip away.’

you exhaled slowly, phone resting on your chest.  

your best friend was right. what were the chances? what if you never ran into him again?  

before you could overthink it, you got up. changed. left.  

the bar was even more packed than last time. but you spotted him immediately.

and you knew the exact moment he saw you.  

but instead of going to him, instead of acknowledging him at all, you walked right past him.  

you could feel his eyes on you.  

and then, minutes later

‘thought you weren’t coming,’ a voice murmured in your ear.  

you turned, already biting back a smile. ‘i wasn’t.’

he raised a brow. ‘what changed?’

you shrugged, playing it cool. ‘got bored.’

he laughed, shaking his head. ‘you’re trouble, aren’t you?’

‘depends on who you ask.’

‘and if i asked you?’

you met his gaze, holding it. challenging. ‘then i’d say you’ll have to find out for yourself.’

the way his eyes darkened at that; yeah. you knew exactly where this night was heading.

the thing about madrid was that it never really slept. neither did you, apparently.  

despite the exhaustion from your shift, despite knowing you’d regret this in the morning, you were here. back in a crowded bar, back in this game of glances and teasing remarks with jude bellingham.  

he was still standing close, still watching you like he knew exactly what you were doing.  

‘so, you gonna keep pretending you don’t see me?’ he asked, tilting his head slightly.  

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you said smoothly, sipping your drink.  

his lips quirked into that stupid, knowing smirk. ‘right. just a coincidence you walked past me like i was invisible.’

‘maybe you just are invisible," you shot back.  

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. ‘you’re funny.’

‘i know.’

he eyed you for a moment, like he was trying to figure something out. then, casually, ‘so, you do this a lot?’

‘do what?’

‘show up at bars just to mess with guys?’

‘only the ones who deserve it.’

‘good to know,’ he murmured, leaning in slightly. ‘so, what makes me one of them?’

you didn’t answer right away. mostly because his proximity was making it hard to think straight. his cologne, something warm and expensive, lingered in the air between you. it didn’t help that his voice had dropped just enough to make your stomach flip.  

‘well,’ you said finally, keeping your tone light, ‘technically, you never texted me. so, really, i should be the one messing with you.’

his brows shot up. ‘i never texted you?’

‘yeah. you had my number, didn’t use it.’

he scoffed, amused. ‘first of all, i never got your number.’

you paused. ‘wait, really?’

‘yeah. really.’

you frowned, trying to remember if that was true. the night had been a blur, but, maybe he hadn’t gotten it?  

he watched your expression shift and grinned. ‘what, you thought i ghosted you?’

‘i mean… maybe?’

he shook his head, laughing. ‘nah, see, thats crazy. you deadass thought i’d just meet you, have that conversation, and then never hit you up?’

‘i don’t know, you meet a lot of people.’

‘yeah, and i remember the interesting ones.’

you didn’t respond to that. mostly because the words did something weird to your heart. instead, you just sipped your drink again, pretending it hadn’t fazed you.  

jude, apparently, wasn’t done.  

‘you gonna give it to me now?’

‘give you what?’

‘your number.’

you smirked. ‘hmm. i don’t know. you did ignore me for, like, a week.’

he rolled his eyes. ‘you just admitted that wasn’t my fault.’

‘still hurt my feelings, though.’

‘oh, yeah? you were heartbroken?’

‘devastated,’ you said solemnly. ‘could barely function.’

‘should i make it up to you, then?’

your heart skipped, but you kept your expression neutral. ‘and how exactly do you plan on doing that?’

his gaze flickered down to your lips; quick, barely noticeable. but you noticed.

‘i could think of a few ways.’ he said lightly.  

your stomach flipped.  

you should not be enjoying this as much as you were. but it was impossible not to. because the thing about jude was that he was good at this. good at knowing exactly when to push, exactly when to pull back.  

and maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit addicted to it.  

before you could say anything else, someone called his name from across the bar. you both turned, spotting one of his friends motioning for him to come over.  

‘you leaving?’ you asked.  

he looked at his friends, then back at you. ‘not yet.’

‘oh? got something better to do?’

his smirk was slow, deliberate. ‘yeah. think i do.’

an hour passed. maybe more.  

somewhere in between the second and third drink, the two of you had drifted toward a quieter part of the bar. still close to the crowd, but just far enough that the conversation felt more… intimate.  

he asked about your internship, your plans. listened intently, even as you rambled about how exhausting it was.  

‘so, basically, you’re a superhero,’ he said when you finished.  

you laughed. ‘that’s a bit of a reach.’

‘nah,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘saving lives, barely getting sleep. sounds heroic to me.’

you rolled your eyes, but your stomach did a stupid little flip at the way he said it.  

eventually, though, the energy around you shifted. the bar had thinned out, people heading home.  

you should’ve, too. but you weren’t ready yet.  

and neither was he.  

‘wanna get out of here?’ he asked suddenly.  

you glanced up. ‘oh?’

he huffed a laugh. ‘not like that.’

‘mhmm.’

i’m serious,’ he said, grinning. ‘just, wanna walk for a bit?’

you hesitated, then shrugged. ‘sure.’

the streets of madrid at night were something else. a little quieter now, but still buzzing, still alive.  

you and jude walked side by side, the conversation lighter now. less teasing, more comfortable.  

