❦ - Joao Felix & Non Famous Gf Head Cannons

I have a request…so…

Reader is at camp nou with a few friends and she is watching a match and barca loose. So when reader and her friends leave reader had to go to the bathroom so she sneaks past a guard to look for a bathroom and she hears some banging at the end of the hallway and basically her curious ass wants to go and check it out and she finds gavi breaking down and hotting and kicking a locker and he has a panic attack and she helps him and maybe they kiss…hehe

idk…its up to you it has just been in my head for a while…

Love your work😍

panic attack

credits to the owner!

summary: you helps gavi when he has a panic attack

warnings: slighty angst, but not really

pairing: pablo gavi x fem!reader

a/n: greetings to all teen wolf fans hehe

taglist: @paucubarsisimp, @barcapix, @joaosnovia

requests are open!

masterlist

Barcelona lost the match against Atletico Madrid at Camp Nou, three to zero. Today everything went wrong.

You sighed sadly, getting up from the chair with the rest of your friends. You headed for the exit, but when you thought about the traffic jams, the Coca-Cola you drank during the match filled your bladder.

“I'll join you, I'll just hop into the bathroom” you said to your friend and she nodded.

You slipped past the security guard unnoticed, looking for the toilet, and as soon as you found it, you were distracted by strange noises.

Curiosity got the better of you and you forgot about your needs and headed towards the noise.

You peeked your head slightly from behind the wall, and the sight you saw surprised and worried you at the same time.

Gavi had his face in his hands after kicking the nearby bench, and his knuckles were red from hitting the brick wall.

He leaned his back against the wall, sitting on the cold floor, trying to catch his breath. He was furious that they lost. He felt that he had let down the fans and himself, that he could have done something more, but it didn't happen.

You walked up to him with gentle steps and said:

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked and he started in fear at the sudden voice, widening his eyes at you.

You crouched down in front of him, not wanting to scare him any more. You could tell by his current behavior that he was having a panic attack.

His breathing was rapid and uneven, he was sweating profusely, and his eyesight was unfocused. He looked around anxiously and moved his leg, holding his heart with one hand, which was probably racing.

You grabbed his hand with one hand and cupped his face with the other, trying to figure out how to help him.

"Gavi, look at me. Inhale and exhale, you're safe here" you said, rubbing his injured knuckles and his cheek.

You knew he heard you, but it was hard for him to do what you said. He looked at you with eyes full of help, his breath wheezing.

There was only one solution in your head, the one you saw in one of the TV series, so without waiting any longer, you kissed the boy to divert his thoughts.

You were able to feel his surprise during that brief moment, but you were even more so when he kissed you back.

His lips tasted sweet and were soft to the touch, your lips moving in sync as if they were the missing piece of a puzzle. He squeezed your hand. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal and his restless breathing calmed down.

You broke away from him with a slight blush of embarrassment and you could see the same on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't do this, but I wanted to help you somehow, divert your thoughts somehow" you said awkwardly in one breath.

“You have nothing to apologize for” he laughed softly, his voice low and making you shiver. “You helped me, so thank you” he added, and you gave him a bashful smile. "Just, how did you come up with the idea that this would help?" he asked and you giggled awkwardly.

“In one show, a girl kissed a guy when he was having a panic attack and it helped him, that's all I could think of” you scratched your head, looking at the floor, you heard his soft chuckle.

“Well, it worked” you looked back at him, he was smiling softly, looking at you softly.

You both laughed at the situation, relaxing the atmosphere and it turned into a comfortable one.

“I'm sorry again” you said, feeling unsure.

“You really have nothing to apologize for, you helped me” he explained, taking your hands in his warm ones. “Besides, I liked it” he added more quietly, making you blush.

He scanned you with his eyes and a shiver ran down your spine as his eyes landed on your Barcelona shirt.

“Great shirt” he blurted out with a smile. "With whom?" he asked, referring to the name on the back of the shirt.

"What do you think?" you asked flirtatiously and he gave you a sly smirk.

"With me?" he asked also flirtatiously.

You brushed your hair to the side, then turned your back to him for a moment, revealing a T-shirt with the number "6" and a large "GAVI" written on it. When you turned back around, he had a huge smile on his face and was looking at you with a mysterious twinkle in his eye.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

“Y/N” you announced.

“So Y/N” he started. "Since we've already gotten to know each other to some extent, can I invite you for coffee?" he finished with an uncertain smile.

Blushing, you gave him a wide smile.

"With pleasure".

Please make on with kenan and how he has a model gf and gets jealous when fans ship her and her co-workers saying they have more chemistry then her and kenan and likes he’s jealous when reader tells him “I have a kelvin clain shoot with __” and he’s just angry and jealous and then you can do the rest

❦ - ‘who’s jeans..?’

summary:: you’re a famous model dating kenan yildiz but he gets jealous when you’re set to model with a guy that people have been shipping you with on the internet.

warnings:: self doubt, idfk atp

writers note:: okay so i wanna get as much done before school starts as possible but still please feel free to continue requesting bc i read all of them as soon as i get them and i love them smmmm! ALSO NOTE TO MENTION THAT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PUBLISHED LIKE 4 HOYRS AGO??

