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Love && war part 4 pleaseeeeee

❦ - love && war part 4.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: chat… IVE DONE IT! last fic i have to format until i finish writing the 6 remaining but its currently 16/4/25 rn and i’ve actually finished formatting the 14 fics that i’ve been needing to format since monday (it’s saturday now tf). also i think this is the last part

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

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it was one of those warm, late afternoons. the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the tennis courts. the crowd buzzed with excitement, some cheering for the match, others just soaking in the atmosphere. but for you, we there was only one person in the stands who made your heart race in a completely different way.

gavi was there, as he had been for the past few months. it started off as casual support, but now, you couldn’t remember what life had been like without his constant presence in your corner. whether it was texting you between sets, bringing you water when you were feeling drained, or just sitting quietly, watching you play, it always felt like he was there for more than just the game.

as you walked onto the court, your heart skipped a beat. your opponent was good, really good. the pressure was on. you were about to step into a match that could solidify your place in the semifinals of the tournament. but no matter how important the game was, you couldn’t help but glance at the stands.

gavi caught your eye instantly. he grinned, giving you a small, encouraging wave. it was a simple gesture, but it made your nerves settle, just enough to steady your breathing.

you took a deep breath, the game starting to play out. you focused, set your mind on each point, each serve, each return. but every now and then, you'd hear a slight cheer or catch a glimpse of gavi watching you, and you couldn't help but smile. the way he watched you with such intent, his eyes locked on you, made everything feel... different.

you played harder, your moves becoming more fluid. the match was close, and with every rally, the intensity grew. you were fully in your zone now, feeling the adrenaline pushing you to do better. your focus was unshakable.

but then, just as you went to hit a perfect serve, you heard gavi shout, ‘come on!’ from the stands.

it wasn’t loud, but the way his voice was full of confidence, cheering you on like he always did, gave you the burst of energy you needed. without thinking, you served harder than before, sending the ball past your opponent’s reach.

‘game, set, match,’ the umpire called, signaling your win.

the crowd erupted, but in that moment, your eyes sought gavi once more. he was already standing, hands raised in celebration, that same proud smile on his face. you couldn't help it, your heart swelled at the sight of him, cheering you on like you were the only one on his mind.

you jogged over to your bench to grab your towel, but before you even had the chance to sit down, you spotted gavi making his way down from the stands. his eyes locked with yours, and that wide grin on his face made your heart skip a beat. he was making his way towards you, dodging the crowd of people in the process.

‘you did amazing,’ he said breathlessly, standing right in front of you, his hands brushing the hair away from your face.

you couldn't help but laugh softly. ‘thank you, gavi. i think i might’ve been more motivated with you here.’

his eyes softened as he looked at you, his hands still lingering at your sides. ‘it’s all you,’ he said, giving you a playful smirk. ‘i just get to watch you shine.’

his words made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the game. there was something about the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like everything was right in the world. he wasn’t just supporting you because of the sport. it was more. much more.

he stepped closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. ‘i’m proud of you,’ he murmured, his voice low and sincere. ‘you’ve worked so hard for this.’

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, his face so close to yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way. you could feel the chemistry between the two of you, palpable, undeniable.

before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, the warmth of his lips sending a thrill through your entire body.

you both stood there for a moment, the world around you fading as you shared the brief, intimate moment. but eventually, the noise from the crowd and the sound of people congratulating you snapped you both back to reality.

you smiled at gavi, your heart racing. ‘thank you for always being here,’ you said, your voice just above a whisper.

he grinned, his eyes shining with something deeper than just admiration. ‘i’m not going anywhere, y/n.’

and in that moment, you knew he meant it. no matter where your career took you, no matter how busy the world became, gavi would always be right there in your corner, cheering you on, not just for your tennis, but for you.

can I request a fluff where reader is Pedri’s twin sister and her boyfriend gets her pregnant, but leaves, and so reader moves in with Pedri and Fer in their house and basically it’s just Pedri trying to figure out how to take care of his niece? thank youuuu 😀

❦ - complicated.

warnings:: none?

writers notes:: so as it seems, actually i DO have more fics that ive been sorta avoiding js bc these have been in my inbox for longer but i have started on them! so for marc bernal, joao felix, xavi simons and omar marmoush, you have to wait baby

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

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you had never expected your life to take such a turn. just a few months ago, you were living your life like any normal young woman, full of plans and dreams. then came the news, you were pregnant, and the father of your child, the one you thought would be there, walked away without a second glance. it wasn’t how you imagined things would go, but here you were, ready to raise a child on your own.

except you weren’t alone.

your twin brother, pedri, made sure of that. when you needed somewhere to stay, he opened his arms and his home to you. he insisted you move in with him, giving you a safe place to stay as you navigated this unexpected chapter in your life. pedri, especially, never hesitated. despite his busy career and lifestyle, he made it clear that his family always came first.

as the weeks passed, you found yourself adjusting to your new reality. the emotional rollercoaster of being pregnant was hard enough, but then there were all the practical things you never thought about, how to handle the sickness, the exhaustion, the constant worrying about your future and your baby. but through it all, you had pedri by your side.

pedri, especially, had always been the one to take care of you. no matter what you needed, no matter how much of a mess you were in, he was always there. but now, with a baby on the way, he was taking his role of “uncle pedri” to a whole new level.

one afternoon, pedri walked into the living room, looking unusually serious. you were sitting on the couch, your hand resting on your belly, feeling the baby move inside. he stood there for a moment, looking like he was trying to figure something out.

‘so,’ he said, his voice hesitant, ‘i’ve been thinking. we need to figure out how to take care of her when she’s here.’

you raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. ‘you? take care of her?’

pedri plopped down on the couch beside you, looking more than a little nervous. ‘i mean… i’m her uncle, right? i have to help, but i don’t really know what to do. i’ve never… well, i’ve never had to take care of a baby before. like, really take care of one.’

you couldn’t help but smile at his nervousness. ‘it’s okay, you’ll figure it out. it’s not as hard as it seems, i promise. she’ll need the basics, like diapers, bottles… and a whole lot of love.’

he nodded, clearly relieved but still uncertain. ‘diapers, got it. bottles, no problem. but what about… i don’t know, when she cries or when she’s upset? how do i know what to do?’

you chuckled softly, giving him a reassuring look. ‘you’ll know. it’s all about listening to her. babies are just… they’re a lot of work, but they’re also so simple. when she’s hungry, you feed her. when she’s tired, you let her sleep. when she’s fussy, you just hold her until she feels better. i promise, you’ll pick it up.’

pedri looked a little more relaxed, but the concern was still there. he placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice soft. ‘i just want to make sure i’m doing everything right. for you, and for her.’

you smiled warmly at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. ‘you’re already doing great, pedri. just being here for me is all i could ask for.’

the weeks passed, and pedri became more and more involved in the preparations for your baby. he went from asking about diaper brands to learning how to swaddle a baby, and he never hesitated to ask you questions whenever he was unsure. it was endearing to watch him step into his role as an uncle, and it made your heart ache to know how much he cared.

one night, as you were sitting at the kitchen table, preparing a late night snack, pedri walked in, looking exhausted but still with that familiar warmth in his eyes. he leaned against the counter, watching you as you worked.

‘you okay?’ he asked softly.

you looked up at him and smiled, but this time, there was a hint of vulnerability in your gaze. ‘yeah, i’m fine. just… i don’t know, it’s a lot sometimes, you know?’

pedri’s face softened, and he moved to sit next to you. ‘hey, i’m here. we’re in this together, remember? i’m gonna make sure you have everything you need, and i’m gonna be the best uncle i can be. you don’t have to do this alone.’

his words hit you right in the chest, and you felt your eyes water. you’d never known how much you needed to hear those words until now. pedri wasn’t just being an amazing brother, he was being the support you needed, and you were so grateful for it.

‘thank you,’ you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. ‘you don’t know how much this means to me.’

pedri gave you a small, reassuring smile. ‘i’m your twin, y/n. i’ll always be here for you. always.’

you hugged him tightly, feeling the weight of everything start to lift, knowing that with pedri by your side, you weren’t alone anymore. together, you would figure this out, and nothing could take away the bond you shared.

epilogue::

a few months had passed since the day you moved in with pedri. the baby was almost here, and your life had started to settle into a routine, a new normal that you were slowly growing accustomed to. pedri had been everything you needed, more than just a brother, he was your rock, and he had truly stepped up to be the best uncle.

the day you had been anticipating had finally come. the hospital room was a whirlwind of activity, but all you could focus on was the tiny little life you were about to meet. pedri, as always, was right there by your side, holding your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement, and making you laugh when you felt like crying.

after what felt like an eternity, your daughter was born, small, fragile, but perfect. you held her in your arms for the first time, tears brimming in your eyes as you stared at the miracle in front of you.

pedri stood by your side, his eyes wide with awe as he looked at the baby. he gently leaned down and kissed your forehead, his voice soft. ‘she’s perfect, y/n. you did it. we did it.’

you smiled up at him, the exhaustion from labor suddenly fading away as the overwhelming love for your little girl filled your heart. ‘we did it,’ you echoed, your voice shaky with emotion. ‘she’s ours, pedri. we’re gonna be okay.’

the days that followed were filled with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and a lot of learning. but through it all, pedri was there, always willing to help, always ready to step in whenever you needed him. he wasn’t just an uncle anymore, he was a protector, a guide, and most of all, a constant source of support for both you and your daughter.

one evening, as you were sitting on the couch, holding your baby, pedri came in from the kitchen with a bottle of water and a smile on his face. ‘hey,’ he said, sitting beside you. ‘how’s my little niece doing?’

you looked down at your daughter, who was peacefully sleeping in your arms. ‘she’s perfect,’ you said softly. ‘and so are you.’

pedri laughed and shook his head. ‘no, i’m just trying to keep up. i don’t know how you do it, y/n. you’re amazing.’

you leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his support and love. ‘i couldn’t do it without you, pedri. you’re the best brother anyone could ask for. you’re not just an uncle, you’re a father figure to her too.’

pedri’s expression softened, his eyes tender. ‘i’m just glad i could be here for you. for both of you.’

the days turned into weeks, and as the months passed, you began to see how much pedri’s bond with his niece grew. he wasn’t just an uncle in title, he was her protector, her playmate, and her biggest supporter. watching the two of them together, laughing and bonding over simple moments, made your heart swell with pride. pedri had become everything you knew he would be, an amazing brother and an even more amazing uncle.

life had a way of surprising you, but one thing was for certain, no matter what happened, you would always have your twin brother by your side. and together, you would continue to write this new chapter in your lives, full of love, laughter, and the joy of having a family that stuck together through thick and thin.

as you sat with pedri, watching your daughter sleep peacefully in your arms, you realized that despite the challenges, you were never really alone. you had the family you needed, and nothing could take that away from you.

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

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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.

day 2 or 3 (pls lmk which) of sending joao reqs daily ::

WHAT IF you do one where joao is like kinda down at practice and he's not as energetic as usual and basically kinda being sleepy and sluggish ykyk

but then as SOON as he spots reader in the stands, my bro gets a sudden burst of energy from idk where like he is RUNNING at lighting speed, SCORING goals, etc...

so like everyone (teammates, coaches, etc..) are confused bc he was sluggish asl like two secs ago. then they look around and see that he disappeared off the pitch and is standing by the stands yapping to reader like tryna impress her and stuff yk?

up to you if they're together or if they're like crushing on each other?? idk yeah i trust you with it !! this was kinda shit but i took inspo from one of my joao c.ai bots

❦ - sorte.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ME BECAUSE IVE ACTUALLY BRANG MYSELF AROUND TO FORMAT THESE MOTHERFUCKERS AND ILL POST THEM IN ORDER 💔.

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

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it was another typical practice day, but something felt off. joão, usually full of energy and enthusiasm, was dragging his feet across the field. his usual charisma was nowhere to be found, and today, his drills were slow, almost sluggish. he yawned halfway through a pass, barely making it to the next marker. the energy around him seemed to dim as his teammates exchanged confused glances.

‘what’s up with him?’ one of them muttered, watching joão drag his feet. ‘he’s barely moving out there today.’

‘don’t know,’ another teammate replied, watching him half-heartedly chase after the ball. ‘maybe he’s tired. he’s been a bit off lately.’

coach watched from the sidelines, brow furrowed. he called out to joão, but his voice seemed lost in the haze of exhaustion that hung over him. joão gave a half hearted wave, signaling that he was okay, but it was obvious to everyone that he wasn’t.

just as coach was about to pull him aside for a quick chat, joão did something unexpected. his eyes shifted upwards, scanning the stands, and that’s when he saw you.

you were sitting there, casually leaning against the rail, watching the practice with a calm smile on your face. it was the way the sunlight hit your hair that made him freeze for a moment, as if everything around him stopped. suddenly, his exhaustion disappeared, replaced by a jolt of energy he hadn’t felt all day.

without even realizing it, he stood up straighter, his body vibrating with a sudden surge of energy. his tired movements were replaced by fluid, fast steps. the sluggishness was gone in an instant, as if someone had flicked a switch in his mind. his teammates stared in confusion as joão's speed picked up. he was sprinting down the field, dodging defenders left and right, his footwork impeccable.

‘wait, was that joão?’ one of the teammates asked, eyes wide as they watched him move at lightning speed. ‘wasn’t he just… completely out of it a second ago?’

in mere seconds, joão was at the goal, weaving around the goalkeeper with ease. he sent the ball flying into the back of the net, and the entire team froze in awe.

‘what just happened?’ another teammate muttered. ‘he was practically half-asleep a minute ago, and now he’s playing like this?’

but joão didn’t seem to care about the confusion. he was too focused on the one thing that mattered, you. with a grin on his face, he jogged towards the sideline, leaving his teammates in disbelief. they were still standing there, watching him with their jaws dropped as he sprinted off the pitch.

the coach called after him, but joão wasn’t listening. he was already making his way to the stands, jogging over to where you were sitting. his heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the sprint he’d just made. when he reached the rail, he leaned over, grinning like a schoolboy.

‘hey,’ he said, trying to catch his breath. ‘so… how did i do?’

you raised an eyebrow, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at him. ‘you’re asking me? you just made an amazing goal out there.’

‘well,’ he said, leaning in a little closer, ‘i was kind of distracted…’ he flashed you a playful grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. ‘but now that i’m here, i’m feeling pretty good.’

you laughed softly, shaking your head. ‘you’re something else, joão. i don’t know how you do it.’

he shrugged nonchalantly, still standing in front of you. ‘what can i say? sometimes a little bit of motivation can make a big difference.’

you chuckled, feeling your heart flutter at the way he was looking at you. his usual confidence was replaced by something else now, something softer, more endearing.

‘so,’ joão continued, eyes sparkling, ‘i think i need a proper celebration for that goal… maybe dinner later? what do you think?’

you smiled, your heart warming at his attempt to impress you. ‘sounds good to me,’ you said, your voice teasing. ‘but you might want to stay focused next time. you were looking a little sleepy out there earlier.’

‘i’ll be better next time,’ he promised with a wink, ‘especially if i know you’ll be watching.’

and with that, you both shared a quiet moment, the noise of the practice fading into the background as joão stood there, grinning like a fool, knowing that his energy had never come from the game, it came from you.

would you write a Pablo gavi x Supercars!reader and he travels to Australia during one of his breaks to watch her in Bathurst?

❦ - vroom vroom.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: ignore the title i didn’t know what to make it 💔. also my asthmatic ass is dying rn bru im not making it out alive

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

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the weekend sun was hot, beating down on mount panorama, as the bathurst 1000 kicked into full gear. the atmosphere was electric, buzzing with anticipation and the roar of powerful engines echoing through the mountains. spectators lined the track, eyes glued to the high, performance cars tearing around every curve, weaving in and out of the iconic corners.

but amongst the crowd, there was one face you were searching for.

a few days earlier, during one of your brief breaks in between qualifying and race day, you’d received a message from pablo.

‘i’m coming to bathurst. i want to see you race. no more excuses.’

and there it was, the familiar grin on his face even through the phone screen. it was typical pablo, always full of surprises, always there when you needed him most.

now, as you prepared for your final laps in the race, you couldn’t help but steal glances over to the grandstands. your heart was a little lighter knowing he was somewhere out there, waiting for you, even though you had no idea where he’d be.

there were a million thoughts in your head, but one thing was clear: he was here, supporting you, cheering you on like he always did in his quiet, steady way. a part of you felt invincible knowing he was out there, and that alone was enough to push you even harder.

your team was making final adjustments to the car, and as you climbed back into the driver’s seat, you heard the familiar sound of a car engine roar to life from the pit wall. you turned, and there he was.

pablo. he had somehow found his way down to your pit, now standing just a few feet away, a wide grin on his face, looking as though he hadn’t just traveled halfway across the world to see you. he was in his usual casual attire: a hoodie, jeans, and his signature sneakers, but something about seeing him here, at your race, made your heart skip.

‘is this how it’s going to be every time?’ you joked, pulling your helmet down and adjusting your gloves. ‘you’re just going to pop up everywhere i go?’

he laughed, taking a few steps closer, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. ‘i thought i’d try and make an appearance at your biggest race of the season. plus, i’m curious about how you’re going to win this one.’

‘don’t worry,’ you said with a wink, ‘i’ve got this.’

‘just remember, i’m here cheering you on,’ he added, his voice soft but filled with undeniable pride.

his words settled in your chest, and it was almost enough to erase the tension you’d been feeling all week. with him here, it felt like you could take on anything.

the team was signaling for you to head to the starting grid, and with one last glance at pablo, you shot him a quick thumbs-up before stepping into the car. the sound of the engine fired up, and soon, you were on your way.

as you sped through the corners of bathurst, weaving between competitors, every turn was just a little bit sweeter knowing pablo was watching you. he wasn’t just some guy sitting in the grandstands, he was your biggest fan, the one who believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself.

the race was intense, and with every lap, your confidence grew. you knew the track, the car, and most importantly, you knew you had someone special in your corner. and that thought kept you going.

after a nerve wracking final lap, you crossed the finish line in first place. the roar of the crowd was deafening, but the moment your car came to a stop, you couldn’t wait to take off your helmet and look for one person in particular.

pablo was already at the barriers, waiting for you, his face a mixture of excitement and pride. as you made your way over to him, he opened his arms and enveloped you in a tight hug, lifting you off your feet in the process.