‘so, what do you actually do for fun?’ he asked at one point.  

you scoffed. ‘fun? don’t know her.’

‘nah, see, i knew you were gonna say that.’

‘because it’s true!’

he shook his head. ‘i don’t believe it. you have to have some kind of guilty pleasure.’

you thought for a second. ‘hmm. okay. maybe i watch reality tv when i’m too exhausted to do anything else.’

he gasped dramatically. ‘no way.’

‘shut up.’

‘what show?’

‘not telling you.’

‘nah, you have to tell me now.’

you pursed your lips. ‘love island.’

his eyes widened, like he’d just uncovered the greatest secret in the world.  

‘i knew you were toxic,’ he said, laughing.  

‘excuse me?’

‘nah, it makes sense now.’

‘okay, and what’s your guilty pleasure, then?’

he thought for a moment. ‘i still watch kids' cartoons sometimes.’

‘no way.’

‘swear down.’

you squinted at him. ‘you’re lying.’

‘i swear.’

you were still laughing when you realized you had stopped walking.  

and then you realized something else.  

you were standing too close.  

you weren’t sure who had moved first. all you knew was that his hand was brushing against yours now, his gaze a little softer, his voice a little lower.  

and suddenly, the air between you wasn’t just charged; it was buzzing.

you swallowed.  

‘so,’ he murmured, ‘if i asked you again…’

‘asked me what?’ you said, playing dumb.  

his lips quirked.  

‘for your number.’

your heart was racing now. but you still pretended to think about it.  

then, finally

‘guess you have to make it up to me somehow first.’

he grinned. ‘oh, yeah?’

‘yeah.’

‘and how exactly do you want me to do that?’

you smiled. ‘figure it out.’

judging by the look in his eyes, he already had an idea.

‘so, if i asked you again… for your number?’

‘guess you have to make it up to me somehow first.’

‘oh, yeah? and how exactly do you want me to do that?’

you had smiled, told him to figure it out.

and, of course, jude bellingham took that as a challenge.

hours earlier.  

the second you’d said the words, his grin had turned slow, deliberate.  

‘figure it out, huh?’

you shrugged, pretending to be unaffected by the way his gaze lingered on your lips before flickering back up to your eyes.  

‘if you really want my number, yeah,’ you said lightly. ‘gonna have to earn it.’

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.  

‘alright,’ he said finally. ‘challenge accepted.’

the next hour had been a game.

you weren’t sure when the shift had happened; when the teasing had become this.

he had been trying to impress you before, sure. but now? now, jude was determined.

he had leaned into the flirting, turned up the charm to levels that should have been illegal.

he started making you laugh on purpose, telling ridiculous stories about his teammates, doing impressions, playing into every little quirk he had already picked up about you.  

when you rolled your eyes, he’d smirk and say, ‘there she goes again.’

when you crossed your arms, pretending to be unimpressed, he’d lean in and murmur, ‘c’mon, you’re dying to give me your number.’

he kept finding excuses to touch you; a hand on your back as you walked through the street, a brush of fingers when you reached for something at the same time. light touches, nothing overwhelming, but just enough to keep your heart racing.  

but you weren’t going to make it easy.  

you pushed back, met his teasing with just as much of your own. made him laugh, made him work for it.  

at one point, he sighed dramatically, tilting his head back.  

‘this is actually crazy,’ he said. ‘most girls would’ve given in by now.’

‘good thing i’m not most girls,’ you shot back.  

he looked at you then, something unreadable flickering in his expression.  

‘yeah,’ he said after a second. ‘guess you’re not.’

eventually, you ended up at a small plaza, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the cobblestone. it was late really late, but neither of you seemed to care.  

the energy between you had settled. still charged, but warmer now.  

‘so,’ he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, ‘are you gonna give me anything to work with here?’

‘what do you mean?’

‘like, a hint at least?’

‘for what?’

‘how to win your number,’ he said, exasperated.  

you laughed, tilting your head slightly. ‘hmm. i don’t know…’

he groaned. ‘you’re killing me.’

‘good.’

he stared at you for a second, then suddenly straightened.  

‘alright,’ he said. ‘i’ve got it.’

‘got what?’

‘the way i’m getting your number.’

you raised a brow. ‘oh?’

‘yeah,’ he said confidently. ‘gimme a second.’

before you could ask what he was doing, he pulled out his phone.  

you watched, confused, as he opened instagram, typed something, and handed it to you.  

his profile was already open.  

follow me.

you let out a short laugh. ‘wow. smooth.’

‘look, i could go old school and ask for your number directly,’ he said, grinning. ‘but i know you’d make me jump through five more hoops before you actually gave it to me.’

‘true,’ you admitted.  

‘so, this is my compromise.’ he nodded toward the screen. ‘follow me. then i’ll dm you. then you have to respond.’

you hummed, pretending to think about it.  

then, finally, you hit follow.

jude immediately took his phone back, typing something quickly.  

a second later, yours buzzed.  

new dm from judebellingham:

does this mean i win?

you grinned, typing back.  

hmm. undecided.

another message.  

fairs. i’ll keep working on it, then.

now, lying in bed, you scrolled back through the messages, rereading them even though you knew them by heart.  

it was stupid, really. how giddy this was making you.  