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; lmk if u wanna be added or removed!

kenan never considered himself the jealous type. he trusted you, knew you loved him, and never doubted it, until the internet started saying otherwise.

it started small, fans commenting under your instagram posts, comparing you and your co stars, the models you worked with. ‘they have so much chemistry,’ they’d say. ‘they’d make such a perfect couple.’

at first, he ignored it. he knew the industry, knew how people talked. but then, the edits started popping up. tiktok after tiktok of you laughing with another model, posing together, staged moments turned into something more by eager fans. ‘this is what real chemistry looks like,’ someone commented under one. ‘way better than her and kenan.’

he never let it show. never mentioned it. but the frustration built up, simmering just beneath the surface.

and then, one night, you were lying in bed beside him, scrolling through your emails, when you spoke, casual, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

‘i have a calvin klein shoot with gabriel next week.’

he stiffened. ‘who?’

you glanced at him, confused by his tone. ‘gabriel, why?’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘of course it’s him.’

you frowned. ‘kenan, what’s wrong?’

he turned to you, jaw tight. ‘do you even see what people say about you two? or do you just ignore it?’

your brows furrowed. ‘kenan, it’s just work.’

he laughed, but there was no humor in it. ‘yeah? because the internet seems to think you two should be together instead of us.’

you sighed, placing your phone down. ‘kenan, you know that’s not true.’

but he just looked away, arms crossed, jealousy burning in his chest.

you reach for his arm, fingers curling around his bicep gently, but he doesn’t relax. his jaw is still clenched, gaze fixed on a point far away, lost in his thoughts.

'kenan,' you murmur, shifting closer to him, your thigh brushing against his under the covers. 'look at me.'

he hesitates before finally meeting your eyes, and the frustration there twists something in your chest. he looks vulnerable beneath the anger, and that vulnerability makes your heart ache.

'i don’t care what they say,' you say softly, your fingers tracing slow circles on his arm. 'they don’t know us. they see a picture, a video, and think they understand. but they don’t.'

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. 'yeah, but it’s everywhere. i open my phone and it’s just… him. you. people saying you should be with him instead of me. like i’m some... placeholder.'

'your brain is lying to you,' you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. 'you’re not a placeholder. you’re it for me, kenan.'

he shakes his head, still not fully convinced, and you sigh, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 'you know how many people tell me i’m lucky to be with you? how many girls would kill to be in my place?' you pause, lips brushing against his jaw. 'but i don’t care about them. i care about you. about us.'

he softens a bit, his hand finally coming to rest on your thigh. 'it’s just... hard not to get in my head about it.'

'i know,' you whisper. 'but next week? when i’m at that shoot? i’ll be thinking about how i get to come home to you. how no camera or photoshoot can compare to this.' you gesture between you two. 'this is real. everything else is just noise.'

his lips quirk up at the corners, and you can see the tension easing from his shoulders. 'you really have a way of shutting me up, huh?'

'one of my many talents,' you tease, grinning when he finally laughs.

he pulls you into his arms then, burying his face in your neck. 'i just hate the idea of anyone thinking they could be better for you.'

'nobody is,' you promise, threading your fingers through his hair. 'nobody even comes close.'

he hums, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. 'just... promise me you won’t fall for him when he starts flexing or whatever during that shoot.'

you snort, smacking his shoulder playfully. 'please. you really think anyone else can compete with you? have you looked in a mirror, kenan? unfair levels of handsome.'

'you’re biased,' he mumbles, though his tone is lighter now, more playful.

'yeah,' you agree, 'biased because i’m in love with you.'

he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching yours. 'yeah?'

'yeah,' you nod. 'so no more jealousy, okay? or at least... less of it. you’re too pretty to be frowning this much.'

he grins, finally fully relaxing. 'fine. but i’m picking you up from that shoot. just to make sure this guy knows you’re taken.'

'love when you get all possessive,' you tease, leaning in to kiss him softly. 'but seriously, you have nothing to worry about.'

'guess i just really like you or something,' he murmurs against your lips.

'good,' you smile, 'because i really like you too. even when you’re being a jealous dork.'

he laughs again, pulling you tighter against him. 'just don’t make me fight a model, okay? i can’t have that on my record.'

'no promises,' you joke, kissing him once more as the tension between you finally melts away.

can you make one with Toni Fernandez, where y/n and Toni are dating but haven't seen each other for some weeks, where she surprise him at a game

❦ - playing for keeps.

summary:: after weeks on end of long distance you decide to surprise your boyfriend at one of his matches.

warnings:: uhhhh none?

writers note:: so i wrote this at 10pm lowkey half asleep otp to my friends so therefore it’s definitely not the best piece of writing ive ever done but i needed to get it finished bc i need to get as much done as i can before tomorrow!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; lmk if u wanna be added or removed.

you had been counting down the days. weeks, actually. being in a long distance relationship with toni fernández wasn’t easy, especially when his football schedule kept him away for long stretches. facetime calls, endless texts, voice notes, those things helped, but nothing could replace being with him in person. waking up to his sleepy smile, the warmth of his hand in yours, the comfort of just being near him. you missed it all. every single part of him.

so when you finally arranged to fly out and surprise him at his game, your heart buzzed with excitement. you spent nights going over the plan with his cousin, guille, who promised to keep everything under wraps. you’d triple checked your flights, packed your bag three times, and now, sitting in the stands, dressed in toni’s jersey, you could hardly believe you were actually here. the roar of the crowd vibrated through your bones, but all you could focus on was the figure on the field. him.

toni looked good, he always did, but there was something about seeing him in his element that made your chest tighten with pride. hair slightly messy, focus razor sharp, the number on his back like a magnet pulling you in. you found yourself grinning every time he got near the ball, heart leaping with each pass and shot. this was his world, and you were so proud to be part of it.