‘you did it! i knew you could!’ he said, his voice full of emotion.

‘i couldn’t have done it without you,’ you whispered back, feeling the weight of the race finally start to leave your shoulders.

you pulled back slightly, looking up at him. there was something in his eyes, something more than just admiration. it was pure love, the kind that came with knowing you better than anyone else.

‘now,’ he said, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips, ‘i think we deserve a victory celebration. how about we take the rest of the weekend off?’

you laughed, feeling the exhaustion start to catch up with you. ‘i like that idea.’

epilogue::


a few days later, you and pablo found yourselves relaxing in a quiet corner of a rooftop bar, overlooking the stunning sydney skyline. bathurst was behind you, but the adrenaline of the race was still coursing through your veins. you leaned back into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder, the sounds of the city mingling with the soft breeze.

‘thanks for being here,’ you said, your voice full of gratitude. ‘it really means a lot.’

‘i wouldn’t be anywhere else,’ he replied, kissing the top of your head gently. ‘you’ve got this fire in you, and i’m just lucky to be here to witness it.’

you smiled up at him, the quiet contentment of the moment filling your heart. ‘so, when’s the next race? i think i can get used to you showing up for all of them.’

pablo grinned, his arms tightening around you. ‘i think i’m going to make it my mission to be at every single one from now on. starting with your next one.’

‘deal.’

and with that, you both relaxed into the evening, knowing that whatever the future held, you’d always have each other.

can u do a pau fic where he’s sitting down and reader comes to stand between his legs and he puts his hands on the back of her thighs (yk the thing that guys do idk how to explain it🤣) and her hands around his neck playing with his hair. and he just looks so in love and smiley and looking up and her and just listening to her speak.

maybe it’s at team dinner or something at the camp and everyone is like awww and teasing.

❦ - your hands.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: it’s safe to say that i didn’t survive yesterday and im sat at my desk at 7am rn and i’m chugging red bull

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

it’s loud in the restaurant, glasses clinking, plates being passed, laughter bouncing off every corner of the table.

but none of it really matters.

because pau’s sitting in the middle of it all, quietly zoned out, eyes only on you.

you’d gotten up to grab something off the far end of the table, weaving through teammates and chairs and banter, and somehow ended up standing right between his knees as you reached across the table.

and instead of shifting or moving back, he just rests his hands gently on the backs of your thighs. casual. warm. his.

your breath catches just a little.

you glance down at him and smile, hands instinctively finding his shoulders, then sliding up into his hair.

his hair is soft. his eyes are softer.

and god, he’s looking at you like you’re made of light.

like he’s not in the middle of a team dinner with half the squad watching.

like you’re the only sound he hears.

you start rambling about something, what someone said earlier, a joke he missed, how chaotic the other end of the table is.

and he just listens.

quiet smile on his lips. fingers still tracing slow, lazy shapes on the backs of your thighs. head tilted just slightly so he can look up at you better.

he nods at all the right moments, gives little mhm’s and amused half laughs, but mostly?

he’s just watching.

like he’s memorizing you. like he already has.

someone down the table calls his name.

he doesn’t even flinch.

you finally stop talking, a little breathless, a little shy under his stare.

‘what?’ you whisper, laughing softly. ‘why are you looking at me like that?’

he just smiles.

‘you’re the best part of my night. that’s all.’

and yeah. you feel it. all the way down to your fingertips.

Hi, make one where the reader is obsessed with Cubarsí's arms! (Maybe I have an obsession in his veins)

❦ - biteable.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: lovely arms xx

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you swear you don’t mean to stare.

but god, his arms.

it’s criminal, really, how the sleeves of his shirt stretch just enough when he reaches up. how the veins in his forearms stand out when he’s holding his phone. or tying his boots. or breathing.

you’ve become very aware of them lately.

to the point where it’s a problem.

especially because he’s your problem. your boyfriend. the one who always smells good and talks softly and has no idea what he’s doing to you when he’s just… existing.

except he does know.

because you’re not exactly subtle.

the other day, you were watching him fix something under the sink, shirt slightly pushed up, arm flexed, vein popping, and you actually dropped your phone.

you okay? he asked, barely holding back a grin.

yeah. fine. just gravity.

he nodded. then flexed again. happens to the best of us.

you glared. he smirked.

he’s been teasing you ever since.

‘you’re staring again,’ he murmurs one night, lying beside you on the couch, arm draped behind your head.

you pretend to play dumb. ‘am not.’

‘you’re drooling.’

‘shut up.’

he shifts slightly, just enough to make his forearm flex against your shoulder. your breath catches. he definitely feels it.

‘you’ve got a thing for them, don’t you?’ he asks, voice low.

you try not to look. you fail.

‘they’re distracting,’ you mutter.

pau leans closer, smirk barely there, eyes soft but wicked.

‘then stop looking, cariño.’

you don’t.

you never do.

and he doesn’t mind one bit.

Hi could you write something with jealous reader with Toni Fernandez?

❦ - yo no soy celosa.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: idk what to say bc the thing is, i write these fics in my notes app and then i format them into this app at once so i dont have a lot to say

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you didn’t mean to be jealous.

really, you didn’t.

but it’s hard not to notice the way she touches his arm when she laughs.
how she leans in a little too close.
how toni doesn’t exactly pull away.

you’re not even with him, not officially. just… something in between.

stolen glances. shared playlists. late night calls that end in sleepy “you still there?”s.

but no labels. no promises.

just enough to hurt when it starts to feel like he’s looking at someone else the way he used to look at you.

you don’t say anything at first.

you smile through it. laugh when he mentions her.
pretend like it doesn’t bother you that she’s always around now.

but it builds.

little by little.

until it’s too much to swallow.

it happens after training. you’re sitting on the edge of the pitch, lacing your shoes, trying to avoid looking at them.

she’s there again. tossing toni a water bottle. brushing her hand over his.

he doesn’t flinch.

and you break.

‘you like her or something?’

he blinks, surprised. ‘what?’

you stand, brushing the dirt off your shorts.

‘just wondering if i should stop wasting my time.’

his brow furrows. ‘wasting your time?’

you scoff, suddenly hating how your voice shakes.

‘you look at her like she’s the only girl in the room. and maybe she is to you. but don’t… don’t act like i haven’t been here too.’

there’s silence.

long. sharp.

then toni steps toward you, slow and sure.

‘you think i like her?’

you shrug, arms crossed, trying not to feel so much.

he laughs. not mockingly. just soft. stunned.

‘you’re insane,’ he says quietly. ‘it’s always been you.’

you blink.

‘then why do you let her—’

‘i don’t even see her like that. i only see you.’

his voice is steady now.

he steps closer. closer.

‘you’re jealous,’ he says, and it’s not a question.

you roll your eyes. ‘no, i’m not.’

he smiles, small, crooked. smug.

‘you are. and it’s kinda cute.’

you shove him lightly. ‘shut up.’

he catches your wrist. gentle. sure.

‘don’t ever think i’d want anyone else. you’re the only one that gets to make me nervous.’

and just like that

the ache eases.

just a little.

Hey, could you write something for Jude where the reader is tired of the game? One day, he was all hers,intense looks, lingering touches, words that made her heart race. The next, he was cold and distant, as if nothing had ever happened. She tried not to care, to pretend it didn’t bother her. But every ignored message, every unexplained absence, only made the knot in her chest tighten. Did he really love her? Or was she just a distraction for his lonely days?

Please think about it!!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏

❦ - lonely days.

warnings:: angst, no closure & self care also no happy ending.

writers notes:: this is the last fic on my list so i wrote this in a crisis @barcapix iykyk 💔.

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

one day, he was all yours.

the way he looked at you like there was no one else in the world.
fingers tracing the edge of your wrist like he was memorizing it.
words he only said when the room was dark and the space between you was just barely enough to breathe.

‘you get under my skin like no one else.’
‘don’t ever leave.’
‘this feels like more, doesn’t it?’

you’d believed him. every time.

because it did feel like more.

until it didn’t.

the next day, he was cold.
distant. unreadable.

no good morning texts. no soft smiles. no warmth in his voice.

he’d brush past you like your body wasn’t one he held against his just nights ago.

you’d send a message.

hey. you good?

left on delivered. for hours.

then days.

you tried not to care. really, you did.

told yourself he was busy. that he didn’t owe you anything. that it wasn’t serious.

but your chest told another story.

a tight knot that only grew worse with every silence, every excuse, every moment he proved he could disappear just as fast as he showed up.

you saw him laughing at a party once, eyes shining, arms around someone else.

not touching her the way he touched you.
but still enough to hurt.

he caught your eye from across the room.

and for a split second, he looked guilty.

then he looked away.

you sat in your car that night, keys still in the ignition, phone in your hand.

did you ever really care? or was i just a distraction for when you were lonely?

you didn’t send it.

you didn’t need to.

the silence already answered for him.

you never got your closure.

no text. no call. no explanation.

just… distance.

and over time, that silence turned into something else
not peace exactly, but a quieter kind of pain.

the kind you learned to live with.

the kind that stopped stinging every time you heard his name.

you started showing up again.

not for him, but for yourself.

brighter lip gloss. louder music in your car. smiling at strangers just to feel a little something warm in return.

you still thought of him sometimes
when your favorite song came on.
when someone said “you look happy lately.”

but mostly, you just… moved.

forward. slowly.

and jude noticed.

at first it was a glance.

you walked past him in a crowded room, head held high, a soft laugh falling from your lips, and he looked.

then came the double take. the long stares.
the quiet moments when he thought you didn’t notice him watching.

but you did.

you just didn’t care anymore.

he finally texted one night.

can we talk?

you stared at the screen for a full minute before locking your phone again.

not out of anger.

but because there was nothing left to say.

you’d already cried. already questioned everything. already pieced yourself back together.

you weren’t angry. you weren’t bitter.

you were just… done.

and jude?

he was the one sitting in his car now, staring at his phone, wondering how it all slipped through his hands so easily.

he replayed every moment like a highlight reel he couldn’t turn off.

you smiling in his hoodie.
you falling asleep on his chest.
you whispering “don’t make me regret this.”

he did.

some nights, he thinks about texting again.

but he knows better now.

you weren’t a maybe.

you were always almost, until you weren’t.

and now you’re untouchable.

because you stopped waiting for him to choose you.

and chose yourself instead.

Hey could 6ou write something with cubarsi where the reader is introverted so she's to shy to confess so he has to do it

❦ - eres tímido.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: respectfully i have nun to say 💔

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’ve liked pau for months.

and it’s not some loud, dramatic kind of thing, it’s quiet. gentle. the kind that lives in the way your chest tightens when he smiles at you, or how your voice softens whenever he walks into the room.

you sit next to him during group things, but never too close.
you text him sometimes, but always reread every message ten times before hitting send.
you laugh at his jokes, but only when you think he’s not looking.

you don’t flirt. you don’t know how.
you just… feel. deeply. quietly. maybe a little too much.

pau notices.

of course he does.

he’s not loud either. he’s calm. observant. thoughtful in the way he speaks and even more in the way he listens.

he picks up on the way your eyes linger a little too long.
the way you always remember the smallest things he says.
how you never look him in the eyes for too long, but when you do, you forget to breathe.

and he likes you. he’s sure of it.
he just doesn’t know why you won’t say anything.

one afternoon, it’s just the two of you walking home. it’s raining a little, and he shares his hoodie with you, just like always.

your hands brush. once. twice.

then you pull away.

and he stops walking.

‘you’re not gonna say anything, are you?’

you blink. heart racing. ‘about what?’

pau turns to face you, eyes soft but steady.
‘about how you look at me like i’m your favorite book you’re too scared to open.’

your throat goes dry.

you want to run. hide. dissolve.

but instead you whisper, ‘i didn’t think you’d want me like that.’

and pau just exhales, like he’s been waiting for you to say something, and steps closer.

‘i’ve been waiting for you to say that for weeks.’

he doesn’t rush it.

he doesn’t grab your hand or kiss you right there on the street.

he just smiles, tucks a piece of wet hair behind your ear, and says,

‘next time you’re scared to say how you feel… just look at me. i’ll get it. i promise.’

and you do.

and he does.

can you make one with Guille Fernandez again, where the reader is Hector Fort's little sister

fluff

❦ - hermanita.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: none?

writers notes:: istg on all upcoming fics, unless the req doesn’t explain what it is/i have free will, im gonna remove the summary section

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he knew from the beginning.

not because you told him, but because he’s your brother.

hector sees everything.

he noticed the way guille looked at you one afternoon in the kitchen, like he’d never seen anyone laugh so easily.
he noticed how you always sat beside guille on the couch now. how your voice changed when you said his name.
he noticed the lingering silence between you two when he walked into the room, like the air had shifted and neither of you had learned how to play it cool yet.

so one day he just… said it.

‘if you’re gonna date her, tell me. don’t be a coward about it.’

you and guille had frozen at the same time, like kids caught stealing candy.

but then guille stood up, cleared his throat, and said

‘i care about her. i wouldn’t touch her heart if i wasn’t serious about it.’

hector stared at him for a long second.
then shrugged.

‘don’t break her. that’s all.’

it wasn’t easy after that, but it was open.

no more hiding glances. no more awkward silences.

guille would text you mid-training with a ‘miss you already’ and hector would just roll his eyes.
guille would come over and sit next to you on the floor, and your brother would say something like ‘you have your own house, fernández.’
but it was light. teasing. tolerable.

because deep down, hector trusted him.

he’d known guille since they were kids.
shared locker rooms and long bus rides.
he knew what kind of man he was becoming.

and even if it drove him crazy to see you holding hands with his best friend, he knew you were safe.

one night, guille walked you home after a quiet dinner out. he held your hand the whole way.

when you reached the door, he looked at you for a long second before saying,
‘do you ever wish it was someone else?’

you frowned. ‘what?’

‘someone who wasn’t your brother’s best friend. someone easier. less complicated.’

you didn’t even hesitate.

‘never. i don’t care how complicated it is. it’s you. it’s always been you.’

and guille kissed you, soft and grateful, like he still couldn’t believe he got to have you, out in the open, without having to pretend.

inside, hector watched you both through the window.
sighed.

then muttered to himself

‘you better marry her.’

Can you write angst about kenan asking for your fathers phone number because he has interest in you. But your father doesn’t deem him fit/has worries about his potential loyalty to you because he’s surrounded by allot of woman because of his fame. Or because he probably won’t be around a lot?

❦ - but baba.

summary:: what the req said.

warnings:: none

pairing:: kenan yildiz x hijabi!reader

writers notes:: uhh so i made one where baba did end up accepting kenan but why not make one that contradicts that! this req was sent before the other one so im sorry this took like 2 months. also this was so refreshing to write omg.

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘can i have your father’s number?’

the question fell in the middle of a quiet walk home, your scarf slipping slightly with the wind.

you blinked. ‘what?’

kenan looked nervous, hands deep in his jacket pockets, gaze low.

‘i know this isn’t… light. but i’ve been thinking about it a lot. about us. and i want to do this properly. not in secret. not behind anyone’s back.’

he paused.

‘i want to speak to him. ask for permission to get to know you, with respect. with intention.’

your heart slowed.

because you believed him.
you believed in his kindness, his faith, his effort.
and it meant something that he wanted to go through your wali.

you nodded. whispered, ‘okay.’

you gave him the number and you didn’t expect the silence that came after.

not from him.

not from your father.

but the hours stretched long, your phone quiet, your chest heavy.

until kenan finally texted.

‘can we talk?’

he was pacing, hoodie up, hands shaking just a little.

‘he said no.’

the words hit you like cold water.

‘what?’

‘not no, exactly… just not yet. not now. maybe not ever.’

your throat tightened. ‘why?’

kenan looked at you, really looked. eyes full of something like guilt.

‘he said my lifestyle doesn’t match yours. that i’m too public. too distracted. surrounded by temptation. he said… he’s seen brothers like me before. ones who say all the right things but can’t commit. who get caught up in the dunya and forget what matters most.’

you stared at the ground, fighting the ache behind your eyes.

silence. heavy and aching.

‘i don’t need perfection,’ you whispered. ‘but i do need truth. and a man who’ll fight for this without dragging me into anything haram.’

he nodded. eyes soft. chest open.

‘i want to do this right,’ he said again.

but wanting and being allowed to are two different things.

and right now, your father wasn’t convinced.

your dad didn’t speak much after the call.

just a quiet ‘inshaAllah, khair,’
like he was trying to let it go.

but you didn’t. not really.
because kenan stayed on your mind like a lingering dua.
not loud. not desperate.
just… constant.

he didn’t message you for days. maybe out of respect. maybe shame. maybe both.

until one afternoon, your father came home with a strange look on his face.

you watched him remove his shoes, hang his keys, wash his hands.

and then he said it.

‘he came to the masjid.’

you looked up.

‘kenan?’

he nodded. calm. unreadable.

‘he came to pray, i saw him. we spoke again.’

you didn’t say anything. your heart was already too loud.

‘he said he doesn’t want to go further without your wali’s consent. said he’s working on his deen. asked if we could meet properly. with boundaries.’

you held your breath.

‘he looked me in the eye,’ your father added. ‘didn’t flinch. didn’t fold. just told me straight, he wants to marry you. not now. not in a rush. but when the time is right, when he’s the man he’s meant to be.’

you whispered, barely audible, ‘what did you say?’

your father sighed. not annoyed. not disappointed.

tired.

but there was a softness under it.

‘i said we’ll see. and that if he’s serious, he won’t disappear. he’ll grow, and he’ll do it with Allah in mind, not just you.’

you told kenan that night.

not with big words. not with promises.

just:
‘thank you for not giving up.’

and he said:
‘i don’t want your heart if i’m not ready to guard it the way your father would.’

it wasn’t fixed.

there were still glances from your father.
still silence between them that needed softening.
still moments when your chest ached with waiting.

but kenan kept showing up.

he prayed beside your dad every friday.
he sent questions to the imam about nikkah and mahr.
he texted you only when necessary, and never late.
he didn’t ask to see you. didn’t flirt. didn’t cross lines.

he made it easy to trust him.

because this time, he wasn’t chasing love, he was chasing permission.

months passed.

your father called you into the living room one evening.

he didn’t say much. just handed you a folded prayer rug.