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. that you were just enjoying the attention, that this was just harmless flirting.  

but then; 

another message.

judebellingham: you up?

your breath caught.  

it was so late. did he just get home, too? was he still thinking about tonight?  

you hesitated for a second.  

then,

maybe. why?

jude: just wondering if i was the only one still thinking about tonight.

your heart stopped.

you stared at the message for a long time, suddenly very aware of how fast your pulse was racing.  

he was good so good at this.  

and, worst of all, 

you had no idea what the hell you were going to do about it.

you weren’t answering.  

jude had sent the message almost fifteen minutes ago, and your reply still hadn’t come through.  

he wasn’t the type to overthink things—not usually. but something about this was different. something about you had thrown him completely off his game.  

he ran a hand through his hair, staring at the chat. maybe he shouldn’t have sent that last message. maybe it had been too much. too soon.  

but, fuck, he hadn’t been able to help himself.  

the night had ended, he had gone home, but his mind was still buzzing. still replaying everything, the teasing, the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed, the way you’d refused to make things easy for him.  

he had met plenty of people in madrid. plenty of girls who had flirted with him, who had been interested.  

but none of them had felt like this.

and that? that was messing with him.  

his phone buzzed.  

should i lie or tell the truth?

his heart kicked up, and suddenly, he felt stupid for even doubting that you’d respond.  

jude: always the truth

he watched the little typing bubble pop up, then disappear.  

then pop up again.  

then disappear.  

he smirked. you were hesitating. interesting.

finally;

then yeah. i’m thinking about it too.

the next morning, you woke up to another message.  

judebellingham: coffee later?

you stared at the words, your stomach flipping.  

it was a bad idea.  

you knew this.  

your life was too busy, your schedule too packed. you barely had time for yourself, let alone whatever the hell this thing with jude was becoming.  

not to mention, he was him.

jude bellingham, the biggest star in madrid. constantly surrounded by cameras, by attention.  

it was so easy to imagine how this would play out.  

a few fun conversations. some flirting. maybe even something more.  

and then?  

he’d get bored. move on.  

because that’s how these things went.  

so you should say no.  

you should.

but…

what time?

you almost backed out twice.

first, when you realized you had been standing in front of your closet for ten whole minutes, overthinking what to wear.  

it wasn’t a date. just coffee. casual. nothing serious.  

so why were you acting like it meant something?  

but then, 

you walked in.  

and jude was already there, waiting for you.  

the second he spotted you, his whole face lit up.  

‘thought you were gonna stand me up,’ he said, grinning.  

you rolled your eyes, slipping into the seat across from him. ‘tempting, but no.’

he smirked. ‘you were thinking about it, though.’

‘maybe.’

he leaned back slightly, still watching you with that look.

like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.  

you ignored the way your pulse picked up, reaching for the menu.  

‘so,’ you said, acting casual, ‘are we actually getting coffee, or did you just want an excuse to see me again?’

his smirk deepened.  

‘bit of both, to be honest.’

you were so fucked.  

an hour passed. then another.  

coffee turned into brunch. brunch turned into you two still sitting there, talking like you hadn’t just met a few days ago.  

and that was the problem.

it should have been surface level. light, fun, meaningless.  

but then he was asking about your family, about your childhood.  

then he was telling you about birmingham, about moving away when he was just a kid.  

then he was making you laugh again, and it wasn’t just because he was funny; it was because he was genuinely interesting.

by the time the bill came, you realised,

you didn’t want to leave.  

which was exactly why you had to.  

you pulled out your wallet, but jude was already handing over his card.  

‘i got it,’ he said.  

‘i can pay for my own coffee, you know.’

‘yeah, but i invited you.’

‘i can still’

‘let me, yeah?’

you hesitated.  

he was looking at you again, and there was something in his expression that made it really hard to argue.  

so you just sighed. ‘fine.’

he grinned. ‘thank you.’

you rolled your eyes, standing up. ‘you’re annoying.’

‘and yet, here you are, still spending time with me.’

you shook your head, walking toward the door. he followed.  

‘so,’ he said, once you were outside. ‘when am i seeing you again?’

you exhaled slowly, staring at the ground.  

‘jude’

‘don’t do that,’ he said, suddenly serious.  

‘do what?’

‘shut me out before this even goes anywhere.’

your stomach twisted. ‘i’m not.’

‘you are.’

you bit your lip, glancing up at him.  

the easygoing smirk was gone. in its place was something softer, something real.  

‘i get it,’ he said. ‘you’re busy. you’ve got a life, your job, your own shit to deal with.’

he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling.  

‘but if you’re pulling back because you think this is just some game to me.’ he met your gaze. ‘it’s not.’

your heart stuttered.  

you wanted to believe him.  

‘we barely know each other,’ you pointed out.  

‘so let’s change that,’ he said simply.  

like it was that easy.  

and maybe, for him, it was.  

but for you?  

you had spent so long keeping people at a distance. protecting yourself from the inevitable disappointment of expecting too much.  

so why did part of you want to take the risk?  