halftime came and went. you debated texting him, just to hear from him, but you stopped yourself. it would ruin the surprise. instead, you let yourself get lost in the atmosphere, the chants, the energy, the way strangers cheered together like old friends. it was electric.

the final whistle blew. barcelona had won, and the stadium erupted. you watched as players hugged, jumped on each other, shared grins that stretched ear to ear. toni was in the center of it, eyes crinkled with happiness, sweat soaked and radiant with that post match glow you loved so much. he started making his way toward the tunnel, exchanging high fives with fans along the way. and then…

his eyes flickered toward your section.

for a moment, he froze. like he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things right. then his gaze sharpened. his lips parted. you couldn’t hear his voice over the crowd, but you didn’t need to. you saw the way his mouth formed your name, disbelief melting into pure joy.

you waved, laughter bubbling up in your chest. his reaction was better than you’d imagined. without thinking, toni jogged over, ignoring security and the attempts to hold him back. he climbed over the barriers like a man on a mission, reaching you in seconds.

'you’re actually here,' he breathed, pulling you into his arms. his embrace was tight, grounding, everything you’d missed. he smelled like grass, sweat, and something uniquely him. your world righted itself in his hold.

'what are you doing here?' he asked, voice muffled against your hair.

'surprising you, obviously,' you said, laughing as he lifted you slightly off the ground. your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you didn’t care.

'god, i missed you,' he murmured, pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours. his thumb brushed your cheek, eyes soft in a way that made your heart flip. 'this is, this is the best surprise.'

'figured you deserved a reward for the win,' you teased, though your voice cracked with emotion.

'trust me, this beats any trophy,' he grinned before leaning in to kiss you. it was soft, familiar, everything you’d been craving. the stadium noise faded, the world shrinking down to just the two of you. cameras clicked somewhere in the distance, but neither of you paid them any mind.

'missed you,' you whispered against his lips.

'missed you more,' he shot back without hesitation.

a chorus of cheers erupted from his teammates, guille’s voice cutting through; ‘finally! we’ve been keeping this secret for weeks!'

you pulled back, laughing. 'traitors, the lot of you.'

toni rolled his eyes fondly. 'come on, they’re dying to say hi.' he intertwined his fingers with yours, warmth seeping through every touch. 'you ready?'

'lead the way.'

the locker room was chaos, good-natured teasing, pats on the back, everyone welcoming you like family. someone handed you a beer, another draped an extra scarf around your shoulders. it felt like being swept into a whirlwind, but toni never let go of your hand, anchoring you through it all.

later, much later, you found yourselves back at his place. the adrenaline had worn off, replaced by quiet contentment. you lay tangled on the couch, his head resting against your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

'can’t believe you really came,' he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

'worth every second,' you replied, pressing a kiss to his hair. 'besides, someone’s gotta keep you humble.'

he huffed a laugh. 'good luck with that.'

you smiled, eyes fluttering shut. the weeks apart had been hard, but right now, with him here, warm, safe, home, it all felt like a distant memory.

'best post-match gift ever,' he whispered.

you didn’t disagree.

and as the city outside buzzed with life, you let yourself drift off, heart full and content in the arms of the person you loved most.

hmmm so i lowk want sleepy franco, bc i had a dream abt him last night no joke. let's see. okay. we're on a plane, his like travel director guy? idk what he's called, but he books the wrong ticket so franco has to sit in economy class (horror) and he's all grumpy and tired and his curls are peeking thru his hoodie (HEHE) idk if you wanna make us a fan of him or not, i truly don't care ill read it anyway, and then drumroll please, TURBULENCE, and we hold hands and end up talking and then fall in love mwah

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

writers notes:: IM SORRY IF YOU SPEAK SPANISH AND UNDERSTAND THE TITLE 🥀. if you get the reference then you get it but if u don’t then it’s bc he said it on team radio 😔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs ; lmk if u wanna be added

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’re already exhausted when you get to the gate. the kind of tired that settles behind your eyes and makes everything feel just a little bit blurry. it’s a late flight, barely-full, and you’re silently thanking the universe for that as you scan your boarding pass.

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

it’s subtle at first. just a little wave of tension that passes through the gate area like a ripple, the way it always does when someone vaguely famous walks into a space not meant for them. people don’t scream or swarm, but you hear the hushed whispers, the occasional, poorly-hidden phone snap. and then you see him.

franco.

hood up. head down. dragging a carry-on with one hand and a coffee in the other like it might be the only thing keeping him awake.

he looks like he was just pulled out of sleep and shoved into an airport. grey hoodie. black joggers. a duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. and his curls, god, his curls, are peeking out from under the fabric like they’re trying to escape. messy and soft and unfairly pretty.

you try not to stare.

he looks grumpy. not mean, not rude, just tired in the way only someone who was promised comfort but got chaos instead can be. he stops by the flight attendant, glances down at his phone, then mutters something in spanish you don’t catch but feel in your soul. it’s giving: ‘how did i end up here?’

you turn back to your book, pretending you’re not watching him weave down the aisle, scanning seat numbers, getting closer and closer until

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

he double checks his pass. stares at the seat. stares at you. then groans, barely audible, and sinks down into the seat next to yours like it personally offended him.