‘he gifted this to me today. said he wanted you to have one just like it. said when he finally makes sujood next to you… he wants the rugs to match.’

you blinked through tears.

and your father, the man who never cried, said:

‘i’m not saying yes yet. but if this is the man Allah wrote for you…
then maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to look like the kind of man i’ve been praying you’d marry.’

epilogue::

your dress was simple, stunning. your hands trembled. your heart was quiet, but full.
you signed your name with your breath caught in your throat.

it was done.

you were his.

you didn’t have music or a big crowd. just soft smiles, warm food, your mum crying, your friends giggling behind their hands.

kenan kept looking at you like he couldn’t believe it was real.

‘you’re my wife,’ he whispered once, in awe.

you grinned. ‘alhamdulillah.’

Hi! Sorry to bother you

Can i ask for one of joao were reader helps him to forget about his ex but later she founds out They are still talking from time to time but Its actually no how she thinks? Like angst with reader being totally insecure but with happy ending

Thank you!!

❦ - silver springs.

summary:: he said he was over her. u believed him, until u saw her name light up his phone. you tried not to care. but it’s hard to love someone who still lives in their past. you just wanted to be chosen. fully. completely. loudly. and in the end… he did.

warnings:: angst?

writers notes:: TIME CAST A SPELL ON ME. BUT YOU WONT FORGET ME? anyways yea

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you didn’t ask about her.

not when he first told you there was someone. not when his voice got tight talking about her. not when you noticed the way he paused before answering questions like “how long were you in love with her?”

you just listened. held his hand. let him exist without pressure. because god, you knew what heartbreak looked like, and his had barely scabbed over when you walked in.

you didn’t ask for more than what he could give. just stayed close enough to be steady. never too much. never too loud.

and he started smiling again.

he laughed with you. he kissed you like he meant it. he held you like he didn’t want to let go.

so you told yourself it was real.

even when something in your chest whispered, not quite.

even when his phone would light up with her name late at night and he’d pretend he didn’t see it.

you found out accidentally.

you weren’t snooping. not really. you were just grabbing his charger off his nightstand while he showered, and his phone buzzed, and it was instinct to glance. just a glance.

"hey. i saw your interview. you looked good."
from her.

your stomach dropped.

you didn’t open the chat. didn’t need to. your hands were already shaking.

you hadn’t heard her name in months. he hadn’t mentioned her in even longer.

and now… this?

your mind spiraled quietly. you didn’t say anything when he came out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, smile lazy and soft when he saw you. you smiled back.

but it didn’t reach your eyes.

you started noticing more after that.

the way he’d text with his phone tilted away from you. the way he’d get quiet sometimes, scrolling, jaw tense. the way he’d answer a call in the other room and come back like nothing happened.

it could’ve been anyone.
but it wasn’t.
you knew.

still, you didn’t say a word.

you started pulling away in small ways. cancelling plans. not staying the night. letting his calls go to voicemail. when he noticed, you just said you were tired. busy. nothing’s wrong.

and he believed you.

or maybe he didn’t. maybe he was just waiting for you to say it.

you almost did one night, when he took you to dinner and held your hand the whole time and kissed your forehead and said “i love you” like it was a truth he’d always known.

your heart cracked.

because you wanted to believe him.

but her name still sat in your bones. still itched under your skin. still whispered you’re second best. always were.

you cried that night when he fell asleep beside you, arms around your waist, breath warm on your neck.

silent tears. shaking shoulders.

he didn’t wake up.

you told yourself you were overreacting.

that maybe they were just friends. maybe they talked sometimes and it didn’t mean anything. maybe he’d moved on and you were the one stuck.

but you knew what heartbreak looked like.
you knew what grief looked like.
and sometimes, you still saw it in his eyes.

like he was still waiting for her shadow to disappear.

and you?
you were just holding the light.

you didn’t mean to see it.

again, you weren’t looking.

you were sitting on his couch one rainy afternoon, one of those quiet days where the world feels far away. he was in the kitchen making you tea, hoodie sleeves pushed up, soft music playing from his phone.

it buzzed once.

then again.

your name was on the mug he was holding.

her name was on the screen.

and you looked. again.

"still can’t believe it’s you in the red kit. i always thought you'd wear blue."
"you still look good."

your hands curled into fists.

it was always her.

her voice in his phone.
her ghost in his ribs.
her name on the edge of every silence.

you stood before you could think about it. grabbed your coat. didn’t wait.

you didn’t answer when he called.

not that night. not the next morning. not after the fifth voicemail where his voice got quieter, sadder, more confused.

you couldn’t do it.

you couldn’t be the one he loved when he was lonely. the one who kissed him back while he kept someone else alive in the back of his mind.

you weren’t a substitute. you weren’t a second choice.

you wanted to be the one.

he showed up three days later.

hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since you left.

you didn’t open the door at first.

he knocked once. then again.

then softly: ‘please, baby.’

and you opened it. because even though you were angry. even though your chest ached. even though your pride begged you not to—

you still loved him.

and he looked at you like he was afraid you didn’t anymore.

‘why didn’t you tell me you still talk to her?’

his face fell.

he didn’t lie. he didn’t deflect. he just said quietly, ‘because i knew how it would look.’

you didn’t speak.

‘i should’ve told you,’ he said. ‘but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘but you did.’

he looked down. ‘i know.’

he stepped closer, hands open, not touching.

‘i don’t love her anymore,’ he said.

you blinked.

‘i don’t want her back. she was my past. you—’ he exhaled. ‘you’re my now. my always, if you’ll let me be that.’

‘then why talk to her at all?’

he hesitated. then, gently:
‘because closure’s not always clean. sometimes it lingers. sometimes people try to keep a piece of you even when they shouldn’t.’

‘and you let her?’

his eyes met yours. honest. hurting.

‘i let her talk. but i didn’t answer back in the ways that matter. not anymore. not since you.’

you didn’t say anything for a long time.

the rain tapped on the windows. the silence filled every crack in your chest.

then you whispered, ‘do you still think about her?’

‘not the way i think about you.’

he reached out. touched your hand.

‘when you laugh,’ he said, ‘i don’t think of her. when you fall asleep on my chest, i’m not dreaming of anyone else. when you kiss me, i forget what it felt like to lose before you.’

tears filled your eyes.

‘i never wanted to be a replacement, joão.’

‘you’re not,’ he said, voice breaking. ‘you’re everything i didn’t know i needed.’

you let him hold you after that.

not because it fixed everything.

but because love, real love, is messy. it stumbles. it bleeds. it breaks open and still reaches forward.

and he reached for you.

held you like he’d never let go again.

whispered i’m sorry into your hair a hundred times.

kissed you like he meant forever.

and maybe it wouldn’t always be perfect.

but for the first time, it was real.

and this time, it was yours.

Hiiiii I’ve been waiting sooo long to request from u I looooove ur writing <33

So hear me out luv a Hector Fort long fic (please make it long 8k+) where he’s a popular student and reader is like an unpopular middle class student and she’s kinda bullied for that but Hector starts dating her cuz he loves her but all his friends and people in school start calling her a gold digger and Hector keeps defending her so one day he gifts her a necklace like an expensive one right but she needs money cuz her mom needs meds and her fam aren’t doing well but somehow the popular girl in school that has a crush on Hector finds out and tells him so he thinks reader is actually with him for the money so he fights with her and break up and then later he finds out that she suffered and he regret it when he found her working 2 part time and became always absent in school and got sent to principal cuz she sleeps in class cuz she’s tired from working and make the endings fluffy but please make it angsty like I wanna cry I wanna bawl my lil eyes and heart out (I’m a sucker for angst I litt read sad books all the time)

If you are able to write this I thank u in advance darling <33

Have a great weekend and stay healthy and safe 💙

❦ - unpopular.

summary:: the req.

warnings:: angst but yk that.

writers note:: this took way too long to write but tbf this got requested ages ago and i’d write like once a week but it’s lowkey fun! also there’s a baby ref in this

w/c:: 9k

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

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montserrat academy smelled like money.

not literally, but in that subtle way: clean, polished hallways that echoed too much, perfume lingering in the air even after people had left, crisp uniforms that never seemed to wrinkle, shoes that didn’t scuff, phones without a single crack.

you didn’t belong there. not really.

you’d gotten in on merit, a scholarship, long nights of studying, beating the odds kind of story. your mom cried when you got the acceptance email. your little brother made a paper crown and called you ‘genius queen’ for a week.

but being in didn’t mean being part of.

you sat alone a lot. not because you were a loner, but because lunch tables filled up fast with people who didn’t look twice at you. your clothes weren’t trendy, your shoes were always the same beat-up pair of sneakers, and your accent still carried bits of the neighborhood you came from.

and the others… they noticed.

they didn’t push you or laugh in your face or throw your books across the floor like in those dramatic high school movies. no, it was quieter than that.

it was looking through you when you spoke in class. it was changing the subject when you joined the conversation. it was the way camila once complimented your thrifted bag, and everyone laughed like she’d told a joke.

you weren’t hated. just forgotten. misplaced. tolerated.

but you didn’t come to be liked.

you came to escape.

from the thin walls of your apartment, where you could hear your mom coughing through the night. from the grocery lists that had more crossed-out items than bought ones. from the part-time job you worked after school and on weekends, where your uniform smelled like espresso and burnt toast.

you told yourself that montserrat academy was a ladder.

get good grades. get out. get a future.

so you kept your head down. kept your notebooks full. tuned out the whispers.

until him.

héctor fort didn’t exist in your world. not really. he was the kind of student who was the school. son of someone important. name whispered like legacy. always surrounded. always laughing. not in a loud, obnoxious way, but in that warm, boy next door in a netflix teen show kind of way.

he played football, well. people wore his number on hoodies, not because they were on the team, but because he was the team. he was in all the sports day photos. he was in the group project that won nationals. he was even in the school tour pamphlet they handed to new families.

and he was everywhere.

in the mornings, leaning against his locker. during lunch, surrounded by people who hung on his every word. after class, headphones around his neck, bouncing a ball against his knee like he couldn’t sit still.

you noticed him because everyone did.

he noticed you, and that was the part you didn’t understand.

it started in october.

you were sitting behind the library, your favorite spot, shaded, quiet, full of soft rustling trees and the hum of faraway conversations you didn’t have to join. you liked being alone there. liked how the sun hit your notebook just right, how your soup thermos kept your hands warm.

you were rereading a chapter for literature class when footsteps crunched the leaves.

you didn’t look up right away. people didn’t usually come back here. but then you heard it, the unmistakable, too calm voice:

‘hey.’

you looked up.

héctor.

you blinked, then instinctively checked behind you, half-expecting him to be talking to someone else.

but there was no one.

just you.

‘is this spot taken?’ he asked, nodding toward the patch of grass near you.

you blinked again. ‘uh… no. it’s not.’

he sat. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

you waited for the joke. for someone to pop out with a camera. you waited to wake up.

but he didn’t say anything else. just pulled out a book, your book, actually. same edition, same dog-eared corner you had in yours. and opened it to where the next chapter started.

silence settled.

you told yourself not to read into it. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe he just liked the quiet too.

the next day, he was there again.

and the next.

by friday, he nodded at you like it was a routine. you didn’t even question it anymore. just shifted your bag to give him space and went back to your reading.

you still didn’t talk much. sometimes he’d point out a line in the book and mumble something about it being clever. sometimes you’d make a quiet joke and he’d laugh softly, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

it wasn’t flirtation. not yet.

it was something else. something slower. something quieter.

and you didn’t understand it. didn’t know why he was choosing this spot when he had all the tables in the courtyard waiting for him. why he started borrowing your highlighters and returning them with smiley faces drawn on the caps. why he lingered a little longer after the bell rang.

but you didn’t ask.

because it felt… safe. and safe wasn’t something you had very often.

one wednesday, he showed up with two drinks.

‘one’s for you,’ he said, handing you a plastic cup with condensation beading down the sides.

you took it cautiously. ‘what is it?’

‘iced cinnamon oat latte,’ he said. ‘the guy at your café said it’s your usual.’

you stared at him.

he just shrugged, a little too casual. ‘i went there this morning. wanted to see if the pastries were as good as you always say.’

you blinked.

‘you went out of your way just to—’

‘they’re mid, by the way,’ he interrupted, sipping his own drink. ‘but this? this is good.’

you smiled, small and stunned.

and he smiled back, like he’d been waiting to see it.

you didn’t know what this was yet.

it wasn’t a relationship. wasn’t friendship, even, not quite.

but it was something. something soft. something beginning.

and even if you didn’t trust it yet… you were starting to hope.

you didn’t plan on him becoming part of your routine.

he just did.

it was subtle at first. like sunlight stretching across your bedroom floor, there before you really noticed, warm before you could name it. héctor started showing up behind the library before you even got there. sometimes with coffee. sometimes with an apple he’d take one bite out of, then forget to finish. always with that calm sort of presence. that ease you envied.

you learned little things.

he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. he had messy handwriting and made his t’s too tall. he hated when people wasted food. he played with his necklace when he was bored. he smiled with one side of his mouth first, like the other had to catch up.

and he asked questions.

soft, curious ones.

‘what do you wanna do after this?’

you looked up from your book.

‘after school, i mean,’ he added. ‘like… life. what’s the plan?’

you shrugged. ‘go to uni. get a job. something stable. maybe sleep more than four hours a night.’

he laughed gently, but his eyes softened.

‘you don’t wanna dream big?’

you looked down. fiddled with the corner of your page.

‘i think surviving is dreaming big,’ you murmured.

he didn’t say anything right away. just nodded, slow, like he got it.

your classmates started noticing before you did.

you could feel the shift. the way people’s eyes followed you when you passed. the way conversations dropped to whispers when you walked into a room. it was subtle, at first. but it grew.

you weren’t invisible anymore. and it didn’t feel like a compliment.

camila started looking at you like you were a stray cat tracking dirt across her marble floors.

‘you and fort,’ she said one day in the hallway, voice sticky sweet, ‘are you, like… a thing?’

you blinked. ‘we’re friends.’

she laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.

‘right. just checking.’

you didn’t tell héctor. you didn’t want him to feel like he had to defend you. not when things were still… undefined. you didn’t know what he called you when you weren’t around.

but then he asked.

‘do people ever give you shit?’ he said one afternoon, tossing a leaf in the air and catching it.

you paused. ‘what?’

‘about us hanging out.’

you looked at him, quiet.

he sighed. ‘it’s just, someone said something earlier and it pissed me off. they don’t know you. they don’t get it.’

‘get what?’

he blinked. caught your gaze. then shrugged.

‘you’re cool,’ he said simply. ‘you’re real. i like being around you.’

your heart did something weird and fluttery. you hated how easily he made you want to believe him.

‘well,’ you said, trying to keep your voice level, ‘i’m not really used to people liking me for… anything, so. that’s new.’

he looked at you for a second longer than he needed to.

‘they’re idiots if they don’t.’

your shifts at the café got longer. your manager asked you to cover weekends, and you said yes because your mom’s meds weren’t getting cheaper, and you didn’t know how to say no to survival.

you were tired all the time. your eyes stung during lectures. your back hurt from being on your feet too long.

and one friday, héctor showed up at closing.

you didn’t even look up at first, you were too busy restocking sugar packets.

‘hey, stranger.’

your head jerked toward the voice.

him. in sweats. hair damp from practice. a little out of breath like he’d rushed.

‘what are you doing here?’ you asked, blinking.

‘thought you might need company.’

you blinked again. ‘i… i have to mop.’

he grinned. ‘i’m great with mops.’

he wasn’t. he nearly slipped. twice. but he stayed. made you laugh. and when you locked up at the end of the night, he walked you to the bus stop, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders brushing yours.

‘thanks,’ you said softly.

he looked at you.

‘for what?’

‘showing up.’

he didn’t answer.

just nudged your hand with his, like he was asking a question without saying anything.

you let your pinky hook around his.

not quite holding hands. not quite nothing, either.

the next week, he brought you a sandwich during break.

‘you didn’t eat at lunch,’ he said, not even looking up from his phone.

you blinked. ‘how’d you—?’

‘you had your sad soup face,’ he shrugged. ‘figured you were tired of leftovers.’

you stared at the sandwich. it had your favorite cheese. the kind you only got when it was on sale.

‘you didn’t have to—’

‘i know,’ he said, finally glancing at you. ‘but i wanted to.’

and that… that was the beginning of the end.

because wanting you?

that was dangerous.

and you were starting to want him back.

by the time december rolled around, everything felt different.

you still woke up early. still packed your brother’s lunch. still worked weekends, still walked to school half-asleep with a thermos in your hands and a hoodie pulled over your ears.

but something in your chest had shifted.

it was the way you checked your phone before anything else, looking for a good morning text with a dumb emoji that never matched the mood. it was the way you stopped bringing soup because héctor always showed up with something better. it was the way his hoodie lived in your backpack now, just in case you needed it.

it was the way he’d learned to say your name like it was something soft.

and the way you stopped flinching when he did.

it was slow, so slow. every step of whatever this was. like he was giving you space to run, even though you didn’t want to anymore.

you hadn’t called it love yet.

not out loud.

but sometimes, when he leaned his head on your shoulder behind the library, when he handed you a drink with your name spelled right and a heart beside it, when he tied your shoe without saying a word and then stood up like it was nothing, you thought, maybe.

maybe.

the first time he asked you to come over, you panicked a little.

‘just a few of us,’ he said, fiddling with the ring on his finger. ‘nothing fancy. we’re watching the barça match. i’ll save you a spot on the couch.’

you hesitated.

you knew what his friends thought of you. knew the names they didn’t say to your face. knew you weren’t the kind of girl they invited to anything.

but you showed up anyway.

your jeans were the only pair you owned without a hole. your hair was in its neatest braid. you brought a bag of chips that cost more than they should have, but you didn’t want to come empty handed.

his house was everything you expected, clean, modern, a little too big for a family of three. his mom smiled politely, offered you juice. his friends barely looked at you.

except camila.

she smiled with teeth. leaned too close to héctor. made comments that danced on the edge of insults, just sharp enough to sting.

but héctor didn’t let you drift.

he kept his knee pressed against yours. he explained the game when you looked confused. he handed you a blanket when it got cold, and when the match ended and his friends were getting ready to leave, he pulled you aside.

‘you okay?’ he asked.

you nodded. too quickly.

he watched you.

‘you don’t have to pretend around me,’ he said, voice low. ‘i notice things too.’

you bit your lip.

‘i’m fine,’ you said. ‘they just… think you could do better.’

his brows pinched, jaw tightening.