‘just think about it,’ he murmured, stepping back. ‘yeah?’

you swallowed. nodded.  

he studied you for a second longer, like he wanted to say something else.  

then he turned, walking away.  

you stood there for a long time after he left, staring at the spot where he’d been.  

thinking about his words.  

thinking about how, for the first time in a long time.

you wanted to let someone in.

you were avoiding him.  

not entirely; you still answered his texts, still sent the occasional dry joke in response to his voice notes. but you weren’t making any effort beyond that.  

no more late night messages. no more lingering conversations. no more seeing him in person.  

and jude wasn’t stupid. he noticed.  

you’re dodging me. 

the message came in late one night, right as you were finishing up work.  

you stared at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard.  

he wasn’t wrong.  

but admitting that would mean confronting why.

so you typed something else instead.  

i’m busy.

a minute passed.  

then, 

jude: bullshit.

your stomach twisted.  

you sighed, shoving your phone in your pocket before you could answer.  

but it didn’t matter.  

because, for the rest of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

the truth was, it was easier this way.  

the second you had walked away from that café, you had known, this thing with jude was dangerous.  

because you liked him.  

more than you should.  

and that was bad.

because, at the end of the day, he was still him.

jude bellingham, the football star. the golden boy.  

he was fun, charming, ridiculously attractive.  

but he was also someone with a whole life you didn’t belong in. a world of flashing cameras and public scrutiny, of schedules packed with travel and endless commitments.  

and you?  

you barely had time to breathe most days.  

you had your job, your responsibilities, your own life.  

it didn’t make sense to let yourself fall for him.  

so you had started pulling back.  

distancing yourself before you could get in too deep.  

before you could get hurt.

but clearly, he wasn’t going to let you do that quietly.  

the next time you saw him, it wasn’t planned.  

you were out with friends, trying to pretend like everything was normal, like your mind wasn’t elsewhere.

and then, 

there he was.  

across the bar, laughing with a group of people you didn’t recognize.  

your stomach flipped.  

and, just as quickly; his eyes found yours.  

you froze.  

he didn’t.  

his smile faded, and before you could even think about running, he was already moving toward you.  

‘hey,’ he said when he reached you.  

you swallowed. ‘hey.’

he studied you for a second, then nodded toward the door.  

‘let’s talk.’

you hesitated.  

‘jude.’

‘don’t.’ his voice was low, firm. ‘don’t make excuses. just come outside.’

you exhaled slowly.  

you could say no.  

you should say no.  

but you didn’t.  

outside, the air was cold, but the tension between you was colder.

you crossed your arms. ‘what do you want me to say?’

jude let out a short, humorless laugh.  

‘oh, i don’t know,’ he said. ‘maybe an actual explanation?’

‘i told you, i’ve been..’

‘busy. yeah. i got that.’

he shook his head, jaw tight.  

‘but we both know that’s not really the problem, is it?’

you looked away.  

‘you’re pushing me away,’ he continued, his voice quieter now. ‘and i don’t get it.’

your throat felt tight.  

‘i just…’ you exhaled. ‘i don’t think this is a good idea.’

he frowned. ‘why not?’

you hesitated.  

because you were scared.  

because you didn’t trust yourself with this.  

because you knew that if you let him in, you’d fall hard.

but saying any of that out loud felt impossible.  

so instead, you went for the easiest excuse.  

‘because i don’t have time for this.’

jude scoffed, running a hand through his curls.  

‘that’s such bullshit,’ he muttered.  

‘it’s not,’ you said, forcing your voice to stay even. ‘i barely have time for myself, jude. i can’t add this..’ you gestured between you, ‘whatever this is on top of everything else.’

his expression darkened.  

‘so what?’ he said. ‘you’re just gonna pretend like none of this ever happened? like that night meant nothing?’

your chest ached.  

‘it was fun,’ you said, voice hollow. ‘but that’s all it was.’

jude stared at you.  

and for the first time since you met him, he looked hurt 

you forced yourself to hold his gaze, to keep your expression neutral, even though every part of you was screaming at you to fix it.

but you couldn’t.  

this was for the best.  

finally, he nodded, stepping back.  

‘right,’ he said quietly. ‘got it.’

the space between you felt huge.

he glanced away, let out a slow exhale.  

then, without another word, he walked away. and you let him. but as you stood there, watching him disappear into the night, you wondered if you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.  

the worst part wasn’t the fight.  

it was after.

the silence.  

the space where his texts used to be. the absence of his name lighting up your phone late at night. the realization that you had gotten used to having him around, in your inbox, in your thoughts, in you.

and now?  

nothing.  

days passed. you threw yourself into work, into school, into anything that would keep your mind from wandering back to him.  

but it didn’t matter.  

jude was everywhere.  

in the headlines, on tv, on the back of strangers’ jerseys in the street.  

in the playlist you hadn’t been able to listen to since that night.  

in the memories that crept in during quiet moments, the way he laughed, the warmth of his gaze, the way he looked at you like he actually saw you.

and worse, the last thing he had said.  

‘got it.’

so final. so done.

but then, 

friday night.

you weren’t supposed to go out.  

you had planned to stay in, avoid the possibility of running into him again.  

but your best friend had shown up at your apartment, refusing to take no for an answer.  

‘you’ve been moping,’ she said flatly. ‘it’s getting sad.’

you glared. ‘i am not..’