‘la concha de mi madre… wasn’t supposed to be here,’ he mumbles, more to himself than you.

you don’t say anything at first. you just glance sideways, taking in the way his knees hit the seat in front of him. he’s clearly too tall for this. he exhales sharply through his nose and tilts his head back, letting it thud softly against the wall.

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

‘travel guy booked the wrong class. s’posed to be business.’ he sounds like he’s explaining a grave injustice. and honestly, to him, maybe it is.

you bite back a laugh. ‘and now you’re slumming it with the rest of us.’

he looks at you properly now. eyes sharp despite how sleepy he is. ‘you make it sound like i’m gonna die in here.’

‘you might,’ you tease. ‘depends how dramatic you get.’

he cracks a smile, small, sleepy, but real, and pulls his hoodie tighter around him. then it’s quiet again. the kind of quiet that fills a plane before takeoff: muted announcements, seatbelt clicks, the soft shuffle of passengers settling in.

you go back to your book. or try to. it’s hard to focus when an f1 driver is breathing softly beside you, head tilted toward the window, lashes brushing his cheekbones, hands folded loosely over his stomach.

he looks peaceful like that. tired, yes, but soft in a way you didn’t expect. like he’s finally stopped fighting the chaos and just let himself be still.

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

the plane jerks. a sudden lurch. not violent, but sharp enough to pull you from the edge of sleep and snap your heart into alert.

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

and then another bump, this one stronger. someone across the aisle lets out a small yelp.

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

it’s so casual, so easy, like he’s done this before. his hand is big, firm, grounding. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even open his eyes, but the pressure of his palm against yours is enough to slow your breath just a little.

‘just turbulence,’ he murmurs, voice low, raspy with sleep. ‘happens all the time.’

you don’t know why you believe him. maybe because he sounds so calm. maybe because your hand fits stupidly well in his. or maybe because, deep down, part of you likes that this stranger, this famous, hoodie-wearing, grumpy stranger, is the one keeping you steady.

when the turbulence fades, you think he’ll pull away.

he doesn’t.

you glance over. his eyes are open now, just barely, looking at your joined hands with an unreadable expression.

‘you don’t have to keep holding it,’ you say quietly.

he shrugs, thumb brushing against your skin. ‘you looked scared.’

you don’t answer. just look away, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest.

after a beat, he shifts in his seat, turning slightly toward you.

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

you blink. not because you didn’t know. but because it feels strange, intimate, for him to offer it like that.

‘y/n,’ you say back, voice softer than before.

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

you smile, small and a little shy. and for the first time, you notice how close you are. how your knees almost touch. how your fingers are still tangled like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

somewhere over the clouds, in a cramped economy seat beside a boy who was never supposed to be here, something starts.

it’s quiet. unexpected. but it’s there.

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

the light filters through the little oval window in soft streaks of gold and peach, brushing over franco’s curls as he stretches beside you with a sleepy groan. his hoodie’s slipped a little down his shoulder, revealing a white t-shirt and a glimpse of collarbone, and you don’t mean to stare, but also, maybe you do.

‘how’d you sleep?’ he asks, voice gravelly and barely awake.

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

you both sit there for a second, still tangled in the strange bubble that formed somewhere midair. he shifts, glancing down at your hands, still close, not quite touching anymore, but close enough to feel the leftover warmth. his fingers twitch like maybe he wants to reach back.

you beat him to it, brushing your pinky against his.

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

‘you hungry?’ he asks, suddenly casual. like you didn’t just hold hands for three hours in silence. like you didn’t fall asleep with your shoulder brushing his in the middle of the sky.

you blink. ‘what?’

he rubs the back of his neck, curls wild now, sticking out in soft little tufts. ‘there’s this café i always go to when i fly through here. their croissants are insane. i can… show you?’

your heart does something stupid.

‘yeah,’ you say, voice softer than you mean it to be. ‘sure. croissants sound good.’

you gather your things. he waits for you. and as you walk off the plane, into the cool, early morning quiet of the airport, something about it feels like a movie. the way your suitcases roll in sync. the way his hoodie sleeve brushes your arm every few steps. the way people glance over, eyes widening slightly, not because of you, but because of him.

he doesn’t seem to notice. or care. he’s too busy walking beside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

‘so,’ you say, just to fill the silence, ‘did your travel guy get fired yet?’

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

you laugh, and he grins, bright and sleepy and a little crooked.

the café is tucked in a quiet corner of the terminal. tiny tables. warm lights. the smell of espresso thick in the air.

he orders two croissants and two coffees like he’s done it a hundred times before.

‘you bring all your turbulence buddies here?’ you tease as you settle into a table by the window.

he smirks. ‘nah. just the brave ones who hold my hand mid-air.’

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

the coffee is good. the croissant is better. and the company, well, that’s the best part.

you talk. about little things. stupid things. favorite movies. airport horror stories. he tells you about the time his luggage got sent to a completely different continent. you tell him about the time you missed a flight because you fell asleep at the gate. he laughs, really laughs, and you catch yourself watching the way his face lights up, the way his eyes crinkle, the soft edges of his tired smile.

you’re both halfway through your second coffee when his phone buzzes. he glances at it, then groans.

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

he stands slowly, stretching again, hoodie riding up just a little, and then looks at you like he’s not quite sure what to do.

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

you expect him to walk away. just wave, say bye, disappear into the crowd.

instead, he hesitates. looks at you like he’s debating something.

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

he runs a hand through his curls. ‘i mean… if you want. i know it was just a weird flight and some turbulence and coffee, but…’ he shrugs, like he can’t quite explain it. ‘i liked this. i liked you.’

your heart stumbles.