‘no,’ he said. ‘they don’t get you. big difference.’

you looked up at him.

he stepped closer.

‘you’re the best part of my day,’ he whispered. ‘they can choke on their opinions.’

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. it burst out, messy and real.

and he looked so pleased with himself.

christmas break was colder than usual.

you worked doubles. your mom’s medicine ran out and insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. the heating in your apartment went out for three days, and you slept in the same bed as your brother, layered in sweatshirts.

you didn’t tell héctor. he was spending the holidays in menorca with his cousins, sending you photos of the beach and dumb santa filters on his face.

you didn’t want to ruin that with your problems.

he texted you the night before new year’s.

hey. can i see you tomorrow? like… actually see you?

you said yes, of course.

he showed up at your building at noon, wearing that navy jacket you liked, a bag in one hand and a little grin tugging at his mouth.

you met him outside, hair still damp from your rushed shower, shoes half-tied.

‘i brought snacks,’ he said. ‘and something else.’

you raised a brow.

he held up a small velvet box.

your stomach dipped.

‘don’t freak out,’ he said quickly. ‘it’s not, like, a thing. i just saw it and thought of you. that’s all.’

you opened it slowly.

inside was a necklace, gold, delicate, a tiny star on a fine chain. barely there, but still beautiful. something that caught the light just right.

‘héctor…’

‘you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘i just… you look up at the sky so much, and it made me think of you. that’s dumb, right?’

you shook your head.

‘no. it’s not dumb.’

he reached out, slow.

‘can i…?’

you nodded.

he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. you held your breath.

and when he stepped back to look at you, his eyes softened.

‘perfect,’ he said.

you didn’t cry. not then.

but something shifted inside you. something quiet and seismic.

you wore the necklace every day after that.

under your uniform, tucked into your sweater at work. even to sleep. you touched it when you were anxious. let your fingers find the tiny star when you missed him.

you felt… seen.

loved, maybe.

but nothing good stays untouched for long.

camila noticed the necklace two days after school started again.

‘cute,’ she said, twisting her lip. ‘real gold?’

you didn’t answer.

she smirked.

‘must be nice, having a boyfriend with a black card. you’re really playing the long game, huh?’

you froze.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

she shrugged. ‘just saying. not everyone gets a promotion from barista to princess without putting in work.’

you walked away before your hands could shake.

you didn’t tell héctor.

again.

but you should’ve.

because you were about to need him more than ever.

the first time he said it, i love you, it wasn’t planned.

no candles, no build-up, no carefully picked moment.

it was raining. you were curled up on his bed, wearing his hoodie, socks mismatched. you were both tired, he had practice all morning, you had two shifts back to back, and your eyes kept fluttering shut during the movie playing in the background.

he turned toward you, head on his arm, eyes soft.

you didn’t even notice right away. not until he said it again, this time quieter. slower. more certain.

‘i love you.’

your breath caught.

he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t take it back or explain it away. just watched you with that look. the one that made you feel like the world wasn’t spinning so fast. like maybe you could stop running and rest for a minute.

you didn’t say it back right away.

you blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and whispered, ‘why?’

he smiled, small, real, almost sad.

‘because you still show up, even when everything tries to tell you not to.’

your throat burned. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. your eyes stung.

and when you finally said it, i love you too, his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

he didn’t kiss you. not right away.

he just pulled you closer. held you like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time.

like he knew you hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

after that, things got easier.

he called you more. waited outside the café when your shifts ran late. sent you dumb tiktoks and notes in your locker. sometimes he showed up at your place with dinner, stuff your mom liked, stuff your brother would actually eat.

he never made it a big deal.

never made you feel small about needing help.

never made it feel like charity.

just said, you’d do the same for me.

you fell for him a little more every time he said stuff like that.

he called you star girl sometimes. said the necklace made you look like you were born under something magic.

you rolled your eyes at him, but you never took it off.

not even once.

one night, after your shift, you both sat in his car in the parking lot. your feet were killing you, your voice was hoarse, and your eyes burned from staying open too long.

he reached over, took your hand.

‘come away with me this summer,’ he said.

you blinked. ‘what?’

‘somewhere quiet. no pressure. no uniforms. just you and me and maybe the sea.’

you laughed. ‘and how would we afford that?’

‘i’ll figure it out.’

‘you say that like it’s easy.’

he looked at you, serious now. steady.

‘i say it like i want you there. and when i want something, i make it happen.’

you looked away.

no one had ever made room for you like that before. not in plans. not in futures.

you squeezed his hand.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘just you and me and the sea.’

he smiled, wide. like you’d given him the world.

you started dreaming again.

tiny dreams.

less tired. more time. a quiet apartment with bookshelves. a degree with your name on it. dinner that wasn’t just toast or soup. a boy with brown eyes and soft hands waiting at the end of every day.

you let yourself believe you could have that.

you let yourself feel safe.

loved.

wanted.

just long enough for it to really hurt when it was taken away.

you noticed the change before it happened.

it started in the eyes. the way he looked at you.

less soft. less sure. less warm.

just for a moment, maybe two. but you felt it. deep, right between your ribs.

you brushed it off at first.

maybe he was tired. school, training, everything piling up. you told yourself you were being paranoid. that old voice in your head, the one that used to whisper they don’t stay, was lying again.

but then the texts got shorter. the calls went unanswered. the lunch spot behind the library sat cold and empty for three days in a row.

and then… the whispering started again.

it was different this time. sharper. louder. less subtle.

someone knew.

you caught it in the hallway.

‘heard she sold the necklace.’

‘seriously? damn. i knew she was in it for the money.’

‘poor thing’s gotta pay rent somehow, i guess.’

your blood ran cold.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t ask. didn’t confront.

you waited for him to bring it up.

but he didn’t.

not until the fourth night you waited for him after your shift, in the freezing cold, with your fingers numb and your chest tight and your backpack too heavy.

his car pulled up late.

he didn’t smile when he saw you.

you slid into the seat, heart already racing. he didn’t kiss your cheek. he didn’t say hey, star girl.

he just drove. quiet. stiff. hands clenched on the wheel.

you didn’t ask until you were two turns away from your apartment.

‘did something happen?’

he didn’t answer right away.

just exhaled. sharp. through his nose.

and then—

‘i heard you pawned it.’

your heart dropped.

‘what?’

‘the necklace.’

your voice cracked. ‘what are you talking about?’

‘camila said—’

‘camila?’ you cut in. ‘you’re listening to camila?’

his jaw tightened. ‘she showed me. a friend of hers works at the shop downtown. said you came in last week.’

your mouth went dry.

you opened it. closed it. opened it again.

because it was true. you had gone. but not to sell it. not to pawn it. you wanted to ask if they could hold it. just in case. if things got worse.

you didn’t do it. you couldn’t.

you still wore it. every day. tucked under your uniform. over your heart.

‘i didn’t sell it,’ you whispered.

he didn’t look at you.

‘you really think i’m using you?’ your voice trembled.

‘i don’t know what to think right now.’

‘you think i’m a gold digger?’

he winced at the word, but didn’t deny it.

you blinked, tears building fast, throat closing.

‘i helped pay for my mom’s medication last week,’ you said, voice barely a breath. ‘we ran out. the insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. she was in pain, héctor. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to fix it. because i know you’re not a bank. you’re a person. the person i—’

your voice cracked.

‘—i loved.’

his face crumpled for half a second. but he turned away. again.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he said quietly.

you laughed, a bitter, wet sound.

‘and you should’ve believed me.’

silence.

you looked out the window. hand pressed flat over your chest, where the necklace sat, cold against your skin.

‘pull over,’ you whispered.

‘what?’

‘pull over.’

he did.

you stepped out. shut the door before he could say anything else. started walking.

and he let you go.

you didn’t cry when you got home.

you didn’t cry when your mom asked if you were okay, or when your brother offered you the last piece of bread from dinner.

you cried when you got to your room. when you closed the door. when you sat on your floor, in the dark, and finally unclasped the necklace and held it in your hand.

it glowed a little in the streetlight from your window.

a gift. a promise. a lie?

you didn’t know anymore.

you stopped answering his texts.

you couldn’t look at him in the halls. didn’t go behind the library. didn’t walk past his locker.

he tried. once.

‘can we talk?’

you shook your head. didn’t trust your voice.

he nodded. stepped back.

but he looked wrecked.

and you hated that part of you still wanted to run to him. still wanted him to take it back. to say he was sorry. to say i believe you.

but he didn’t.

not yet.

so you stayed quiet.

and tired.

and alone.

the first night he didn’t come to find you, you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t text you. didn’t leave a voicemail. didn’t even try to look for you after school. you spent the whole night trying to tell yourself it wasn’t personal. maybe he needed time. maybe he was too ashamed. maybe he just didn’t know what to say.

but the silence echoed. louder than any apology. louder than anything he could’ve said.

you tried to distract yourself. books, homework, scrolling through your phone as if it could ease the ache gnawing at your chest. but nothing worked. nothing could fill the space he left behind.

you found yourself wishing you’d never said it. wishing you could take back those words, the ones that shatteredeverything. wishing that maybe, just maybe, if you had just stayed quiet, everything would’ve been okay.

but you couldn’t go back.

and in the silence, it became real. this wasn’t a misunderstanding. this wasn’t just a fight. this was something bigger. something that felt too heavy to carry.

the pain, his pain, stuck to your ribs. suffocated you. not from the words he said, but from the words he didn’t say.

he never even tried to fix it.

the next day, he didn’t try to find you. he didn’t come to your locker, didn’t sit beside you in class. he walked past you in the hallway, his gaze drifting somewhere else, anywhere but toward you.

it stung. the cold indifference. the way he looked like you weren’t even worth a glance anymore. like you were just another girl he used to care about.

he didn't apologize. he didn’t even see you.

he just, walked away.

and you hated yourself for still feeling something.

you tried to keep your distance. tried to push him out of your thoughts. out of your heart. but no matter how many times you told yourself you were better off, you couldn’t shake the image of his eyes. the way they softened when they looked at you. the way he’d whispered “i love you” like he’d meant it.

but that was before.

now, all you had were the remnants of the promises he’d made.

the necklace. the plans. the quiet moments. the love you thought you had.

and it hurt. oh god, it hurt more than you thought anything could.

you kept walking. kept working. kept pretending that it was okay, that you were okay. but every step felt like a betrayal of the love you had given him. the love you’d believed in.

that night, after another shift, you barely made it home before your mom noticed.

‘you look terrible,’ she said. ‘how’s your day?’

you didn’t answer right away. just slid off your jacket and put it on the chair. sat down at the kitchen table.

‘work’s fine,’ you said, your voice shaking despite the effort to sound normal. ‘it’s fine.’

but she wasn’t fooled.

she sat across from you, her eyes narrowing. ‘you know you can talk to me, right?’

you nodded. but the words were stuck in your throat. the words that needed to come out wouldn’t.

because they weren’t just about a fight.

it was about everything.

you stayed quiet. stared down at the table, where the unfinished bowl of soup from earlier sat cold.

‘does he love you, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft, gentle. like she already knew.

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. does he?

you thought you knew the answer.

you thought he did.

but now? it felt like that love had been a fragile illusion.

‘i don’t know,’ you whispered, voice breaking. ‘i really thought he did, mom. i really did.’

the next day, he still didn’t talk to you.

but she did.

camila. the girl who had spread the rumors. the one who’d whispered about you being a gold digger. the one who had poisoned his mind with lies.

she smiled at you like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been the one to rip the love you had apart with her venomous words.

‘hey,’ she said sweetly, leaning against the lockers like she owned the space. ‘still hanging around him? thought you’d know by now. boys like him don’t stay with girls like you. they never do.’

you didn’t respond. couldn’t.

your stomach twisted, but you didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn’t turn around. you didn’t let her win.

by the time the final bell rang, the weight of the day crushed down on you. the world felt like it was closing in. your chest ached with every breath, your heart heavy, suffocating in the grief you couldn’t shake.

when you got to your locker to grab your things, you found something unexpected.

a small envelope, tucked into the corner of your books.

your hands shook as you opened it. and there, inside, was a note.

it wasn’t from him.

it wasn’t even signed.

just words, scrawled quickly. desperate.

he's sorry. he doesn’t know what to do. he needs you.

you stared at it. your vision blurred, and the sting in your chest deepened.

he needs you. but where was he? where was his apology? where was the man who promised to never leave?

he hadn’t even fought for you.

and the truth cut deeper than anything else.

he was still the same. still too afraid to face the mess he’d made. too scared to fix what was broken between you.

he had let you walk away. had let her win. let her voice drown out his love for you.

you couldn’t stay anymore.

not for him. not for this.

you folded the note carefully and shoved it into your bag. you walked out of the school, the weight of everything pressing on your chest, and didn’t look back.

that night, after another endless shift, you found him waiting for you. he was standing at the end of the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. eyes wide, searching.

you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t.

and when you walked past him, you heard his voice crack.

‘i love you.’

you didn’t turn around. didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking.

because love wasn’t enough anymore.

he didn’t sleep that night. couldn’t.

his phone was on his desk, buzzing with texts from friends, but he didn’t care. nothing mattered except the silence between you two. that’s all he could hear now. nothing but the deafening silence, thick with everything he hadn’t said, everything he should’ve said.

he thought about all the moments he could’ve fixed it. all the times he could’ve walked up to you and held you, apologized, and told you the truth. but no. he let his pride get in the way. let his insecurities shape his decisions. and now he was paying for it.

he sat up in his bed, staring at the wall, replaying the fight. hearing your voice break when you said, “you think I’m a gold digger?” like a knife to his chest. he couldn’t shake it.

he thought about all the things you must’ve gone through. about your mom needing medicine. about the struggles you were fighting on your own. and he had been too selfish to see it. too blind to see that you weren’t asking for anything from him except love.

the doorbell rang early in the morning, dragging him from his thoughts. he wasn’t surprised when he saw his mom standing there, her arms crossed, her face full of concern.

‘you look like shit,’ she said bluntly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. ‘what happened?’

‘i fucked up,’ he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. ‘big time.’

‘what’d you do?’ she asked, her voice softer now.

he shook his head, not sure he could explain it. not sure he could tell her that he’d messed up the best thing in his life, that he’d pushed away the only person who had ever really cared about him, really cared.

‘i hurt her,’ he said simply. ‘i hurt the one person who was real with me. and now she’s gone.’

his mom sighed and sat down beside him. ‘i don’t know what you want me to say, Hector. but you can’t change it unless you show her you care. unless you prove that you’re willing to fight for her. words are cheap, son. you’ve got to show her you mean it.’

he swallowed thickly. ‘but what if she doesn’t want to fight for me anymore? what if she’s just... done with me?’

‘then you’ll live with that,’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘but you’ve got to at least try. she’s not a game you can just walk away from. she’s a person. and you’ve got to show her that you see her as that. if you love her, you’ll fight for her, no matter what.’

he nodded, but the weight of the reality set in. could he fix this? or had he already ruined everything beyond repair?

the next day at school was just as empty as the night before. he walked through the halls, trying to act like everything was fine. but every glance, every whisper, reminded him of the mess he’d made. his friends were quieter around him, his old group of popular kids acting like nothing had happened. but he knew better. they weren’t the ones he was fighting for.

he wasn’t even sure they cared about him anymore.

and then he saw you.

you weren’t looking at him. you never looked at him anymore.

you were with your friends, sitting by the lockers, talking quietly, like you didn’t even notice him across the hallway. and he couldn’t help but watch. watch how you smiled at them. how easy it seemed for you to laugh with them, like the last few weeks hadn’t existed. like you hadn’t been in love with him.

but he knew. He knew the truth, and it ate him alive.

his phone buzzed in his pocket. a text from his best friend: ‘yo, you good?’

he didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

he knew if he answered, it’d be a lie. because he wasn’t good. he wasn’t even close to good.

he was broken. and it was all his fault.

you had to leave early that day. your mom had called, telling you she couldn’t pick up her prescription, and the pharmacy wouldn’t hold it any longer.

you didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere near that school, near him. near the empty spaces where his words used to live.

the walk home was long. longer than it usually felt. with each step, you felt the weight of everything. everything that had happened, everything that was falling apart, and everything you had tried so hard to hold together.

and as you walked, you realized something: you missed him. you missed him so fucking much.

you hated yourself for it. because he hadn’t fought for you. he hadn’t cared enough to look for you. to hold you and make it right.

and yet, you were still here, still aching for him, still wondering if things could go back to the way they were before everything fell apart.

the whole situation made you sick. it made you feel small and foolish.

you needed to take a breath. you needed to move on. but every time you told yourself that, you could still feel him. feel his presence, his touch, his words, lingering like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

he didn’t wait long after you left.

he caught up with you on your way home. when you saw him in the distance, you stopped in your tracks, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the same pang in your chest as he got closer.

he was panting, out of breath, his eyes wild like he’d been searching for you for hours.

‘please... talk to me,’ he begged. ‘i can’t just let you walk away from me. not like this.’

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. ‘you already did. you walked away first.’

his hand reached for yours, but you pulled back, too hurt to let him in.

‘i didn’t mean it,’ he said, voice raw, desperate. ‘please. i’m so fucking sorry. you have no idea how much i regret listening to them. to camila... to everyone. i’ve been an idiot. i was scared, okay? i didn’t think someone like you would ever love someone like me. i thought—’

‘you thought what?’ you interrupted, voice trembling. ‘that i was just after your money? that i was just another girl who wanted a piece of your life?’

he winced at the accusation, guilt washing over his face.

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t think. i should’ve trusted you. but i was just so scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i was scared of losing everything, and i let that fear take over. i let it make me do things i’m not proud of.’

you stood there, feeling like you were holding onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

‘you shouldn’t have been scared,’ you whispered. ‘you should’ve trusted me.’

he nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. ‘i know. i was stupid. but please... please don’t walk away from me. i love you. and i can’t lose you.’

for the first time in days, you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, you felt the faintest trace of something, maybe hope. maybe, just maybe, he still meant it.

but for now, it wasn’t enough.

he didn’t text you after that night.

you didn’t text him either.

and the world stayed still for a while.

it wasn’t silence the way it had been before, cold and final. this was different. quieter, softer. like the space between two people holding their breath, unsure if they’re falling apart or falling back together.

you were tired. tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. tired of hoping, of second-guessing, of giving and not knowing what you’d get back.

you still showed up to school. you still worked both jobs. still helped your mom with everything she needed. still carried the weight of a life no one at school ever saw.

and he noticed.

he saw the way your uniform wrinkled more now, like you didn’t have time to care. he saw the dark circles under your eyes. saw the way you zoned out in class, like your body was there but your mind wasn’t. he saw all of it. and it killed him.

because he knew that pain. knew he had a part in it.

and even worse, he knew you wouldn’t let him help anymore.

it was a week after he’d found you on that street when you saw each other again. not just passing glances or accidental run ins. this time, it was real.

you were sitting in the back of the library, curled into a hoodie three sizes too big, your head in your arms, notebook half-filled with messy equations and tired handwriting.

you didn’t hear him approach.