‘you are,’ she cut in. ‘and honestly? i can’t watch you wallow for another weekend.’

so now, here you were.  

back at the same bar where everything had started.  

part of you hoped he wouldn’t be there.  

part of you hoped he would.

and then, 

of course.  

he was.  

you spotted him across the room, surrounded by friends, smiling at something someone said.  

your heart clenched.  

god, you missed that smile.  

but then, his eyes lifted.  

found yours.  

and just like that, everything came rushing back.

the tension. the longing. the regret.

but you looked away first.  

because you didn’t know how to fix this.

and maybe he didn’t want you to.  

fifteen minutes later, you were at the bar, nursing a drink you didn’t really want, trying to not look for him in the crowd.  

so when someone stepped up beside you, you didn’t even glance over.  

‘we really gonna keep doing this?’

your breath caught.  

slowly, you turned.  

jude.  

closer than you expected.  

his eyes searched yours, something unreadable in his expression.  

‘look,’ you started, but he shook his head.  

‘no,’ he said. ‘my turn.’

you blinked.  

‘i don’t get you,’ he went on, voice low. ‘one minute, you’re there. with me. and the next, you’re gone.’

guilt twisted in your chest.  

‘i…’

‘i know you’re scared,’ he said, softer now. ‘i get it. i do.’

you looked away, but his fingers brushed your wrist, grounding you.  

‘but you don’t get to pull me in and then push me away like i don’t fucking matter,’ he said.  

your throat tightened.  

‘that’s not..’

‘it is,’ he said quietly. ‘that’s what it feels like.’

silence stretched between you.  

you swallowed hard. ‘i thought i was protecting myself.’

he exhaled, shaking his head. ‘from what me?’

‘from getting hurt,’ you whispered.  

‘and how’s that working out for you?’ he shot back. ‘because, newsflash, i’m hurt too.’ 

that stopped you.  

he let the words sink in, then sighed.  

‘look,’ he said, softer. ‘i don’t know what this is. i don’t know where it’s going.’

his gaze held yours. steady. certain.  

‘but i know i like you. i know i haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met.’

your breath hitched.  

‘and yeah,’ he added, ‘maybe it’s messy. maybe it’s complicated. but damn, i think it’s worth figuring out.’ 

your walls, carefully built, meticulously maintained, cracked.  

because fuck.

you wanted this.  

wanted him.

so you let out a shaky laugh, blinking back the sting in your eyes.  

‘you’re really bad at letting things go, huh?’

he smiled, a little broken, a little hopeful.  

‘not when it comes to you.’

that did it.  

you reached for him, and he met you halfway.  

pulling you in.  

warm, solid, familiar.

‘i’m scared,’ you admitted against his chest.  

‘yeah,’ he murmured into your hair. ‘me too.’

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.  

‘but maybe,’ you said, ‘we figure it out anyway?’

his smile was soft. real.

‘yeah,’ he said. ‘i’d like that.’

and when he kissed you, 

it didn’t feel like an ending.  

it felt like finally.

if someone had told you a few months ago that you’d be here, lying on jude’s couch, your legs draped over his lap while a movie played in the background (completely ignored), you would’ve laughed.  

or panicked.  

probably both.  

but now?  

now it just felt right.

‘you’re not even watching,’ jude mumbled, poking your side.  

you glanced up from your phone. ‘neither are you.’

he smirked. ‘yeah, but i invited you over to watch it. not scroll through tiktoks.’

‘you didn’t invite me over for the movie.’ you shot back, raising a brow.  

he grinned. ‘fair enough.’

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.  

this was how it had been lately, easy. familiar. like you had slipped into some rhythm you didn’t even realize you’d wanted.  

the initial whirlwind of everything, the confusion, the push and pull, had settled.  

now there were lazy mornings when you stayed over, his hoodie swallowing you whole as you sipped coffee in his kitchen.  

there were texts throughout the day, some sweet, some stupid, all of them making you smile.  

there were nights like this, where nothing was planned and yet it was perfect.

‘hey.’ his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. ‘what’s going on in that head of yours?’

you shrugged. ‘just… thinking.’

‘dangerous,’ he teased, but there was a softness in his gaze.  

you hesitated, then admitted, ‘i didn’t think it’d be like this.’

his brow furrowed. ‘like what?’

‘easy,’ you said quietly. ‘i thought it’d be more… complicated.’

he tilted his head. ‘it was complicated. you made it complicated.’

‘hey.’ you swatted his arm, but he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  

‘but,’ he added, squeezing gently, ‘it’s not anymore.’

and that was the thing, you had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. stopped holding yourself back.  

because he hadn’t left.  

hadn’t pulled away when things got hard. hadn’t treated you like some passing thing.  

he was here.

with you.  

choosing you.  

every single day.  

your chest warmed at the thought.  

‘what?’ jude asked, eyes narrowing playfully. ‘you’re looking at me like you’re about to say something sappy.’

you snorted. ‘don’t flatter yourself.’

he grinned. ‘too late.’

but then, quieter, he added, ‘you are happy, right?’

the vulnerability in his voice made your heart squeeze.  

so you shifted, leaning in until your forehead rested against his.  

‘yeah,’ you whispered. ‘i am.’

his smile softened. ‘good. ’cause i really, really, like you.’

you grinned. ‘yeah? i hadn’t noticed.’ 

he rolled his eyes but kissed you anyway, slow and unhurried.  

and in that moment, with his hand in yours and his lips against yours, you thought.

yeah. this was it.  

zayn dark/messy layouts? x

LOVED ur recent fic! Please i need a part two of the them somehow building the courage to FaceTime 🫡 ik u can pull this one off!