‘yeah,’ you say, quiet but sure. ‘i’d like that too.’

he grins. pulls out his phone. you exchange numbers, fingers brushing as he hands it back.

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

you smirk. ‘only if your travel guy doesn’t mess it up again.’

he laughs again, starts to walk backward toward the exit, still facing you.

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

franco: next time i’m booking us both business class. just saying.

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

a few here and there. late at night. early morning. sleepy updates and little inside jokes. a photo of his breakfast one day. a screenshot of your playlist the next. nothing dramatic. nothing loud.

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

and then one day, he sends you a message that says:

‘are you free this friday? i owe you dinner. and business class. but we’ll start with dinner.’

you say yes.

and that’s how you end up outside a small restaurant tucked between quiet streets, heart thudding in your chest as you spot him leaning against the wall, hoodie up, curls peeking out just like that first night.

but this time, he looks up and smiles as soon as he sees you.

‘you came,’ he says, stepping forward, pulling the hood down.

‘you asked,’ you reply.

he holds the door open for you, and it’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting to see you again since the second you left, that makes your stomach do something ridiculous.

the restaurant is small. warm. dim lighting and quiet music. you sit across from him, nervous at first, picking at the edge of your napkin.

but he’s soft. all soft.

asking how your week was. telling you how training’s been. joking about how he’s still haunted by the flight. and you both laugh, really laugh, like it’s been forever since something felt this easy.

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

you’re talking about the places you want to visit. the little corners of the world that live on your bucket list. he’s leaning in, chin resting in his hand, eyes never leaving you.

‘so what you’re saying,’ he murmurs, ‘is that you’d need a travel buddy.’

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

he smiles slow. ‘i already know how you handle turbulence.’

you toss a sugar packet at him. he catches it.

and when the night ends, and you’re outside again in the cool air, he walks you to your car without saying much.

just before you open the door, he stops.

‘can i—’ he rubs the back of his neck, like he’s nervous now. ‘i wanna see you again.’

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

and this time, this time when he leans in, it’s not your hands that touch first. it’s his forehead resting lightly against yours. soft, sweet. the kind of almost-kiss that says everything without rushing it.

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

you’re both in bed, screens glowing in the dark, him in a hoodie again, hood up, hair a little messy from running his hand through it too much. you’re curled beneath a blanket, barely lit by your lamp, yawning as he tells you something dumb one of his teammates said in the locker room.

you’re not sure when you drift off, only that when you open your eyes again, the call is still going.

his camera is angled up now, like he fell asleep too. his face half-buried in a pillow, breathing slow. the little rectangle on your screen shows the soft rise and fall of his chest, a peek of his collarbone, the edge of his hoodie slipping down one shoulder.

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

you end the call before your screen dies, and sleep comes easier after that.

the next morning, he texts you:

‘slept better than i have in weeks. you?’

you type:

‘same. weird.’

he sends a photo. his pillow, a bit messy. the corner of his hoodie in the frame.

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

and you want to tell him you won’t. that you’ll stay on the line until the sun rises if that’s what he wants. but you just reply:

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

not during a date. not at dinner. not even with music or city lights or anything remotely romantic.

it’s raining.

you weren’t supposed to see him. just dropped by his place to return something, a hoodie you stole without realizing. but he opens the door and grins like he hasn’t seen you in weeks instead of days.

‘you’re wet,’ he says, brushing a hand over your shoulder.

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

you’re about to hand him the hoodie when he steps back and says, ‘come in. or you’ll catch something.’

and you do.

you sit on the edge of his couch, water dripping from your sleeves. he disappears for a second, returns with a towel and a mug of something warm. tea. maybe. you’re not sure. you’re too busy watching the way his lashes stick together from the rain. the way his hoodie is half-zipped, revealing the curve of his throat.

he crouches in front of you, drying your hands first.

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

‘you’re kind of important,’ he says, soft. like it’s not a big deal.

you look at him. really look.

his curls are damp. his eyes are tired but bright. his thumb is brushing along the back of your hand like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

his breath catches, and he moves with you. quiet. slow. no rush.

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

just the softest pressure. the rain still pattering outside. his hand resting against your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek like you might disappear if he doesn’t hold you right.

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

hood up. headphones around his neck. hoodie sleeves bunched up on his forearms. curls peeking out messily. the most him he’s ever looked.

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

‘you’re in the window seat?’ you tease.

he peeks up at you with that sleepy half-smile, eyes already warm.

‘wanted to watch the clouds. but i’ll trade if you want it.’

you shake your head and slide into the seat beside him. ‘nah. wanna lean on you.’

he makes a soft sound, half a chuckle, half a breath, and reaches for your hand almost immediately. it’s instinct, at this point. the way his fingers find yours without looking. the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he needs to remind himself you’re here. his.

you tuck your bag away, get comfortable, rest your head on his shoulder as the plane starts taxiing.

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

he turns his head a little, presses his lips to your hair.

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

there’s no rush. no uncertainty. no almosts anymore. just his hand in yours, the hum of the engine, and the quiet thud of your hearts keeping time.

somewhere in the sky, between time zones and cloudlines, he whispers:

‘i’d sit in economy again if it meant meeting you.’

you don’t open your eyes. you just squeeze his hand and whisper back:

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

and he smiles, forehead resting against yours, while the plane lifts into the sky.