‘you’re gonna burn out,’ he said quietly.

you looked up, blinking slowly. ‘already have.’

he sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. no drama. no begging. just silence and the low hum of pages turning around you.

‘i’m not here to fix anything,’ he said after a beat. ‘i know i don’t have the right. but i just wanted to sit with you. if you’ll let me.’

you didn’t answer right away.

you should’ve said no. told him to leave. told him that he lost his chance.

but the truth was, you missed him. and you were tired of pretending that you didn’t.

so you shrugged.

‘it’s a free country.’

and he smiled. just barely. just enough to let hope breathe again.

you didn’t talk much that afternoon. he watched you scribble notes. you watched him flip through a textbook he wasn’t really reading. every so often, your knees would bump under the table, and neither of you pulled away.

it was stupid how natural it still felt. how easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even with all the cracks between you.

but neither of you brought up the fight.

not yet.

it was too soon. the wound was still fresh. and you both knew that healing would take more than one soft moment in the library.

still... it was a start.

later that week, he found you in the cafeteria, sitting alone, a half eaten sandwich beside your notebook. your head was resting against your hand, eyes barely open.

he didn’t say anything. just slid into the seat beside you and offered his water bottle.

you took it without a word, too tired to argue, too drained to push him away again.

‘you’re not sleeping,’ he said gently.

you gave him a look. ‘gee, wonder why.’

he looked down, ashamed. ‘i deserve that.’

‘you deserve worse,’ you muttered, but your voice lacked the venom it once had.

he nodded. ‘i know.’

a pause.

and then, softly, too soft:

‘i don’t expect you to forgive me. not yet. maybe not ever. but i just want to show up. for you. however you’ll let me.’

you stared at him for a long moment. longer than you meant to.

‘you can sit,’ you said finally, nodding at the chair across from you. ‘but that’s all. don’t expect anything more.’

he nodded. and he stayed.

and just like that, he became part of your orbit again.

not your boyfriend. not your enemy. just… there.

he started walking you to your classes, just a few steps behind, never pushing. he offered you his jacket when it rained. he kept his distance when you needed space. and sometimes, he didn’t say anything at all.

but he was there.

and that meant something.

not everything. not yet. but something.

because you were still healing.

and healing doesn’t happen in grand gestures or perfect apologies.

sometimes, it’s just someone showing up. again and again. until the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

he knew he had no right to ask for more.

he was lucky you even let him sit beside you. lucky you didn’t spit his name like poison anymore. lucky you didn’t flinch when his hand brushed yours by accident.

he was still tiptoeing around your pain. still watching you fold into yourself every time the world got too loud. still noticing the little things, how you wore the same three hoodies on rotation, how you never touched the food in the cafeteria anymore, how your phone always had a message draft open but never sent.

you were hanging on by threads. and he hated that he used to be one of them, and then chose to cut himself loose.

so he didn’t push. he didn’t beg. he stayed in the quiet with you.

and he noticed things again. like how you never showed up to first period anymore. how you’d started asking to borrow pens because you kept forgetting your own. how your eyes glazed over in the middle of conversations, like your brain just... shut off sometimes.

he asked around, lowkey. your teachers were frustrated. your friends were worried. the front office said you’d been absent a lot.

he didn’t ask why. he already knew.

he figured it out when he passed by the corner store one night, walking home after practice, and saw you inside, half asleep behind the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes barely open. it was past ten.

his heart sank.

he stood there outside the glass door for a while, just watching you ring up a woman’s groceries, nodding politely, smiling weakly. it wasn’t your real smile. it was your i don’t have the energy to exist smile. and he felt like shit for knowing it.

when he finally came in, the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even look up.

‘i’m clocking out soon,’ you mumbled, automatically, voice tired and soft.

‘not here to shop,’ he said gently.

your head jerked up like you’d been shocked. and your eyes met his. and you just blinked, like your brain was short-circuiting.

‘why are you here,’ you asked, voice flat.

‘i was walking home,’ he said. ‘and saw you.’

you didn’t answer. just turned back to the register, scanned a pack of gum for a teenager with headphones in.

‘do you always work this late?’ he asked quietly.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t need to.

‘someone has to pay the bills.’

he nodded slowly, like the guilt in his stomach hadn’t just quadrupled.

‘i didn’t know.’

‘you didn’t ask,’ you said simply.

and that hurt worse than if you’d yelled.

when your shift ended, you didn’t expect him to still be there. but he was, leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, eyes soft.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you muttered, walking past him.

‘i know,’ he said, falling into step beside you. ‘but i want to.’

you sighed, too tired to argue. and so the two of you walked in silence. your backpack looked heavier than usual. maybe it was. maybe you were just too drained to hide it anymore.

he offered to carry it halfway through.

you said no.

but when your steps started to slow and you winced mid stride, he reached over and took it anyway.

you didn’t stop him.

the walk to your building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. just slow. heavy. like everything between you was still being rebuilt, brick by broken brick.

he paused at your doorstep, holding the bag out to you.

‘i meant it, you know,’ he said.

you looked up.

‘meant what.’

‘when i said i’d show up. no matter what.’

your fingers brushed his when you took the bag back. you didn’t pull away this time.

‘okay,’ you whispered.

just that.

but for him, it was enough to keep going.

because maybe this wasn’t the end. maybe you were still letting him in. inch by inch. breath by breath.

and if there was still space for him, no matter how small, he was gonna stay.

every time.

until you believed he meant it. until you believed you were worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him love you again. this time without fear. without conditions. just love.

quiet, steady, and real.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep at school again.

you tried. really. but your eyes had started burning halfway through third period, and your head had gotten heavy, and the warmth of the classroom mixed with the low buzz of the teacher’s voice just… pulled you under. you didn’t even feel it happen.

you woke up to the principal’s voice.

he was standing over you, your name tight in his mouth, like he’d said it more than once. your classmates were staring. the room was too quiet. your face was warm with embarrassment, but your limbs were heavier than shame.

you mumbled an apology and tried to blink yourself back to life, but your head still felt like it was filled with fog. your teacher looked guilty. the principal looked frustrated. and you just felt small.

he asked you to come with him.

you didn’t say anything. you just stood.

you sat across from him in his office, hands in your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged down past your knuckles. you’d been here before. when your absences started stacking. when your grades slipped. when someone reported that you were always nodding off, always running late, always “not quite here.”

he didn’t yell. he wasn’t cruel. he just sighed.

‘this isn’t sustainable,’ he said gently. ‘you’re clearly overwhelmed. your teachers are worried. you’ve changed, and not in the way we like seeing.’

you nodded slowly, unable to argue. because it was true.

‘is everything okay at home?’ he asked.

you hesitated, then nodded again. even though the truth was, not really. but what could he do? what could anyone do?

‘i’m just tired,’ you whispered. ‘that’s all.’

his frown deepened.

you left with a warning and a pass to go lie down in the nurse’s office. you didn’t go. you just sat on the steps outside the building, elbows on your knees, forehead resting on your arms.

you didn’t cry.

not because it didn’t hurt.

but because you didn’t even have the energy to.

hector found you like that.

he was supposed to be at practice. he left early. said he had a stomach ache. he didn’t. he just had a feeling. a gut-wrenching, aching sort of feeling that he needed to find you.

he spotted you from across the quad, folded up into yourself, hair falling forward, body still.

his chest cracked open.

he crossed the space between you like it was instinct. like his legs moved before his brain could catch up.

he sat beside you without asking.

you didn’t look up.

‘i heard,’ he said softly. ‘what happened.’

your voice was barely there. ‘did the whole school?’

‘doesn’t matter.’

you exhaled shakily, but didn’t speak.

‘you wanna talk about it?’

you shook your head.

so he didn’t push.

you sat like that for a while, him beside you, you folded in two, the sky slowly shifting above.

then, out of nowhere, you whispered, ‘i’m trying.’

he turned to you.

‘i know.’

‘i’m trying so hard, hector. and i just… i’m so tired of trying. and still getting nowhere.’

his throat tightened. ‘i see you. i see all of it.’

‘no you don’t,’ you said, finally looking at him, eyes rimmed red. ‘no one does. they all think i’m lazy, or ungrateful, or not trying hard enough. but i’m doing everything. i’m keeping my mom alive, and i’m paying rent, and i’m working every shift they give me, and i’m still failing everything and—’

your voice cracked.

‘—and i don’t know what else to do.’

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’d wanted to since the first moment he messed up.

and you didn’t fight it.

you just sank into him, into the warmth of him, into the steady heartbeat under his hoodie. and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall.

‘i’m so sorry,’ he whispered into your hair. ‘for every second you had to feel alone.’

you didn’t say anything.

but your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve like you didn’t want to let go.

he didn’t leave your side after that.

not for a second.

he helped you with your homework that night. sat beside you on the floor of your living room while your mom rested in the next room. he watched you write your essays, helped quiz you for math, brought you coffee even though you told him not to.

he didn’t care.

he was there.

he texted you in the morning to make sure you woke up. met you outside your first class with breakfast in a paper bag. walked you to work after school. waited outside until your shift ended.

you kept telling him you didn’t need saving.

he kept telling you he wasn’t trying to save you. he just wanted to love you right this time.

and little by little, piece by piece, you started to believe him.

because love doesn’t always come in grand gestures or perfect words.

sometimes it shows up late, with shaking hands and tired hearts.

sometimes it’s soft and quiet and steady.

sometimes, it’s him, carrying your backpack without asking, walking you home in the rain, whispering that he’s proud of you when you finish your homework even though your eyes won’t stay open.

sometimes, love is just showing up.

and this time, he was here to stay.

hi!! maybe a mutual friends to lovers musiala fic?? like just a very normal realistic storyline yk. they start by hanging out with a group of friends and then split off a little and blah blah blah 🩷🩷

❦ - ich liebe dich.

summary:: basically the req.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: uhm so this should’ve been posted a month ago. this has been in my drafts for a MONTH bro. i’m gonna go insane this got requested to me almost 2 months ago and i’m lowkey going insane so yes i’ll be posting almost all my drafts today bc i have SO MANY finished. also i’m ditching dividers bc it’s too much work!

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the first time you met jamal musiala, he was just another face in a group of mutual friends. you’d heard his name before, knew who he was, but you had never actually spoken to him.

it was one of those casual get togethers, someone’s apartment, music playing from a speaker, people chatting in little groups, making half serious plans that never actually happened.

you weren’t even paying attention when he sat next to you.

‘so you’re the one everyone keeps talking about,’ he said, voice easy and amused.

you turned to him, raising a brow. ‘depends. what exactly are they saying?’

he smirked, leaning back. ‘good things. mostly.’

‘mostly?’ you echoed, pretending to be offended. ‘what’s the bad part, then?’

‘wouldn’t you like to know,’ he teased, eyes glinting.

and just like that, it was easy.

it started slow. natural.

he was just a friend, or at least, that was what you told yourself. but then you kept ending up next to each other. at dinner tables, in group chats, in the back of ubers on the way to places you both had been half-convinced you didn’t even want to go.

‘we keep ending up together,’ you pointed out once, laughing after realizing you’d somehow spent the entire night just talking to each other.

‘maybe it’s fate,’ he said, smiling.

‘or maybe it’s just coincidence.’

‘or,’ he countered, eyes warm, ‘you just like my company.’

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t argue.

it didn’t feel like flirting. not in an obvious way.

but it also didn’t feel like just friendship either.

your friends picked up on it before you did.

‘so, you and jamal, huh?’ one of them asked after a night out.

you frowned. ‘what about us?’

‘oh, come on,’ they groaned. ‘you two practically spent the whole night in your own world.’

‘we were just talking.’

‘yeah, just talking while standing way too close and looking at each other like you’ve got some big secret the rest of us aren’t in on.’

you scoffed. ‘you’re imagining things.’

but were they?

the thing was, you and jamal never talked about whatever this was.

there were no confessions. no big oh, we like each other moment. just little shifts. small things that added up.

like the way he started texting you first more often.

or how he’d wait for you when you trailed behind the group.

or how he’d nudge your knee under the table, just lightly, when you made a joke he thought was particularly funny.

one night, it was just the two of you. you were coming back from a late dinner, walking through quiet streets, the rest of your friends having peeled off one by one.

‘you cold?’ jamal asked suddenly.

you shrugged. ‘a little.’

without a word, he pulled off his hoodie and handed it to you.

‘jamal—’

‘just take it,’ he said, smiling.

you hesitated for a second before slipping it over your head. it smelled like him, clean, warm, safe.

‘thanks,’ you murmured.

he looked down at you, something unreadable in his expression.

‘anytime.’

and that? that was when you knew.

it wasn’t just friendship anymore. maybe it never had been.

but for now, neither of you said anything.

you didn’t need to.

until the night he kissed you.

it wasn’t planned, wasn’t some big romantic moment.

it was after another group night out, when you and jamal had split off, walking together like always. it had started to rain, not heavy, just a soft drizzle, and you had laughed, tilting your head up at the sky.

‘this is kinda nice,’ you admitted.

jamal watched you, his hands in his pockets. ‘yeah. it is.’

you turned to him, still smiling, and that was when he did it.

just leaned in, soft and certain, catching your lips with his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you froze for a split second before melting into it, your hands gripping the front of his jacket.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

‘so much for coincidence, huh?’ he murmured.

you let out a breathless laugh. ‘yeah. so much for that.’

at first, nothing really changed.

you still hung out in the same group, still acted like just friends, except now, there were stolen glances, fingertips brushing when no one was looking, excuses to be alone.

‘you two are acting weird,’ one of your friends finally said.

‘what? no, we’re not,’ you denied quickly.

‘you totally are,’ they insisted, pointing between you and jamal. ‘there’s something going on.’

jamal, beside you, just smirked.

‘if you say so,’ he said, casually slipping an arm around your shoulders.

and at that moment, you knew there was no point in pretending anymore.

being with jamal musiala felt easy.

it wasn’t all-consuming or dramatic. it didn’t burn out fast or make you question where you stood.

it was steady. warm. like something you had slipped into without realizing you were always meant to be there.

it was the way he texted you good morning every day, even if he had training early.

the way he always reached for your hand first, fingers threading through yours like second nature.

the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

‘you’re staring,’ you pointed out once, grinning.

jamal just shrugged. ‘can you blame me?’

the first time he told you he loved you, it was quiet. casual, almost.

you were half-asleep on his couch, curled up against his side while some movie neither of you had been paying attention to played in the background.

his fingers traced absentminded circles on your arm.

‘love you,’ he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

your eyes fluttered open, heart skipping a beat.

you shifted to look up at him. ‘what?’

jamal looked down at you, completely unbothered. ‘i said, i love you.’

your breath caught in your throat.

he didn’t seem nervous about it. didn’t seem like he was expecting some big reaction. he was just telling you. stating a fact.

and somehow, that made it even more real.

you swallowed, voice soft when you finally spoke.

‘love you too.’

his smile was slow, warm, sure.

‘figured.’

and just like that, it wasn’t just unspoken anymore.

it was real. it was everything.

Hiii! I have a joão request, this may be a little too out there but if you’re comfortable enough with writing ab joão and the reader having a one night and end up with an accidental pregnancy?

❦ - ours.

summary:: nothing really goes to plan. and your offspring definitely wasn’t a plan either.

warnings:: implies previous activities… ones that i can’t write bc im not of age but yk!

writers notes:: anyways so like i made the lovely @cherryloveshs do the moodboards for this fic and for some reason the only context i gave her was ‘joao didn’t wrap before he tapped’ so this fic is a surprise for her 💔. IF YOU WANT A PART 2, MY REQS ARE OPEN FOR THAT

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

it was supposed to be a one time thing.

you told yourself that the morning after, when you slipped out of his apartment before the sun had fully risen. you told yourself that again two weeks later, when your chest felt tight every time you thought about him.

you weren’t dating. it was never serious. it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

but then you missed your period.

then the nausea started.

then the two pink lines stared back at you.

you sat on your bathroom floor, test in hand, heart racing so loud you could barely hear your own thoughts.

pregnant.

with joão’s baby.

you didn’t even know how to tell him. he was focused on his career, training, matches, traveling constantly. you hadn’t even spoken since that night. a few texts here and there. polite. short. distant.

but this? this wasn’t something you could hide.

so you texted him.

can we talk?

his response was almost immediate.

of course. you okay?

you stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

not really. can you come over?

he showed up at your door half an hour later, hoodie pulled over his head, hair slightly messy like he’d rushed straight out.

‘hey,’ he said, eyes scanning your face like he was already worried. ‘what’s going on?’

you stepped aside and let him in, your hands trembling slightly. he noticed, of course he did.

‘you’re freaking me out,’ he said gently. ‘what is it?’

you sat down on the edge of the couch, trying to steady your voice.

‘i don’t really know how to say this,’ you started. ‘but… i’m pregnant.’

he blinked. once. twice.

you watched as the words settled in, slow but heavy.

‘what?’ he asked, voice quiet. not in disbelief, just trying to make sure he heard you right.

‘i’m pregnant, joão. it’s yours. from that night.’

he sat down across from you, elbows on his knees, hands folded tightly.

‘okay,’ he said. just that. no anger, no denial. just calm acceptance.

‘okay?’ you echoed, confused. ‘you’re not… mad?’

‘no,’ he said, meeting your eyes. ‘scared? yeah. shocked? yeah. but not mad.’

you swallowed. ‘i didn’t plan this. i swear, i wasn’t trying to trap you or anything—’

‘hey,’ he interrupted gently, scooting closer. ‘i know. and neither of us planned it. but that doesn’t mean i’m walking away.’

you blinked, tears stinging your eyes.

‘you’re not?’