❦ - one wrong digit. part 2.

summary:: after weeks of texting && calling, you finally facetime the mystery boy.

warnings:: none

writers note:: LORD IM TRYING SO HARD NOT TO CRASHOUT BC I DID IT SO NICELY BUT IT DIDNT SAVE. so uhm this is the start of my villain arc.. also i was lowkey writing this and started wondering how many sim cards joao has bc he’s been all over the world?? anywho enjoy this!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

part 1

it starts with texts. then, late night calls. and now, every time your phone rings and his name flashes across the screen, there’s a small part of you that wonders when, if, this thing between you will turn into something more.

you don’t say it out loud, of course. but it lingers, a quiet thought at the back of your mind.

and apparently, it lingers in his too.

joão: you ever think it’s kinda weird we don’t even know what each other looks like?

weird how?

joão: i mean. we talk almost every day. i feel like i know you. but if i passed you on the street, i wouldn’t even realize it.

you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. because he’s right. it is weird. but at the same time, there’s something safe about this, about not knowing.

maybe that’s what makes this different.

there’s a long pause before he replies.

joão: do you want it to stay different?

your heart skips.

do you?

this time, the pause stretches longer.

then, your phone starts ringing. but not the way it usually does. not a normal call.

facetime.

your stomach flips.

for a second, you just stare at the screen, watching his name and the little video icon blink as if waiting for you to decide.

and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you swipe to answer.

at first, neither of you say anything. the screen takes a second to adjust, and then there he is.

joão félix.

he’s lying in bed, the warm glow of a lamp behind him. his hair is a little messy, and he’s wearing a plain hoodie, but he still looks… well. exactly how you imagined. maybe even better.

his lips part slightly, like he’s trying to find the right words.

‘hi,’ he finally says, voice softer than usual.

you swallow, forcing yourself to focus. ‘hi.’

he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘so. this is us. finally seeing each other.’

you let out a small laugh, even though your heart is racing. ‘yeah. guess it is.’

he watches you for a second, then smiles. it’s not the kind of smile you’ve seen in pictures, the confident, media-trained one. no, this one is different. smaller. realer.

‘you look exactly how i thought you would,’ he says quietly.

your breath catches. ‘is that a good thing?’

he nods, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. ‘yeah. really good.’

your cheeks heat up, and you look away, biting back a smile.

‘what?’ he teases.

‘nothing,’ you mumble.

he chuckles. ‘you’re bad at lying.’

‘shut up.’

he laughs again, then shifts slightly, resting his chin on his hand. ‘so, do we do this now? do we start facetiming all the time?’

you pretend to think. ‘hmm. i don’t know. kinda liked the mystery.’

he raises an eyebrow. ‘so you don’t want to see my face?’

you roll your eyes. ‘i didn’t say that.’

he smirks. ‘so you do.’

you sigh dramatically. ‘maybe.’

he grins, and you realize something, this, whatever this is between you, is real. and suddenly, you’re not so scared of where it might go.

you should’ve expected this.

ever since that first facetime call, joão hasn’t stopped calling you. it starts at night, the way your usual phone calls used to be, but now, instead of just hearing his voice, you see him, hair messy from bed, hoodies that are way too big, the soft glow of a lamp making his face look warmer than it already is.

but then, it stops being just at night.

one afternoon, while you’re out running errands, your phone buzzes. you glance down, expecting a text, but instead, it’s another facetime request.

you blink. he’s never called you this early before.

you answer, and immediately, his face appears, squinting slightly against the sunlight.

‘what are you doing?’ you ask, adjusting the phone so he doesn’t get a view of the grocery store aisle behind you.

‘nothing,’ he says, leaning back against what looks like a stadium seat. ‘just finished training.’

you glance at the time. ‘it’s barely been an hour since we last talked.’

he shrugs, a small smirk tugging at his lips. ‘so?’

your stomach does that annoying little flip thing again. you huff, trying to ignore it. ‘so, you’re clingy.’

joão gasps dramatically. ‘clingy?’

‘yes.’

‘you like it,’ he accuses.

you roll your eyes. ‘do not.’

he grins, tilting his head. ‘so if i hung up right now, you wouldn’t care?’

your face heats up. ‘i didn’t say that.’

‘hmm,’ he hums, pretending to think. ‘i’ll let you have this one.’

you shake your head, pretending to be exasperated, but the truth is… you don’t mind. not even a little.

and that’s the problem.

because the more you talk, the more you facetime, the more you catch yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot, the harder it is to ignore the fact that this? whatever this is? it’s starting to feel like more than just a random wrong number that turned into a late night habit.

and you don’t know what to do about it.

let me tell you smth that I'm in love with every single fic that you write!! either they make me smile like an idiot if it's a fluff or make me cry if it's an angst (I'm sensitive a lot yes but wtv). literally you're one of the best writers out here. keep it up!! 💋💋💋

first of all thank you so much, you’re one of the reasons i’ve started writing because your work inspired me and seeing this now has made my year. thankyou endlessly bc ydek how much praise means to me!! 🤍

You got me curious do you write long fics like 8k+ ?