OKAY SO LIKE HEAR ME OUT yk how joao went to a grand prix once? (idek if thats true i js saw a pic of him with hugo on what i think is the spa track) anyway for this req we'll pretend that's true

so ferrari invites him to his garage (bc we're both tifosi ykyk) anyway and he's like curious and stuff about the car and kind of gets close to it to inspect and stuff

and then reader (who is a ferrari engineer) is like watching him from afar and basically in love (idk bro)

so then hes like looking around to see if someone is there he can ask and he sees reader and he js starts bombarding her with questions and she's answering all of them and yeah !!

idk what to do with the rest of the plot so i trust you to make it better than what my shitty ass mind can put into words <33

❦ - forza ferrari.

warnings:: i wrote this in between history and math revision

writers notes:: running out of things to say! typical me 🤍. anyway the body in the moodboard is tea 😮‍💨.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the ferrari garage smells of oil, rubber, and the sharp scent of metal. it’s familiar to you, your second home, really. a place where everything moves in a rhythm, a choreography of machines, engineers, and the relentless hum of technology.

you’re focused on your task, checking over blueprints, ensuring everything’s in order for the next big race. the noise around you is a constant buzz, but it fades away as you work. that is, until you feel a shift in the air, a subtle disturbance, like the way the world changes when something important is about to happen.

you look up just in time to see joão walking into the garage.

it’s surreal, really. he’s here. in your world. the world of precision and speed.

you try not to stare, but your eyes follow him anyway. his presence is hard to ignore. you’ve seen him on the pitch countless times, but here, in this space, he’s a different kind of curious, a different kind of focused. he’s not playing football; he’s inspecting a car. and the way he steps around the ferrari SF90 with wide eyed interest makes your heart skip a beat.

he leans down, inspecting the tires, his fingers grazing the rubber as he mumbles to himself. he’s clearly fascinated, but there’s no one around to give him answers. and that’s when his eyes scan the room, searching for someone to help him out.

he sees you.

and just like that, it’s as if everything else disappears. his focus shifts from the car to you, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. for a second, you think he’s going to keep walking, but instead, he strides over to you with that easy confidence of his.

‘hey,’ he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. ‘can you explain this to me?’

you blink, a little caught off guard. you’ve never been that close to him before, not like this. but you swallow down the nervous flutter in your chest and nod, trying to focus on the task at hand.

‘sure,’ you say, clearing your throat. ‘what are you curious about?’

he gestures toward the car. ‘everything. how does it work? what makes it so fast? these tires, they look different from what i’ve seen before. are they special?’

you chuckle softly, glad for the distraction. it’s easy to talk about something you love, and despite your nerves, you find yourself answering his questions one after another. he listens intently, nodding and leaning closer as if he can’t get enough.

it’s almost adorable, how much he’s into this. how interested he is in something that’s not football, something that’s all yours. he’s not just asking questions for the sake of it; he’s genuinely intrigued, and it shows in the way his eyes light up with every answer you give him.

you talk about the aerodynamics, the engine power, the design, everything you’ve spent years learning. and with every word, joão leans in just a little closer, his gaze never leaving you.

you’re trying so hard not to blush under the weight of his attention. it’s a little too much, if you’re being honest. and then, when you explain the tire specs, he laughs, a low sound that makes your heart race.

‘you really know your stuff, huh?’ he says, his voice teasing but warm.

you smile, shrugging. ‘i guess so. it’s my job.’

he studies you for a moment, as if weighing something in his head. then, with a slight smirk, he leans even closer, his hand grazing the side of the car. ‘so… do you work on this exact car? or are you just the tire expert?’

his teasing tone makes you laugh, and you find yourself more relaxed than you thought you would be around him.

‘i’m involved in pretty much every aspect of the car,’ you say, trying to sound casual, but it’s hard when he’s this close, his breath warm against your skin.

his eyes flicker between your face and the car, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now, something a little different. it’s more than curiosity about the car,it’s genuinely enjoying your presence. and before you can think of anything else to say, he breaks the silence with that grin of his.

‘that’s incredible,’ he says, and this time, his smile is softer, more personal. ‘i never really thought about everything that goes into it. it’s more than just speed, huh?’

you nod, feeling that quiet connection spark between you both. ‘a lot more. it’s a lot of people working together, engineers, designers, mechanics, everyone.’

‘and you’re one of the people making it all happen,’ he says, his voice quieter now. almost like a secret between you.

you’re not sure why, but his words make your heart race. and it’s then you realise, he’s not just curious about the car. he’s genuinely interested in you, in your world.

‘yeah,’ you say softly, a smile tugging at your lips. ‘i guess so.’

there’s a brief silence, just the two of you standing there, the hum of the garage all around you. you can feel his gaze on you, the way he’s looking at you now. it’s not just admiration for the work you do, it’s something more. and before you can think of anything else to say, he breaks the silence with that grin of his.

‘well, in that case, i guess i’ll have to keep asking you questions then,’ he says, his voice light, but there’s something else behind it, something that has your chest tightening in anticipation.

you’re not sure what to say, but you can’t stop smiling. ‘you’re welcome to.’

and as you stand there, caught in his gaze, surrounded by the roar of engines and the soft hum of ferrari’s world, you realise, maybe, just maybe, this curiosity between you and joão? it’s just the beginning.