‘of course not,’ he said, reaching for your hand. ‘it might’ve been a one-night thing, but you’re not just some girl to me. and this—’ he gently touched your stomach, ‘—this is ours. we’ll figure it out together.’

you looked at him, really looked at him. the way his jaw was set like he was already taking responsibility. the worry in his eyes, but also something softer.

something kind. something real.

‘i don’t want to do this alone,’ you whispered.

‘you won’t,’ he promised. ‘i’m here. for you and the baby. every step of the way.’

and when he pulled you into a hug, warm and steady and safe, you believed him.

because maybe it wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. but maybe, just maybe, it was how they were meant to.

it had been three weeks since you told joão.

and in those three weeks, he hadn’t missed a single doctor’s appointment.

he texted you every morning ‘how are you feeling today?’ and every night ‘do you need anything?.’ he read every article, asked questions about everything, and kept showing up with random things like ginger tea, prenatal vitamins, and the softest blanket you’d ever felt.

he wasn’t just present. he was trying.

but still, it was complicated.

you weren’t together. there were feelings, sure, lingering glances, quiet comfort, a weird kind of softness that had always existed between you, but neither of you had said anything about what this all meant.

so you existed in this weird space. almost something. not quite.

and that space felt even smaller one evening when he showed up at your apartment, carrying a small bag of groceries in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

‘brought snacks,’ he said casually, walking in like it had always been his place to.

‘you don’t have to keep doing this,’ you told him, even though you didn’t mean it.

he raised an eyebrow. ‘you say that, but i know you’re running low on those strawberry ice cream bars.’

you blinked. ‘how do you know that?’

‘you texted me yesterday at 2 a.m. “strawberry. gone. sadness.”’

you snorted. ‘okay, fair.’

he grinned, dropping the bag on the counter before holding out the folded paper.

‘what’s this?’

‘list of baby names,’ he said, casually like he hadn’t just handed you the thing that sent your heart into orbit.

you opened it slowly.

some names were simple. a few were portuguese. some were… definitely football inspired.

‘did you really put “ronaldo” on here?’ you asked.

‘just for fun,’ he said, already smirking. ‘but i put your last name first. figured the baby should have both.’

you went quiet at that, the weight of it hitting you in a way that words couldn’t quite carry.

‘joão…’

he turned serious almost instantly, stepping closer, his voice quieter now.

‘i know it’s not what we planned,’ he said. ‘i know we weren’t supposed to end up here. but we are. and i don’t want to just… be the guy who shows up every now and then. i want to be there. really be there.’

your heart thudded in your chest.

‘are you saying that just for the baby?’ you asked, voice small.

he hesitated for half a second.

then, softly: ‘no. i’m saying that because of you.’

you looked up, eyes meeting his. and in that moment, it wasn’t confusing anymore. it wasn’t just fear or responsibility or doing the right thing.

it was real.

‘i want to try,’ he said. ‘not just to be a dad. but with you. if you’ll let me.’

and suddenly, the weird in-between space you’d been living in didn’t feel so cold or lonely anymore.

you nodded slowly, heart full.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘we try.’

and when he pulled you into his arms, hands gentle over the curve of your still-flat stomach, it felt like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the wrong timing.

maybe it was just the beginning

Hiii!!! I love your João fics smmm 💖💖 and I got some inspiration from the Gavi x tennis player! Reader, I was wondering if I can make a request for a similar one with joão but instead of the reader being tennis player, could it be volleyball player?

So basically joão decides to attend his girlfriends (reader) game since he had a day off-and reader is a libero where she always haves to defend and always having to jump onto the floor to defend the ball from hitting the floor.

How about the opponents spiker hits the ball slightly farther away but she stills needs to catch the ball to throw it back to her teammates to manage to get a point for them but she accidentally crashes into like the court banners or maybe a table surrounding the volleyball court and like joão is scared and worried for his gf but at the end she was fine and just a sprain wrist and ankle? And he's lowk overprotective after the game

Hopefully the plot makes sense for you😭

❦ - in a good way.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: i wrote this half asleep

writers notes:: i should sleep. but i love yall and watch as i drop this and then disappear for a week 💔.

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

joão wasn’t supposed to be here.

his schedule was packed, as always, but for once, fate had given him a rare day off. and the moment he realized it lined up perfectly with one of your games, there was no question, he was going.

so here he was, sitting courtside, cap pulled low over his head, completely locked in on the match.

he’d seen you play before, of course. he knew how talented you were, how much work you put into your game. but watching you in person? feeling the energy of the match, hearing the squeak of your shoes on the court, seeing you throw yourself into every single play, it was different.

it was exhilarating. and terrifying.

because as a libero, you never stopped moving. you were constantly sprinting, diving, launching yourself across the floor to save impossible balls. every time you hit the ground, joão flinched. every time you threw your body in harm’s way, his heart nearly stopped.

‘does she always do that?’ he muttered to one of your teammates who was sitting on the bench.

she barely looked up from watching the game. ‘she’s a libero. she kinda has to.’

joão frowned. he knew that. logically, he understood that this was your job, just like football was his. but that didn’t mean he had to like watching you hit the floor over and over again.

but then, the match got even more intense.

it was the final set, tied at 24-24. one team had to win by two, and everyone was playing like their lives depended on it.

joão watched as the opposing team’s outside hitter, easily the tallest girl on the court, jumped up for a brutal spike, aiming for the back corner.

and then he saw you move.

you were already sprinting before the ball even made contact.

his stomach twisted. he knew that look in your eyes.

you weren’t going to let it drop.

and you didn’t.

you dove, arms outstretched, fingers grazing the ball just in time to send it flying back toward your teammates.

but the momentum carried you too far.

instead of landing safely on the floor, you crashed straight into the court barriers.

joão shot to his feet, his heart slamming against his ribs.

the sound of your body hitting the plastic barricades and knocking over a small table made his stomach churn. you hit the floor hard, and for a second, you didn’t move.

his entire body went cold.

the gym fell silent.

then, before he could even process what was happening, your teammates were surrounding you, the medical staff rushing over.

joão’s hands clenched at his sides as he forced himself to stay where he was. he wanted nothing more than to run onto the court, to push past everyone and check on you himself. but he wasn’t allowed to.

he held his breath, waiting, his pulse hammering in his ears.

and then

you sat up.

joão exhaled so sharply it almost felt like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

the relief that crashed over him was instant, but it didn’t completely settle until he saw you carefully flex your fingers, rolling your wrist with a slight wince.

a sprain. maybe your ankle too, judging by the way you hesitated when your teammates helped you up.

but you were okay.

and despite everything, despite the fact that you had just thrown yourself straight into a table, your team managed to win the point.

and then the game.

but joão didn’t care about the score. not really. the only thing he cared about was getting to you.

so the second the final whistle blew, he was moving.

he pushed past the crowd, barely hearing the people congratulating him on his own recent games, barely acknowledging the fans who recognized him.

all he could focus on was you.

you were sitting on the bench, your ankle wrapped, your wrist wrapped, casually chatting with your coach like you hadn’t just nearly given him a heart attack.

‘what the hell was that?’ he blurted out, startling you slightly.

your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. ‘joão—’

‘why would you even go for that ball?’ he continued, running a hand through his hair, clearly still panicked. ‘you could’ve been seriously hurt!’

you blinked at him, processing his words before a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. ‘we won the point, didn’t we?’

he stared at you like you were insane. ‘winning isn’t worth getting hurt.’

you sighed, shaking your head fondly before reaching out with your good hand, grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him closer. ‘it is to me.’

he exhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he let himself sink down in front of you, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but was afraid of making anything worse.

‘you’re impossible,’ he muttered, his voice softer now, but still frustrated.

‘you love me.’

he sighed, dropping his forehead against your uninjured shoulder. ‘unfortunately for me, yeah.’

you laughed, wrapping your arm around him and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. ‘i’m fine, joão.’

‘you have a sprained wrist and ankle,’ he grumbled.

‘but i’m okay,’ you reassured him, squeezing his hoodie gently.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face, like he needed to make sure you were really telling the truth.

then, after a beat, he exhaled and stood up.

‘okay. come on.’

before you could react, he scooped you up into his arms.

you yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. ‘joão!’

‘nope. you’re not walking on that ankle,’ he said firmly, adjusting you so you were comfortably nestled against his chest. ‘i’ve decided you’re not allowed to move at all until you’re healed.’

you huffed, crossing your arms. ‘you’re being ridiculous.’

‘you’re reckless,’ he shot back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘but lucky for you, i love you anyway.’

you sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t help the way your heart melted when he tightened his arms around you.

‘guess i should get injured more often,’ you teased.

he shot you a warning look. ‘don’t even joke about that.’

you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder.

maybe he was being overprotective. maybe he was being dramatic.

but you weren’t complaining.

Hii. Could you write a fic abt João and the reader talking about babies/the future and him proposing?🩷

❦ - my kind of man.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: none!

writers notes:: so. first of all i’m sorry for ghosting bc i lowkey got carried away w the tons of requests ive gotten and school is also an issue so i dropped this not so much of a banger. ALSO JOAO MAN FIX UR PHOTOS BC HE JS LOOKS STUPID IN MY BEIGE SCHEME

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

it happens on a quiet evening, just the two of you walking along the beach. the sun has long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the soft glow of the moon and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

joão’s hand is warm in yours, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. it’s a habit of his, one you’ve grown to love, the way he always finds some way to touch you, as if making sure you’re really there.

the night air is cool, salty, but comfortable. the world feels still, like it belongs only to the two of you in this moment.

then, out of nowhere, he says, ‘do you ever think about the future?’

you glance up at him, catching the way his gaze lingers on the ocean, thoughtful. ‘what do you mean?’

he exhales softly, as if choosing his words carefully. ‘just… us. where we’ll be in a few years. what life will look like.’

your steps slow slightly as you take in the question. it’s not that you haven’t thought about it, you have, more times than you can count. you just didn’t know he had too.

‘yeah,’ you admit, squeezing his hand. ‘i think about it sometimes.’

his lips twitch into a small smile, like that was the answer he was hoping for.

you both keep walking, the water lapping at your feet, until he speaks again. ‘do you ever think about kids?’

you freeze for just a second, not because you’re caught off guard, but because the thought of it, the thought of him with a child, of a tiny hand gripping his, of his laugh filling a home that belongs to both of you, is enough to steal your breath.

you look up at him, searching his face for hesitation, but there’s none. just quiet patience, quiet hope.

‘yeah,’ you say softly. ‘i do.’

his smile grows, slow and sure. ‘me too. all the time.’

his voice is steady, sure, but there’s something deeper in it, something tender. ‘i think about how good you’d be with them,’ he continues. ‘how i’d love to see you as a mum.’

your chest tightens at the thought. ‘you’d be a great dad,’ you whisper. ‘they’d be so lucky.’

he stops walking then, turning to face you fully. the waves roll in, barely brushing against your toes, but you barely notice.

‘we’d be lucky,’ he murmurs.

his hand slips from yours, and for a split second, your heart drops.

then, he reaches into his pocket.

your breath catches.

‘joão—’

‘i was gonna wait,’ he says quickly, almost like he’s nervous. ‘i had this whole plan. something big, something special. but… i don’t think i can anymore.’

he exhales, like he’s steadying himself, then pulls out a small velvet box.

the world tilts.

the ring inside is simple but beautiful, exactly what you would’ve wanted. and suddenly, everything clicks, the way he’s been acting lately, the lingering looks, the quiet moments where he seemed lost in thought.

‘i love you,’ he says, his voice steady now. ‘and i don’t want to wait for that future. i want it to start now.’

tears well in your eyes, your chest full, and you nod before you even find your voice.

‘yes,’ you whisper. then, stronger, ‘yes. of course, yes.’

his relief is visible, his whole body relaxing as he slides the ring onto your finger. it fits perfectly.

then he’s kissing you, his hands framing your face, soft and sure.

and for the first time, the future doesn’t feel so far away.

it’s here. it’s real. and it’s yours.

OMG we need a part 3 of the Gavi x tennis reader fic

❦ - love && war 3.

summary:: winning isn’t everything. whether it’s on or off the pitch and that’s something you’ve realised.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: guys i wanna sob this is really basic, repetitive and idk what to do for the plot but if yg want a part 4 i can do one where he ACTUALLY attends a match bc bros suffering by hearing the match from pedris pov 💔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @nngkay @cherryloveshs

the first thing you did after leaving the court was check your phone. sweat still clung to your skin, muscles aching from the three set battle you had just fought, but none of that mattered as much as the missed notifications lighting up your screen.

pablo: been refreshing the score like crazy, how did it go?
pablo: mi amor?
pablo: please tell me you won
pablo: shit, did you lose?
pablo: call me as soon as you can, okay?

your heart sank a little as you read his texts. you hated how badly he wanted to be there, how helpless he felt watching the live score update from miles away.

you sighed, quickly typing back.

you: lost in three. close, but not enough.

he read the message almost instantly. the typing bubbles appeared, then stopped. then appeared again.

your phone rang.

you stepped away from the locker room, walking into a quieter hallway before answering.

‘cariño,’ gavi’s voice was soft, but you could hear the frustration underneath. ‘tell me what happened.’

you leaned against the wall, exhaling. ‘she just played better. i had chances, but i didn’t take them. that’s it.’

‘that’s not it,’ he muttered. ‘i know you. i know you’re beating yourself up over every point.’

you closed your eyes for a moment. he wasn’t wrong.

‘i just, i really wanted this one, pablo. and i know i played well, but at the end of the day, i lost. and that’s all anyone will remember.’

‘that’s not true,’ he said instantly. ‘you were amazing. i didn’t even have to watch the match to know that. but it pisses me off that i couldn’t watch. i should’ve been there.’

‘pablo—’

‘i mean it,’ he cut you off, frustration creeping into his voice. ‘pedri was literally sitting on his ass watching the whole thing while i was stuck playing a match i barely cared about because all i wanted to do was check my phone for updates.’

you let out a small laugh despite yourself. ‘you barely cared about a la liga match?’

‘yes,’ he huffed. ‘well, okay, maybe not barely. but you get what i mean.’

you did. you really did.

‘you have no idea how badly i wanted to see you,’ he continued. ‘at halftime, i grabbed my phone the second i got to the locker room. hansi was giving a whole speech and i wasn’t even listening, i just kept refreshing the score.’

‘pablo, oh my god.’

‘no, listen to this,’ he went on. ‘i had to hide my phone under my shirt when he started walking around because i refused to put it down. i literally thought i was gonna get subbed off for being distracted.’

you bit your lip, torn between being exasperated and incredibly touched.

‘you’re crazy.’

‘for you? yeah, i am,’ he admitted without hesitation. ‘i hate missing your matches. and i swear i’ll be at the next one, even if i have to fight hansi for it.’

you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. ‘i appreciate the commitment, but i don’t think hansi would take too kindly to that.’

‘too bad. he’ll have to deal with it,’ gavi muttered.

there was a beat of silence before he spoke again, softer this time.

‘you know how proud i am of you, right?’

you swallowed.

‘even if you didn’t win, even if you think it wasn’t enough, you’re incredible. i hope you know that.’

your throat tightened slightly. he always knew exactly what to say.

‘thank you,’ you murmured. ‘really. that means a lot.’

‘i mean it,’ he said. ‘and when i see you, i’m gonna hug you so tight you’ll forget all about today.’

you laughed lightly. ‘looking forward to it.’

‘good. now go rest, okay? we’ll talk later.’

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. ‘okay. love you.’

‘love you more, mi amor.’

and just like that, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

can you make a story about Marc and reader, where he teases her about the height difference

❦ - short n sweet.

summary:: you didn’t choose to be short. but marc chose you. so therefore he can’t complain you’re short! but he does 💔.

warnings:: none!?

writers note:: lowkey gonna spam bc i always write my fics in my notes bc tumblr deletes drafts and i’ve written sm all i need to do is format 👅.

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

you weren’t even sure how the conversation started. one moment, you were waiting for him outside the training grounds, minding your business, and the next, marc was teasing you relentlessly about your height.

‘can you even see over the dashboard when you drive?’ he smirked, looking down at you as you both walked toward his car.

you rolled your eyes. ‘yes, marc. i don’t need a booster seat.’

‘are you sure?’ he nudged your side, laughing. ‘i can get you one, you know. i’ll even make it barca themed.’

‘oh, you’re hilarious,’ you deadpanned, shoving him lightly. it barely did anything, considering he was literally towering over you.

marc had been on this for weeks. every chance he got, he’d make some comment about how much smaller you were compared to him. it wasn’t even like you were that short, he was just unfairly tall.

‘wait, stand next to me for a sec,’ he said, stopping in his tracks.

you groaned. ‘marc—’

‘just for a second,’ he grinned.

you sighed but humored him, standing beside him as he straightened his posture. he looked down at you, then burst out laughing.

‘oh my god, i swear you’re getting shorter.’

you smacked his arm. ‘or maybe you’re just a freakishly tall human being.’

he ignored your insult, clearly enjoying himself. ‘i bet if we took a picture, people would think i’m your bodyguard.’

you gasped. ‘you did not just say that.’

he was dying of laughter at this point, barely able to breathe. ‘no, no, seriously. imagine me in a suit, standing behind you, all serious. people would think i’m protecting you from the paparazzi.’

you groaned dramatically. ‘you’re the worst.’

‘no, you’re the worst,’ he shot back playfully, slinging an arm around your shoulders with ease. ‘but it’s okay, i still like you, even if i have to break my neck looking down at you.’

you huffed, but you couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. ‘you’re so lucky i like you too, otherwise i’d trip you in the locker room.’

he grinned. ‘i’d like to see you try, shorty.’

and just like that, the teasing continued.

i js washed my hair so like what if you do a joao fic where he's home early from training and he comes back to see reader has washed her hair and it's all like curly and stuff

since his hair is more wavy-ish he's like surprised by the amount of care and products it takes to do to get the curls to be healthy and pretty yk?

so he's asking reader about the products and trying to add them to his hair and reading the labels on the packaging to get to understand what is the process

so yeah idk i hope this was understandable

(bonus is him being horrified by the amount of hair loss (totally not reflecting my own pain))

❦ - my girls curls.

summary:: what the req says

warnings:: none

writers note:: OMG I GET YOU BC TS WAS WHY I WAS BALD FOR AGES 💔. anyways i don’t have that issue anymore bc of a long long story from some bangladeshi hair salon… anyways yea… also i always write my fics b4 formatting so im doing this as i’m watching the portugal match and istg i keep on hallucinating that vitinha is joao.