yessss i’ve done it in the past too but it just takes longer todo so i try to make it shorter but yes id happily do it! xx

pau cubarsí x reader where instead of holding hands she holds onto his bicep as it grounds and make her feel safe. it’s become almost second nature and pau’s teammates pick up on it and how protective and sweet he gets when she does it x

❦ - attached by the arms.

summary:: holding onto his bicep became a habit for you. you thought nobody would notice but EVERYONE did. however your boyfriend doesn’t mind it a single bit.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: uhm shoutout to @cherryloveshs bc she’s lowkey come to the point where i’m holding her hostage for child labour?? honestly idgaf 😛😛. she’s my favourite little girl for doing my mood boards bc i’m lazy asf but anyways that’s her honourable mention over! i love these reqs yall are so creative!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

pau cubarsí wasn’t the most openly affectionate person in public, but with you, things were different. it had started so naturally that neither of you really noticed at first, whenever you walked together, whether through the streets of barcelona or into the camp nou before a match, your hand would find its place gently wrapped around his bicep. not clinging, not pulling, just holding.

at first, he thought nothing of it. maybe you just liked the feeling, or maybe it was instinct. but over time, he started to realise, whenever you were nervous, when crowds got too loud, when the world felt a little too fast, you’d do it without thinking. and every single time, he felt the way your body eased beside him, like just that small connection was enough to ground you.

the team noticed too.

‘she does that a lot, huh?’ fermín lópez mused one day as they walked into the stadium, nodding toward your hand resting securely against pau’s arm.

pau glanced down at you, completely unaware of the conversation happening about you, just focused on whatever thought had settled in your head, and then back up at fermín.

‘yeah. she does.’ ronald araújo smirked. ‘you don’t seem to mind.’

he didn’t. if anything, it made something warm settle in his chest. he never brought it up, never teased you about it, never asked you why, he just let you do it, let you hold onto him when you needed to, and in return, he made sure you never had a reason to let go.

and the others noticed that too. the way his hand would naturally drift to your lower back when walking through crowds. how he subtly adjusted his pace to match yours. the way his expression softened when he looked down at you, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist for that moment.

‘he’s whipped,’ ferran torres whispered to gavi during training one day.

‘no, he’s just in love,’ gavi muttered back, watching as pau instinctively leaned down when you spoke to him, giving you his full attention.

and maybe that was it. maybe it was love. maybe it was something else entirely. but whatever it was, pau knew one thing, whenever you reached for him, he’d always be there.

All I wanted | Joao Felix x Reader

pairing . . . joao felix x ex!reader

summary . . . Joao was tired; tired of the memories, tired of the dreams, tired of the flashbacks. Everything led back to you and the moment where he lost you. It drove him insane, but all he could was reminisce the time you had together in solus.

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 758

warnings . . . angst!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . a little short but yeah!! wrote this in school in a little hurry so ignore any typos or mistakes!!

. . . It was after training and Joao had just come home, his bones aching and breath ragged. He shivered slightly, the cold air of the house hitting his skin. The usual warmth was gone, now replaced with a cold, empty presence. No one was there to fill the absence.

He could hear his breathing echo throughout the walls, the quietness of the house louder than he thought, more than he thought it would be. For a second, he waited to hear your voice, stopping whatever you were doing and coming out to hug him.

But it wasn't there. The lack of your presence was obvious; no sounds, no footsteps, and certainly no rush to greet him.

He sighed slowly, taking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen. He subtly noted the mug out of place, which would normally be in the cupboard by now. As he walked to the fridge, he prepared himself to step on one of your hair clips, except they weren't there.

Joao felt like a stranger in his own home, as if he was intruding. Something was missing.

You were missing.

The living room felt too dark, too cold without you, and as he sat on the couch, he groaned at the uncomfort he felt. What once felt like a cozy, safe haven was now a lumpy, stuffy thing under him.

He hesitated, debating whether he should actually sit down or if he should sit on the chair to his right, as if he’s unsure whether it's still his space.

As he sank into the couch, he felt a weight he didn't expect, like it’s not quite the same anymore. It smelled faintly like you, the scent throwing him into a haze of memories and flashbacks

Ache filled his chest, heart longing for you. But you weren't there anymore, and it was all his fault.

Memories of you two flashed through his mind; laughing till you couldn't breath, laying down under the stars, holding each other to sleep, the simple comfort of just being around you.

Every single thing around him reminded him of you, even things he didn't realise were yours. Once, he felt warm and lovable, but now? Now he felt like a cold, empty void filled his heart. Everything seemed different, even the air.

Everything led back to you.

It was him who pushed you away, who told you he needed space, when all he needed was you. He regretted everything he said that night, so much. He knew he was hurting, and took it on you. The only person who actually understood him.

And just like, you were gone out of his life. He remembers the door banging shut as you left, his voice hoarse from shouting and arguing with you, a crumpled tissue in his hand, full of the tears you wiped away from your eyes and threw at him.

He didn't know why he did it, why he ended things. But he knew he wanted you back, so badly. And now, he's left wondering if you two could've fixed it, or if it was already too late by the time he finally realized.

He felt his heart tighten, the longing pain taking a hold of him. Everything seemed to suffocate him, as if a snake was being around his body, its hold tight and choking. His surroundings felt empty. Dark. Overwhelming.

The silence was deafening. Joao couldn't take it anymore.