❦ - valentines surprise.

summary:: being gavis girlfriend always comes with surprises, but it’s different this time because it’s his first valentines with you.

warnings:: uhm none!

writers note:: i’m so sorry this came the next day but i’ve lowkey been busy asf yesterday and i also had to write part 3 of the fic! anyways uhm that’s all i have to say

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

valentine’s day wasn’t something gavi thought too much about. sure, his teammates joked about their plans, the romantic dinners, the extravagant gifts, but for him, it was just another day, until this year.

this year was different. this year, he had you.

you weren’t flashy about valentine’s day either, which made planning a surprise for you even harder. he knew you’d insist that you didn’t need anything, that just spending time together was enough. but gavi wanted to do something special, just this once.

so here he was, pacing back and forth in his apartment, double checking everything. the candles were lit, casting a warm glow over the room. the dinner, well, it was mostly takeout from your favorite place, but he’d set the table himself. and on the couch sat the small, neatly wrapped box that had him more nervous than any game he’d ever played.

the sound of your key in the lock made his heart race.

‘gavi?’ your voice was soft, questioning.

‘in here,’ he called out, trying to sound casual.

when you stepped inside, your eyes immediately took in the scene, the dim lighting, the food on the table, the nervous way gavi rubbed the back of his neck. a slow smile spread across your lips.

‘you did all this?’

‘yeah,’ he admitted, watching your reaction carefully. ‘i just… i know you said you didn’t need anything, but i wanted to. you know, for you.’

your heart melted at his sincerity. stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the tension leave his body as he hugged you back.

‘i love it,’ you whispered against his chest.

dinner passed with laughter and easy conversation, the comfort of each other’s company better than any five star restaurant. afterward, gavi hesitated for a moment before handing you the small box.

‘open it,’ he urged.

inside was a simple gold bracelet, delicate yet strong, just like the way he saw you.

‘gavi,’ you breathed, running your fingers over the smooth surface. ‘it’s beautiful.’

‘there’s something on the inside,’ he said, suddenly shy.

turning it over, you read the small engraving: ‘siempre contigo’ always with you.

tears pricked at your eyes, and when you looked up, gavi was already searching your face for a reaction. you didn’t say anything, you just kissed him, soft and slow, pouring every unspoken word into it.

when you finally pulled away, he grinned. ‘so… does that mean you like it?’

you laughed, wiping at your eyes. ‘i love it. i love you.’

and as he pulled you into his arms again, gavi decided that maybe valentine’s day wasn’t so bad after all.

doing the slamming the door really hard with the car trend with joao felix 😭??

❦ - it’s still intact, right?

summary:: you prank your boyfriend joao by slamming the car door HARD.

warnings:: cussing

writers note:: i love this trend it gives me life && also we know how joao is ab his lamborghini 😒. and i’m sorry yet again for how long these fics are taking me!! lit listening to can’t del barca writing this so we won’t discuss that… i’m finally coming to more of an organised and aesthetic theme for my fics 💔

word count:: 542 - i’m sorry it’s short i’ve got writers block 😭

Joao was standing against his car door, phone in his hand as he was scrolling mindlessly, waiting for you. You approached with a smile on your face, a perfect prank in mind. He was laid back, you knew that but you wanted to see how far you could push him.

‘Finally,’ Joao said as he saw you, sliding his phone into his pocket. ‘Took you long enough.’

‘Good things take time, amor,’ you replied with a wink, as you watched him walk over to the drivers side.

‘Uh huh..’ he muttered, unlocking the car. He held the car door open for you, a small act that you love and never fails to make you smile. You stepped inside, buckling your seatbelt as he shut the door gently.

He went around and got into the drivers seat. As soon as the engine started, you suddenly gasped. ‘Wait! I forgot my phone!’

Joao paused, already halfway through adjusting his mirrors. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, pretty sure I left it on the sidewalk,’ you said, pretending to fumble with your seatbelt.

He sighed but he didn’t complain, leaning back as you reached for the door. Without hesitation, you slammed it shut - hard.

Joao flinched as the sound could be heard from across the street. ‘What the hell was that!?’ he exclaimed, staring at you with wide eyes and honest confusion.

You really had to fight to keep a straight face. ‘The door wasn’t closing properly. Just making sure it’s secure.’

He blinked at you, then turned to look at the door as if it had just betrayed him. ‘Amor, it’s a Lamborghini, not any old car! You don’t need to..’

‘Oh relax,’ you interrupted, waving him off. ‘I’ll be back.’

Joao shook his head, muttering something under his breath as you stepped out again. This time, when you came back you made sure to slam the door even harder. SLAM.

‘Are you fucking kidding me!?’ Joao exclaimed, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He turned to you, his face a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

‘What?’ you said innocently. ‘It’s sturdy, isn’t it?’

‘Do you know how much this car costs?’ he asked, his voice raising slightly. ‘You can’t just..’

‘Oh, come on, it’s fine!’ you said, laughing as you waved him off again.

Joao groaned, running a hand through his hair. ‘Why do I put up with you?’ he muttered, his mouth betraying him with a smile.

‘Because you love me?’ you teased, leaning back in your seat.

‘Debatable.’ he shot back, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.

For a moment, you two sat in silence as Joao started to drive, the hum of the engine filling the air. You let him relax for a bit, pretending you were done with your antics. But as he reached to change the radio station, he spoke again.

‘When we get out of the car, i’m not letting you close the door.’

You dramatically whipped your head towards him, honestly feeling bad about scaring him like that. ‘Okay, fine.’

‘Just promise me one thing,’ he said.

‘hm?’

‘No more slamming the doors.’

You grinned. ‘No promises.’