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

joão wasn’t supposed to be home this early. training usually ran late, giving you plenty of time to go through your whole hair routine in peace. but today, for whatever reason, things had been cut short, which meant he was now stepping into your shared apartment much earlier than expected.

the first thing he noticed was the smell, sweet, floral, and slightly fruity. not your usual perfume, but something that smelled like you.

the second thing? your hair.

his eyes widened the second he saw you.

you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, your curls still slightly damp but fully defined, soft ringlets cascading down your shoulders. joão had seen your hair like this before, but something about catching you right after wash day made him stop and stare.

‘woah.’

you looked up, amused. ‘woah?’

he set his bag down, stepping closer. ‘your hair looks… really good.’

you smiled. ‘thanks, i just washed it.’

joão flopped down next to you, still looking at your curls with fascination. he had wavy hair himself, but nothing like this.

‘so, like…’ he gestured vaguely at your head. ‘how do you get it like that? because my hair just… exists.’

you laughed. ‘it takes work, joão. a lot of work.’

he frowned, suddenly curious. ‘what kind of work?’

you got up, motioning for him to follow. ‘come on, i’ll show you.’

he trailed behind you into the bathroom, eyes immediately going wide when he saw the chaos on the counter.

bottles. everywhere.

leave in conditioners, curl creams, mousses, oils, gels, things he had never seen before in his life.

‘…this is all for your hair?’

‘yep.’ you grabbed one bottle and handed it to him. ‘this is my leave-in.’

he turned it over, reading the label like it held the secrets of the universe. ‘intense hydration for dry, damaged curls…’ he looked at you. ‘is your hair dry and damaged?’

‘no, because i use that.’

he hummed, grabbing another bottle. ‘curl defining custard? custard? like the food?’

you snatched it from him before he could say something even dumber. ‘not the food, joão.’

he moved on, picking up a tiny bottle of oil. ‘and this?’

‘that’s my hair oil. it seals in moisture.’

he popped the cap off, sniffing it. ‘smells nice. can i try some?’

you raised a brow. ‘you wanna try my products?’

he shrugged. ‘i mean, my hair’s wavy, right? maybe it needs moisture too.’

you smirked, grabbing a small amount of leave in conditioner and running it through his hair. he stayed perfectly still, watching you in the mirror as you gently scrunched his strands.

‘see? it enhances your waves,’ you said, fluffing his hair.

joão blinked at his reflection. ‘oh. oh, this is nice.’

you laughed. ‘told you.’

just as you were about to grab the oil, you heard a dramatic gasp.

‘amor,’ he whispered, eyes locked on the sink. ‘you’re losing hair.’

you sighed, already knowing where this was going.

‘joão—’

‘there’s so much.’ he turned to you, horrified. ‘are you okay? are you sick? are you dying?’

‘oh my god.’ you dragged a hand down your face. ‘i shed hair, joão. it’s normal.’

he didn’t look convinced. ‘but this is a lot’

‘do you panic every time you see hair in your barber’s cape?’

he opened his mouth, then closed it.

you smirked. ‘yeah. exactly.’

joão sighed, shaking his head. ‘this is too much. all these steps, all these products, all this hair loss… how do you do this every wash day?’

you leaned against the counter, smiling. ‘because when it’s done, i look good.’

he grinned, reaching out to pull one of your curls, watching it bounce back into place.

‘you look really good,’ he admitted.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in. ‘i know.’

he laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. ‘can i borrow your leave in?’

‘absolutely not.’

he pouted but didn’t argue, still fascinated by your hair. his fingers twirled a curl around lazily, watching it spring back every time he let go.

‘so, how long does this all take?’

‘on a good day? an hour and a half.’

his jaw dropped. ‘an hour and a half?’

you rolled your eyes. ‘it takes time to look this good.’

‘i don’t even spend that long in training some days,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

you snorted. ‘you also don’t have curls that need hydration and definition.’

he looked back at his own hair in the mirror, scrunching his waves. ‘maybe i should start a routine. do you think my hair can look like yours?’

you tilted your head, studying him. ‘with the right products? maybe. but you’d have to actually commit to it.’

he hummed, still scrunching his hair like he was testing it. ‘what if i just let you do it for me?’

you smirked. ‘absolutely not.’

he groaned. ‘but you’re so good at it’

‘then i’d have to do this twice every wash day. no thanks.’

joão sighed dramatically, still staring at his reflection. ‘fine. but you are helping me find the right products.’

‘deal.’ you grabbed your oil and rubbed some onto your hands, working it through your curls.

joão watched you carefully, his eyes soft. ‘you know, you’re kinda cute when you do all this.’

you snorted. ‘kinda?’

he grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

‘okay, really cute.’

you leaned back against him, smiling. ‘good answer.’

he pressed another kiss to your cheek, sighing. ‘i still can’t believe you go through all this every wash day.’

‘well, now you kinda have to, too,’ you teased.

joão groaned, burying his face into your neck. ‘what have i gotten myself into?’

you laughed, threading your fingers through his waves. ‘moisturized hair, that’s what.’

Yes pt2 of the Jude fic plis

❦ - not enough for you. part 2.

summary:: ‘and with hardship comes ease.’ here is finally your ease.

warnings:: THIS WAS LEFT IN MY DRAFTS FOR ALMOST A MONTH.

writers note:: i am SO sorry it took this long? but here’s part one as well.

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

it had been weeks.

weeks since you walked out of his apartment, since you left behind the life you had built together. weeks of silence, of pretending you were okay, of waking up in an empty bed and forcing yourself not to check your phone.

you tried to move on. threw yourself into work, took on extra projects, stayed late at the office just to avoid coming home to the quiet. you told yourself you were fine. that you had made the right choice. that love should never come at the expense of yourself.

but god, you missed him.

you missed the way he’d pull you into his arms at the end of a long day, the way he’d press lazy kisses to your temple while you worked, the way he’d always keep a hand on you, your knee, your back, your fingers tangled with his, like he needed to know you were there.

some nights, you swore you could still hear his laugh echoing in the corners of your apartment. some mornings, you still reached for him in bed before remembering he wasn’t there.

and it hurt. because for all the love you had for him, it hadn’t been enough. and that truth sat heavy on your chest, refusing to fade.

then, one night, your phone rang.

his name flashed across the screen. your breath caught.

for a moment, you considered ignoring it. letting it go to voicemail. but something in you, something stubborn, something still so deeply tied to him, made you press accept.

‘hey,’ his voice was rough, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

you swallowed, gripping your phone tighter. ‘hey.’

silence.

‘i don’t know how to do this,’ he admitted, voice quiet. ‘how to be without you.’

your eyes burned. ‘you’re not without me, jude. i’m still here. i just… i just couldn’t keep choosing you over myself.’

a harsh exhale. ‘i know. and i hate that i made you feel like you had to.’

his voice cracked on the last word, and something inside you splintered.

‘it wasn’t fair,’ you whispered. ‘you wanted me to be someone i’m not. and that’s not love, jude. love isn’t asking someone to sacrifice who they are to fit into your world.’

he was quiet for so long you thought maybe he wouldn’t respond. but then,

‘i know,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘i’ve been thinking about it. about us. about what i did wrong. and you were right. i wanted you to fit into my life, but i never stopped to think about how i could fit into yours.’

your throat tightened. ‘jude…’

‘i was selfish,’ he continued, not letting you interrupt. ‘i thought love meant you’d follow me anywhere, that you’d drop everything because you loved me. but i never stopped to think about how much you already had to lose. and that’s not fair. it’s not fair to you.’

a tear slipped down your cheek.

‘i miss you,’ he admitted, voice breaking. ‘but more than that, i miss being the person who made you happy. and i don’t know if we can fix this. but i want to try. if you’ll let me.’

your breath hitched.

for weeks, you had convinced yourself that he would never understand. that he would always expect you to fit into his world, to mold yourself into something easier, something more convenient. but this—this was him trying.

this was him choosing to meet you in the middle.

‘if we try again,’ you said carefully, ‘things have to be different. i need to know that you see me, jude. that you respect what i want for myself just as much as i respect what you want for yourself.’

‘i do,’ he said without hesitation. ‘i swear i do. i just… i don’t want to do this without you.’

you exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers to your temple.

‘can i see you?’ he asked after a beat. ‘not to fix everything right now, not to force anything. just… to see you.’

your heart ached. you knew this was a risk. that loving him, choosing him again, meant trusting that he would follow through on his promises. but a part of you, the part that never stopped loving him, wanted to believe that he could.

so you swallowed past the lump in your throat and whispered, ‘yeah. okay.’

and for the first time in weeks, hope felt like something real. something worth holding onto.

Toni is actually so pretty like wth so how about reader doing makeup on him?

❦ - painted pretty.

summary:: despite all his protests, you do your boyfriends makeup.

warnings:: i wrote this at school.

writers notes:: i’m so sorry this took ages to put out my babies 💔. ALSO I PROMISE I HAVE LIKE 5 FINISHED FICS IN NY DRAFTS THAT NEED FORMATTING IM SORRY.

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

‘why am i doing this again?’

toni was sitting stiffly in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest, watching with narrowed eyes as you laid out your makeup products on the desk. he was clearly trying to act like he wasn’t into this, but the way he kept sneaking glances at the different brushes told you otherwise.

‘because i asked nicely,’ you said sweetly, picking up a beauty blender. ‘and because you love me.’

he rolled his eyes. ‘i don’t remember agreeing to this.’

‘well, you didn’t say no either, soooo…’ you trailed off, smiling.

he sighed, rubbing his temple like you were giving him a headache. ‘you better not make me look stupid.’

you gasped, clutching your chest in fake offense. ‘excuse me? when have i ever made you look stupid?’

toni gave you a look. ‘do you want me to list examples?’

‘shut up and let me do your makeup.’

he huffed but sat up straighter, finally relenting. you straddled his lap, cupping his face between your hands.

‘okay, first of all, you have great skin,’ you said, smoothing some primer over his cheeks. ‘this is almost unfair.’

he smirked. ‘good genetics.’

‘whatever.’ you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

as you started blending foundation onto his face, he sat incredibly still, his jaw tense like he was concentrating hard.

‘toni, you can relax,’ you giggled.

‘this requires focus,’ he said seriously.

you snorted. ‘it’s literally just makeup. you act like i’m giving you stitches.’

‘you’re holding something very close to my eye. i need to be prepared.’

he was being so dramatic, but you loved it.

you worked quickly, adding concealer under his eyes, setting everything with a light dusting of powder. his sharp cheekbones made contouring a dream, and when you brushed highlighter onto the high points of his face, he blinked in surprise.

‘it’s shiny,’ he murmured, turning his face slightly.

‘yes, baby, that’s the point.’

his brows furrowed, but he didn’t argue.

when you got to the eyeshadow, you hummed, tilting your head. ‘i think a soft brown would look good on you.’

toni raised an eyebrow. ‘you sound like you’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.’

you grinned sheepishly. ‘maybe.’

he sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. ‘just don’t make me look like a clown.’

‘trust me, i’m making you look pretty.’

he muttered something under his breath, but let you continue.

by the time you finished blending the eyeshadow and adding a tiny wing to the corner of his eye, you were practically bouncing with excitement.

‘okay, you literally have the perfect face for this. you look so good.’

toni turned to the mirror, studying his reflection. his brows lifted slightly, his lips parting in surprise.

‘huh.’

‘see? i told you!’

he tilted his head, his fingers ghosting over his cheekbone. ‘i look… kinda cool.’

‘kind of?’ you scoffed. ‘you look incredible.’

he turned back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching. ‘alright, fine. you did a good job.’

‘thank you,’ you said smugly. ‘now, let me take a picture—’

toni’s expression immediately dropped. ‘no evidence.’

‘but—’

‘no.’

you pouted. ‘but you look so pretty!’

he sighed, shaking his head. ‘fine. one picture. just for you.’

you grinned, quickly snapping a photo before he could change his mind.

but later that night, when he thought you weren’t looking, you caught him staring at his reflection again, tilting his head side to side, admiring the soft glow on his skin.

‘do you want me to do it again sometime?’ you asked, biting back a smile.

toni cleared his throat, looking away. ‘i don’t care.’

but the way his ears turned pink told you everything you needed to know.

HELLLO TIS I

okay so no.1 the theme ate SO HARD??? im drooling and i am on my KNEES

anyhow here to req a joao fic !!

so like what if reader is a ballerina or figure skater and she obvs comes home with like cuts and bruises from training and comps and stuff and basically joao makes thee BIGGEST fuss over it

like it can be treated with time but no. that man will bring a whole medic bag to treat the TINIEST cut and will overreact to every single injury she has !

this is so shitty but i requested this to someone else *uhm uhm evelina uhm uhm* and she has NOT written it yet so i'm frolicking here

you can ignore this if you want bc the idea is shit but yeah idk i js wanted to req something

BYEYEYYE HAVE A GOOD DAY / NIGHT AND ILYYYYY <33

MWAHHHH

❦ - delicate.

summary:: well there isn’t much to summarise bro 💔.

warnings:: none?

writers notes:: first and foremost i love this req and im tryna make my fics longer but idk how to drag it on yk? but i think if somewhat figured it out! ALSO EVE I MANAGED TO DO IT BEFORE YOU 👅👅👅👅👅👅👅.

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

joão swore he almost had a heart attack the first time he saw them.

the tiny, angry red cuts littering your feet and ankles, some fading into soft pink scars, others fresh from your last competition. you had always told him ballet was tough, that it wasn’t just twirling around in pretty dresses, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched over his lap, casually scrolling through your phone like nothing was wrong. meanwhile, he was staring at your feet like they had personally offended him.

‘what the hell is this?’ he blurted out, his fingers hovering over one particularly deep cut near your ankle.

you glanced at him, unfazed. ‘what’s what?’

‘this,’ he practically whined, gesturing wildly at your feet. ‘why do you look like you’ve been fighting for your life?’

you snorted. ‘joão, relax. they’re just cuts from my pointe shoes. they’ll heal.’

‘heal?’ he repeated, horrified. ‘how long have they been like this?’

you shrugged. ‘i don’t know. it happens all the time.’

his jaw dropped. ‘all the time?’

you sighed, putting your phone down. ‘it’s normal, babe. every ballerina deals with it. my feet just need time to recover between competitions.’

joão wasn’t hearing any of it.

‘this isn’t normal. this is self-destruction. why didn’t you tell me?’

‘because i knew you’d react like this.’

he scoffed. ‘of course i’m reacting like this! you’re literally injured and acting like it’s nothing.’

you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch. ‘joão, they’re fine. it’s not like i broke something. they’ll be healed in a few days.’

but he was already shaking his head, carefully lifting your foot to examine it closer.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he muttered, brows furrowed in concern.

‘what would you have done?’ you teased. ‘wrap me in bubble wrap?’

he didn’t answer, which told you exactly what you needed to know.

you laughed, cupping his cheek. ‘you’re ridiculous, you know that?’

‘you’re the ridiculous one,’ he shot back, still frowning at your feet. ‘how can you just ignore pain like this?’

‘because i have to. it comes with the sport.’

he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

‘so what, you just suffer in silence?’

you bit your lip. ‘i wouldn’t call it suffering. it’s just part of the process. like how you play with bruises or minor sprains sometimes.’

joão blinked, then scowled. ‘not the same thing.’

‘it’s literally the same thing.’

he huffed, still clearly displeased.

‘okay, but do you at least take care of them? like, properly?’

you hesitated for half a second, and that was all the answer he needed.

‘you don’t, do you?’ he accused.

‘joão—’

‘unbelievable.’

before you could stop him, he was already up, marching toward the bathroom.

you sighed, knowing exactly what was coming.

he returned moments later with a first-aid kit, a determined look on his face.

‘babe, really?’ you groaned.

‘yes, really. you clearly need someone to take care of you since you won’t do it yourself.’

you rolled your eyes but let him take your foot in his hands. he was surprisingly gentle, his fingers light as he dabbed at the cuts with antiseptic wipes.

he paused when you flinched, looking up at you with wide eyes.

‘does it hurt?’

‘not really.’

his glare told you he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue. instead, he carefully applied ointment to each cut, blowing softly on your skin like it would somehow make the sting go away.

you watched him work, your chest tightening.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you whispered.

he glanced up, his gaze softening. ‘i want to.’

you smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

‘you’re a little dramatic, you know that?’

he snorted. ‘yeah? well, you’re a little reckless, so i guess we balance each other out.’

you laughed, letting him finish bandaging your feet.

when he was done, he pressed a kiss to each foot before meeting your gaze.

‘no more competitions for a while, right?’

‘not for a few weeks.’

‘good. because i’m making sure you actually rest this time.’

‘yes, doctor félix,’ you teased.

he smirked. ‘damn right.’

he pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he needed to keep you safe from the world.

you sighed, relaxing into him.

maybe having someone fuss over you wasn’t so bad after all.

but joão wasn’t done.

for the next two days, he treated you like you were made of glass. he wouldn’t let you walk barefoot around the apartment, claiming the floors were ‘too rough.’ he brought you socks, ice packs, pillows, anything he thought might help, even though you insisted you were fine.

‘joão, i can literally walk perfectly. i danced on these feet last week,’ you reminded him.

he scoffed, tossing you another pillow. ‘yeah, and look where that got you.’

‘oh my god.’

he followed you around, ready to catch you at the slightest sign of discomfort. if you so much as winced, he was at your side in seconds.

‘are you okay?’

‘joão, i stubbed my toe.’

‘that’s how it starts!’

you groaned, shoving his face away.

but as much as he annoyed you, you knew it came from love.

late at night, when you were curled up in bed, he would trace the scars on your ankles with gentle fingers, his touch barely there.

‘you work so hard,’ he murmured against your skin.

‘so do you.’

‘yeah, but i don’t bleed for it.’

you turned in his arms, brushing your lips over his.

‘this is what i love, joão, and i know you hate seeing me hurt, but it’s part of what makes me strong.’

he exhaled, pulling you even closer. ‘i just wish i could take the pain for you.’

you smiled, tucking your head under his chin.

‘you already do, in your own way.’

he kissed the top of your head, whispering, ‘always.’

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry the weight alone.