The remote was laying beside him, and he grabbed it, switching on the large TV screen in front of him. The light shining at his face was too bright, and the show that was on was your favourite.

He'd do anything to get you to come home to him. To kiss him. To hug him. To love him.

Joao regretted his actions, he knew he messed up. He should've gathered his thoughts and followed you out as you shut the door. He should've went to your apartment and begged you for forgiveness. If he had done that, maybe he wouldn't be thinking about it now.

The idea haunts him, that everything between you could've been fixed with a few words, a little patience. He could be with you now, but no, he was and idiot and he lost you because of it.

The reality hits: it’s over. He knows you can’t go back to what you were. He tries to distract himself with everything around him, but it feels pointless. Everything felt pointless.

For now, all he could do was spend his days in a haze, reminiscing you

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

aint no way lil pablito gavi can handle allat,,, give me your man

Hola chica 🤗

I have a request for you. Can your write for Pablo G. and the Reader ar going for a walk. Later they are in a Park and they hear some dog sounds. They found a small puppy that is hurt and they decided take him to a doctor and later Home and in the end its just cute because Pablo is a bite jealous of the dog ☺️

puppy love

pairing: pablo gavi x reader

summary: in which you and pablo find a little puppy in the park

warnings: none

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, lmk if you’d like to be added!

a/n: i hope you like it love! 💕

the sun had dipped low, spilling warm light through the trees as you and pablo wandered through the park hand in hand. his fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing soft circles against your skin—something he did when he felt peaceful. or when he didn’t want to let go.

you leaned into his side, feeling his warmth. “you’re quiet today.”

he gave you a tiny smile. “just happy, mi amor.”

“soft pablo is my favorite.”

“shh,” he whispered, grinning. “don’t ruin my reputation.”

you bumped his shoulder. “too late. you’re mine now.”

“always,” he said quietly, like a promise.

then a sound—soft and broken—cut through the stillness. a whimper.

you both stopped.

“did you hear that?” you asked, heart already tugging.

“yeah,” pablo said, alert now, scanning the path. “over there.”

you followed the noise together, and that’s when you saw him—curled under a bush, tiny and shaking. the little puppy looked terrified, his paw curled under him awkwardly.

“oh, pobrecito,” you breathed, already crouching.

pablo dropped beside you, voice gentle. “hey, chiquitín… it’s okay.”

he reached out slowly, scooping the puppy into his hoodie-covered arms. the little one whimpered, then buried himself into pablo’s chest like it was the safest place in the world.

“he trusts you,” you whispered, brushing dirt from the puppy’s fur.

pablo looked at the pup, then at you. “he’s ours now, right?”

“obviously.”

—

at the vet, the minutes ticked by slowly as you sat beside pablo, waiting for an update. he hadn’t stopped tapping his foot, his hand gripping yours tightly the whole time.

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “he’s gonna be okay.”

pablo nodded, jaw tight. “he has to be.”

when the vet finally came out and said it was just a sprain and some dehydration, he let out the softest breath of relief.

you looked up at him. “can we keep him?”

pablo hesitated, then smiled—small, but real. “yeah. we’ll take care of him.”

—

back at your apartment, the puppy was asleep in the corner, curled up on one of pablo’s hoodies. he looked clean, warm, and finally safe.

you sat nearby on the floor, petting him gently, while pablo sprawled on the couch, watching you with that quiet gaze he saved only for you.

“he needs a name,” you said softly.

“i’ve got the perfect one,” pablo said instantly. “messi.”

you turned to stare at him. “you’re joking.”

“i’m serious,” he grinned. “it’s a power move.”

“he drools when he sleeps.”

“okay, then… iniesta.”

you groaned. “amor.”

“what? it’s classy.”

you laughed and looked back at the puppy. “he looks like a milo.”

pablo made a face. “milo?”

“yeah. sweet. soft. adorable.”

he sighed. “fine. but i still think messi would’ve been iconic.”

you smiled, turning back to look at him. “you’re such a football nerd.”

“you love it.”

you didn’t answer—you just crawled off the floor and into his lap, settling there like you belonged (because you did). pablo instantly wrapped his arms around you, like he couldn’t help it, burying his face in your neck.

“you’re my favorite thing,” he murmured against your skin.

you pulled back just enough to kiss him—soft and slow. his hands stayed firm around your waist, like if he let go, the world might shift.

“i love you, mi vida,” you whispered.

he nodded, lips brushing your jaw. “i love you more.”

you stayed there in his lap, tangled together, until milo let out a tiny snore.

you glanced over. “he’s so cute.”

pablo groaned. “yeah. whatever.”

“you’re jealous again.”

“he’s literally snoring in my hoodie,” he muttered. “he’s trying to replace me.”

you grinned. “he’s a baby.”

“i’m your baby.”

“you’re both my babies,” you teased.

pablo narrowed his eyes. “he better not try to sleep between us.”

“you’d push him off the bed, wouldn’t you?”

“absolutely.”

you giggled, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “possessive much?”

he hugged you tighter. “only with you, mi amor.”

you looked over at the sleeping pup, then back at pablo, and your heart felt impossibly full.

your clingy boy and your sleepy puppy.

your perfect little chaos.

don’t forget to leave a request!

no but where’s dorothea @barcapix

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au