Joao groaned again, but his laugh filled the car, making it clear he loves it the way it is.

the awkward night

credits to the owner!

summary: it's just an awkward first night with gavi

warnings: none

pairing: pablo gavi x fem!reader

request: heeyyy can you do one where the reader is so shy person and one day she needs to sleep next to gavi but he sleeps always with only a boxer so she has nothing to accept the situation! thanksssss if you writed it 💖

a/n: oh my days, i hate that one 😭

taglist: @paucubarsisimp, @barcapix, @joaosnovia

requests are open!

masterlist

Relatively, you were an extremely shy person and had no experience in relationships. Your relationship with Gavi was your first and it was still quite new, you had only been together for three months and you had never once stayed at his place or he at yours for the night.

Today, however, he asked you to stay with him for the night, and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to disappoint him with your strange behavior.

There was no hiding the fact that you were stressed. You were nervous and overthinking how the night would go. Sure, you had laid together before, but you had never slept next to each other, Gavi had accidentally fallen asleep on your lap after a tiring workout, but nothing more.

You were currently in the bathroom, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. You finally grabbed the doorknob and saw Pablo already lying in bed, waiting for you.

He gave you a smile and opened the duvet for you to join him, which you did very hesitantly. You noticed that the boy was sleeping in only boxers, which made you tense and blush.

You felt awkward, you didn't know how to behave in a new situation for you, and there was no way to avoid it.

Gavi didn't notice your discomfort and just pulled you closer to him, sighing loudly in pleasure. You lay still, as if paralyzed, you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort, even though he was your boyfriend and you shouldn't feel like that.

At some point, Gavi sensed some anxiety coming from you. He raised his head, looking at you questioningly.

"Is everything okay, honey?" he asked and you sighed. He was so cute and you were complicated.

“Yes, don't worry” you said, smiling slightly, but he didn't believe you.

“Tell me the truth” he said, looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“No, that's stupid” you said flustered and he clucked, shaking his head.

"It can't be stupid if you're uncomfortable" he announced. "I-Is it me?" he asked uncertainly.

“No, it's just-” you started. "You sleep in boxers and I've never slept with a guy and it's kind of... awkward" you finally confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Oh” he opened his mouth, but smiled at you. "If you feel better then, I can put on shorts" he said.

You nodded slightly, and the boy stood up from the bed and complied with your request. He put on his shorts before climbing back into the bed with a smile, pulling you close to him again and you giggled.

“Tell me next time, I want you to feel safe with me” he whispered, looking into your eyes and you nodded.

"I just have to get used to it. It'll be better next time" you announced, and he smiled and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

After that you went to sleep, Gavi fell asleep before you and you could finally feel at peace.

And like you said, the next time was better. You started to be more open to the new situation, and Pablo started to pay more attention to you, especially taking care of your comfort. The awkwardness was forgotten, it was just you and him in your bubble where you found complete understanding.

if you like this, please like, reblog or comment🫶🏻

gavi x argentinian singer reader ?

also can the face claim be tini? graciasss

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐎 ⁻ gavi - - - - - -

pairing: gavi x singer!argentinian!reader (established relationship)

face claim: tini stoessel

warnings: cheating ( gavi )

a/n: I made this sad because I wanted to 🫶🏽 hope that’s okay

𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽

liked by pablogavi , antonellarocuzzco , duki and 561,000 others

yourusername: beso en las rocas out now 💘 ! my new single is available on all streaming services!! “porque me haces sentir cómo si el corazón no cabe en mi pecho” dont forget CUPIDO is out tonight !!! 🏹💗

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pablogavi: me encanta la canción 💘

⇝ yourusername: I would hope so 🤔

duki: este canción es para cantar con todo pulmon

⇝ yourusername: ayyy

antonelarocuzzco: que lindo 😍

⇝ yourusername: muchas muchas muchas gracias ❤️

akabadgyal: que mujer 😍

⇝ yourusername: amoooo

comments are limited

liked by ceciliaramirez and 201,000 others

barcagossipofficial: gavi cheats on singer y/n y/ln !!

view comments

user1: LIESSS AND AFTER SHE WROTE AN ENTIRE DAMN ALBUM ABOUT HIM?!?!

user2: I feel betrayed and I wasn’t even the one who got cheated on

user3: I feel so bad for herrr

user4: she did not deserve this

user5: I will never feel the same ever again

user6: when I catch that lady

user7: “poor gavi” “poor homewrecker” poor yn

user8: the hate this poor girl is gonna receive ☹️☹️

user9: the homewrecker has been summoned

user10: the audacity she had to like this post is insane

user11: cecilia ramirez I will beat your ass

user12: I’m trying not to smile bc I feel bad for her but the new music is gonna hit harddddd

user13: this is some telenovela shit but I ain’t complaining

user14: yipeeeee

user15: team yn

user16: I’m a child of divorce

user17: my favorite couple broke up ☹️☹️

user18: I hope she’s okay

liked by pablogavi , quevedo.pd , pedri , ceciliaramirez and 1,812,000 others

yourusername: “pa” out now.

view comments

pedri: ¡¡ un exitooo !! muy orgulloso de ti hermanita

⇝ yourusername: graciasss, mi canario favorito

brunabiancardi: mejor canción que he escuchado !

⇝ liked by creator

antonelarocuzzco: canción del año

⇝ yourusername: gracias, eso significa el mundo para mi ❤️

comments are limited

part 2?

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.