OMG This Gavi x tennis reader fic was so good could you do a part two or maybe a series out of it. It would be soo cool

❦ - love && war part 2.

summary:: after ages of long distance due to matches and opens, you two are finally reunited, for good. ALSO YOU CAN READ THIS AS A ONE SHOT IF YOU WISH.

warnings:: none

writers note:: first of yall do yg want a part 3 and if so lmk! and usually i have sm to say but i js dont?

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs @nngkay @universefcb

gavi hated this.

hated watching your matches through a screen. hated missing the moments that mattered. hated that you were miles away while he was stuck in barcelona, playing game after game without you in the stands.

he had tried to act normal. tried to focus on training, on his own matches, but it was impossible when his mind kept drifting back to you.

you were playing one of the biggest tournaments of your career, and he wasn’t there. instead, he was sitting in the team bus, watching the live stream on his phone with his airpods in, barely listening as his teammates talked around him.

pedri nudged him. ‘what’s the score?’

‘she won the first set. second set’s tied.’ gavi’s voice was tight, his grip on his phone firm.

his heart was racing. he could see the way you moved, the way you fought for every point. he knew that look on your face, the one that meant you weren’t giving up.

when the bus arrived at the hotel, gavi didn’t move. he just sat there, eyes locked on his screen.

ferran laughed. ‘bro, are you coming?’

‘go without me,’ gavi muttered, waving them off.

pedri sighed but didn’t argue. ‘don’t stay up all night, man. you have a game tomorrow.’

gavi didn’t even acknowledge him. he was too busy watching you chase down a drop shot, too busy whispering curses under his breath when you missed, too busy fist pumping when you won the next point.

then came match point.

he held his breath.

you tossed the ball into the air, racket swinging effortlessly, the sharp sound of the ball meeting strings filling the speakers. your opponent barely got a return in before you sent a forehand straight down the line, untouched.

game, set, match.

gavi exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair as he watched you drop your racket, hands flying to your face in disbelief before pure joy took over. the crowd erupted, commentators shouting excitedly, but all gavi could focus on was you.

he needed to call you. now.

he stepped off the bus, walking toward the hotel entrance as he pulled up your contact. it barely rang twice before you picked up, breathless.

‘pablo!’

he grinned. ‘felicidades, mi amor. joder, you were incredible.’

you let out a shaky laugh, still overwhelmed. ‘you watched?’

‘of course i watched,’ he scoffed. ‘you think i’d miss that?’

‘you have a game tomorrow.’

‘i don’t care. i needed to see you win.’

there was a pause, your breathing still heavy from the match.

‘i wish you were here.’

his chest tightened. ‘me too.’

and he meant it. more than anything.

you sighed softly. ‘i’m flying back in two days.’

‘two days is too long.’

‘pablo.’

‘what if i come to you instead?’

you groaned. ‘you have training. a match. be serious.’

‘no quiero ser serio,’ he muttered. ‘quiero verte.’

you laughed, tired but full of love. ‘dos días, amor. i’ll be home soon.’

he sighed, kicking at the ground. ‘fine. but the second you land, i’m kidnapping you.’

‘deal.’

he smiled, finally making his way inside. two days. he just had to survive two more days.

gavi had never been this impatient in his life.

he was at the airport two hours early, pacing near the arrivals gate like a madman. pedri had made fun of him for it, called him dramatic, told him to just wait at home like a normal person, but gavi didn’t care. he had waited long enough.

his arms were crossed, jaw tight, sneakers tapping anxiously against the polished floor as he checked the flight tracker for what had to be the hundredth time. landed. you were here. finally.

his heart was pounding, fingers tapping against his thigh as he watched passengers filter through the doors. every time someone who vaguely resembled you walked out, he straightened up, only to sigh when it wasn’t you.

then he saw you.

hair slightly messy from the flight, suitcase dragging behind you, eyes scanning the crowd. and the second your gaze landed on him, everything else disappeared.

he didn’t think. he just moved.

one second, he was standing still. the next, he was pushing through people, reaching for you, grabbing your face and kissing you like he was scared you’d disappear again.

you barely had time to react before you melted into him, hands gripping his hoodie as he held you close, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe you were really here.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, blinking up at him in surprise.

‘hola to you too,’ you teased.

he ignored you, pressing his forehead against yours. ‘you’re never leaving for that long again.’

you laughed softly, fingers brushing through his hair. ‘i can’t promise that, pablo.’

‘then i’ll come with you.’

‘you have a job, remember?’

he frowned. ‘it’s a stupid job.’

you grinned. ‘says the guy who loves football more than anything.’

‘not more than you,’ he muttered, arms still locked around you.

you sighed, shaking your head. ‘you’re impossible.’

‘you love it.’

you did. you really did.

he grabbed your suitcase, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he started leading you toward the exit.

‘come on, we’re going home. and i’m not letting you out of my sight for at least a week.’

you smiled, leaning into him. ‘fine by me.’

the drive back to his place was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. it was the kind of comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone so deeply that words weren’t always necessary. gavi had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, thumb brushing absently over your skin.

you watched him in the dim light of the car, his face focused, jaw tight like he was still processing the fact that you were finally here.

‘you okay?’ you asked softly.

he glanced at you, squeezing your leg before turning back to the road. ‘yeah. just… missed you.’

you smiled, threading your fingers through his. ‘i missed you too.’

he let out a small breath, like he had been holding it in for weeks.

‘you’re really not leaving for a while, right?’

you bit your lip. ‘well—’

his head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash. ‘no. no way. you just got back.’

you laughed. ‘pablo, relax. i meant i have a few interviews and press stuff, but i don’t have to travel again for at least a month.’

he exhaled dramatically. ‘okay. that’s fine. i can work with a month.’

you rolled your eyes, leaning over to kiss his cheek. ‘you’re so dramatic.’

he just hummed, tightening his grip on your hand like he was scared you’d slip away.

when you finally reached his apartment, he barely gave you time to take off your shoes before he was pulling you onto the couch, dragging you into his lap.

‘pablo,’ you giggled. ‘let me breathe.’

‘no.’

you shook your head, running your fingers through his hair. ‘you’re like a clingy puppy.’

he just buried his face in your neck, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.

‘what was that?’

he sighed, voice muffled against your skin. ‘i hated not being there.’

you softened, tilting his chin up so he was looking at you. his eyes were darker than usual, serious.

‘you support me, pablo. even from miles away. i always feel you with me.’

he swallowed, looking down for a second before meeting your gaze again. ‘i wanted to be in the stands. wanted to run down to the court and pick you up when you won. wanted to kiss you in front of everyone so they knew you were mine.’

your heart ached.

‘pablo—’

‘i know your career is important. i’d never want you to give that up. but sometimes i wish things were easier. that i could just be with you all the time.’

you sighed, resting your forehead against his.

‘me too.’

his hands slid up your back, pressing you even closer. ‘promise me something?’

‘anything.’

‘next time you win a title, i’ll be there. no matter what.’

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips. ‘deal.’

he grinned against your mouth, flipping you onto your back so he could hover over you.

‘good. because i don’t plan on missing another match ever again.’

you laughed, pulling him down for another kiss.

home. finally.

Hiii!! I've been thinking about this for a while, and I feel like you're the best person to write it. Something where the reader and Kenan are getting involved, spending time together, but no one knows. They don’t follow each other on Instagram and try not to like each other’s posts so no one gets suspicious. She told him it would be the best way to avoid gossip since she’s the daughter of a famous retired football player and wants to keep things low-key. But after a night together, Kenan tells her he's tired of hiding, that he wants her at his games, and that he doesn't care about all that. Still, she keeps avoiding it. There's an important match in two days, and he really wants her to be there. Then, out of nowhere, her dad decides to visit and takes the chance to watch the game. She texts Kenan, telling him that his wish is coming true—she’ll be there, and no one will suspect anything. The game is amazing, and she ends up appearing on the big screen next to her father. Those images start circulating on football pages because everyone is fascinated by how stunning the ex-player’s daughter is. This brings a lot of attention to her, and suddenly, some bolder footballers start following her. Kenan does not like that…

I feel like there could be more to this, but I can’t think of an ending. I know you can turn this into gold!

❦ - hidden in plain sight.

summary:: what the req says + i honestly wouldn’t be able to tell u bc i didn’t proofread this and i wrote it like last week (idek if this even follows the req but im posting this otw to school?)

warnings:: uhhh none

writers note:: RIGHT so i think im people favourite kenan writer bc the reqs just keep coming (i love you guys pls don’t ever stop my cuties!) anyways enjoy 💔.

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

kenan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you slip one of his hoodies over your bare shoulders. it’s too big, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, but you wear it anyway. you always do. the early morning light filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow on your skin, making the moment feel softer than it really is.

you’ve spent the night together, again, but as always, you’ll be gone before the world wakes up. it’s your unspoken rule.

but something feels different this morning. there’s a weight in the air, something unspoken lingering between you. you can feel kenan’s eyes on you as you tie your hair into a loose ponytail, as you reach for your bag. normally, he lets you go without a fight. normally, he kisses you once more, watches you walk out the door, and waits for the next time.

but today, he doesn’t just let it go.

‘you really think this is still working?’ his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.

you pause, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. ‘what do you mean?’

‘this. us. hiding like this.’

you turn to look at him, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes, frustration, longing, something deeper than either of you have ever acknowledged out loud.

he steps forward, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. ‘i want you at my games. i want to see you in the stands, wearing my jersey, cheering for me. i want to go out with you without having to think twice about who’s watching.’ his fingers tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. ‘and i don't care who knows.’

your heart clenches, but you force yourself to shake your head. ‘kenan… you know why we do this. the second people find out, it won’t be about us anymore. it’ll be about my dad, about gossip, about every little thing i do. and then there’s your career-‘

‘my career?’ he scoffs, his jaw clenching. ‘you think i give a damn about what people say? i want you. that’s it.’

you look up at him, searching his face for something, understanding, patience, anything to make this easier. but all you see is frustration and something deeper, something that scares you.

‘kenan…’ your voice is soft, uncertain.

‘no. i’m tired of this, babe.’ his hands tighten on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away just like every other morning. ‘i want you there. i want you to be able to post a picture of us without thinking twice. i want to hold your hand in public without looking over my shoulder.’

you want that too. god, you do. but it’s not that simple. it’s never been that simple.

‘please,’ he says, voice lower now. ‘come to my game.’

you don’t answer. you just press a kiss to his jaw and step back, reaching for your bag. ‘i’ll see you later, kenan.’

he watches as you leave, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists like he’s fighting the urge to chase after you. but he doesn’t. he never does.

two days later.

you’ve been avoiding the topic. every time your phone lights up with kenan’s name, you hesitate before answering, knowing exactly what he wants to say.

then, out of nowhere, your dad calls.

‘thought i’d come visit for a few days,’ he says casually. ‘been a while since i saw you. figured we could catch up, and… oh, i got us tickets to that big juventus match. i know you don’t care much, but come on, it’ll be fun.’

your heart stops.

kenan’s game.

the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

when you text kenan, your hands are shaking, half from nerves, half from something else.

you’re getting your wish. i’ll be at the game. no one will suspect a thing.

his reply is instant.

finally.

match day.

the stadium is packed, the energy electric. cameras flash everywhere, fans wave banners, the roar of the crowd vibrates through your chest. you sit next to your dad, pretending this is just another game, just another night. but it’s not. you know it. and kenan knows it too.

you try not to look for him, but it’s impossible. every time he gets the ball, every time he makes a play, you feel his presence like gravity pulling you in. and then, in a moment so brief you almost think you imagined it, he looks up, right at you.

you don’t breathe.

he smirks. just for a second. just for you.

then the screen shifts.

your face. your dad’s. plastered across the big screen for the entire stadium to see.

your stomach drops.

your dad laughs, nudging your arm. ‘guess they like seeing an old legend in the crowd, huh?’

you force a smile, but your pulse is racing.

the internet moves fast. by the time the game ends, pictures are everywhere, sports pages, football accounts, gossip sites. ex-player’s stunning daughter spotted at big match. the comments flood in. admiration. curiosity. and then… attention. the kind you didn’t want.

your notifications blow up. blue check accounts start following you. some of them are footballers, bold enough to slip into your dms, dropping fire emojis, compliments, invitations.

and kenan?

he’s livid.

later that night.

you’re in your apartment when he shows up, not even bothering to knock.

‘so that’s what it takes for you to show up at one of my games? your dad bringing you?’ his voice is sharp, but underneath it, there’s something else. jealousy. frustration. something that makes your chest tighten.

you cross your arms, shifting your weight. ‘kenan, don’t—’

‘don’t what? act like i didn’t see how many guys suddenly started following you? or how you ignored my texts but had time to post?’

‘oh my god, are you serious right now?’ you let out a short, humorless laugh. ‘this is exactly why i didn’t want us to go public. the second people know, it becomes a thing.’

he steps closer, his jaw clenched. ‘this isn’t about people knowing. it’s about you acting like you don’t want to be seen with me.’

that hits harder than you expect. you open your mouth, then close it, unsure what to say.

kenan shakes his head. ‘you think hiding protects us, but all it does is push me away.’

you swallow hard, because deep down, you know he’s right.

‘you’re mine,’ he says, voice lower now, rough with emotion. ‘and i want people to know that. so tell me right now. do you want this or not?’

the answer is easy. it’s always been easy.

you step closer, press your hands to his chest, feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips. ‘of course i want this, kenan.’

his lips crash into yours before you can say anything else, months of frustration, longing, and unspoken words pouring into the kiss. he backs you against the wall, hands firm on your waist, like he’s trying to make up for every second he’s had to pretend you weren’t his.

when you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks. ‘good. because next time i look up in the stands, you better be there, and not because your dad brought you.’

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. ‘fine. but if i show up, i’m wearing your jersey.’

kenan grins, hands still tight on your waist. ‘now that’s what i like to hear.’

Hector fort taking care of reader who had her period unprepared and is embarrassed about it cuz her ex used to get mad at her for it?

Maybe?

Perhaps?

(Idk how to request if you didn’t notice already 😭)

❦ - unexpected but never a problem.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: nooooone? cussing i think…?

writers notes:: i love you anon you’re so cute i saw it and instantly wrote it you’re adorable! anyways im not very good w requests so i really dunno if this is what you wanted but i hope u love it nonetheless? gimme feedback yg i beg 💔. ALSO I HAVE NO JOAO REQUESTS GIMME SOME PLSSS

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

you realize it too late.

the uncomfortable dampness, the slight cramping you brushed off earlier, the way hector’s hoodie, his favorite one, now feels impossibly heavy around your waist as you tie it there in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence.

you should have known. you should have been prepared. but your cycle has always been unpredictable, and with how distracted you’ve been lately, school, work, trying not to fall too hard for the boy currently walking beside you - you weren’t paying attention.

now, you’re hyperaware. of every step you take, of every shift in fabric, of how you can feel it, and god, you don’t even want to check. you don’t want to know how bad it is.

but the worst part? you know what happens next.

or, at least, you think you do.

‘you good?’ hector asks, nudging your shoulder gently.

his voice is casual, light, but you can hear the underlying concern. you’re usually more talkative, always teasing him about something, and now you’re barely saying a word.

you swallow hard. ‘yeah. just… tired.’

he doesn’t look convinced. he studies you for a second, his gaze flicking to the hoodie tied around your waist.

then he stops walking.

‘okay, what’s wrong?’

your stomach twists. ‘nothing, hector, i just..’

‘nah, you’re acting weird. did something happen?’

the worry in his voice only makes the knot in your throat worse. but what are you supposed to say? hey, i just bled through my clothes, and i’m freaking out because my ex used to act like it was the worst thing in the world whenever this happened?

your silence lasts a second too long.

hector frowns. then his eyes flick down again, just for a second, before realization dawns on his face.

your heart pounds.

this is it. this is where he pulls back, where he sighs in frustration, where he makes some offhand comment about how you should’ve planned better. you brace for it, already shrinking into yourself, already fighting back the burning embarrassment

but then he’s shrugging off his jacket.

before you can react, he steps closer, wrapping it securely around your waist, completely covering the hoodie. he makes quick work of tying the sleeves, knotting them tight like it’s second nature.

your breath catches.

‘there,’ he says easily, tugging once to make sure it’s secure. ‘you wanna go home?’

you blink. ‘…what?’

he gives you a look. ‘you’re clearly not comfortable. we can dip.’

he’s not mad. he’s not annoyed.

he’s just helping.

you stare at him, your chest tight, emotions tangling together too fast for you to process.

‘you don’t have to do all that,’ you mumble.

he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘why wouldn’t i?’

you hesitate, fingers gripping the edge of the jacket now wrapped around you. ‘because it’s gross.’

his brow furrows. ‘who told you that?’

you freeze.

you don’t mean to react, but the words hit you like a gut punch. because you know who told you that. over and over again, in every careless remark, every sigh, every time he made you feel like something you couldn’t control was your fault.

and hector sees it.

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, before looking at you again, softer this time.

‘listen, i don’t know who made you feel bad about this, but that’s bullshit. it’s not gross, it’s not your fault, and you sure as hell don’t need to be embarrassed about it.’ he shakes his head, muttering, ‘like, how do you even get mad at someone for having a body? that’s insane.’

you let out a breathy laugh, small, but real.

hector smirks. ‘there she is.’

you roll your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosens. ‘you’re stupid.’

‘nah, i just have common sense.’ he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. ‘now, c’mon. let’s get you home.’

you don’t argue. you just squeeze his hand, let yourself lean into the warmth of him, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel ashamed.

Can you write a drabble/fic about Kenan coming to ask for your hand/your nikkah?

❦ - ‘and we created you in pairs.’

summary:: love is long, everyone knows but that’ll never stop kenan. your baba is a very stubborn man but kenan is always his favourite.

warnings:: none..?

writers note:: loving the islamic requests! i have another nikkah fic in my requests as well so i really hope you guys like it! and again ramadan mubarak 🤍. ‘and we created you in pairs.’ - al Qur’an 78:8.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan had never been afraid of big moments.

he had played in front of thousands, taken penalties under pressure, carried his team when they needed him most. but standing outside your family’s home, palms damp and heart hammering in his chest, he felt something different. this wasn’t a match he could win with skill or speed. this was about sincerity, about proving himself in a way that no game ever could.

he inhaled deeply, exhaling a quiet bismillah before knocking on the door.

when your father answered, his expression was unreadable. kenan greeted him with a steady assalamu alaikum, the words feeling heavier than usual, like a bridge between where he stood and where he hoped to be.

your father stepped aside, letting him in without a word. kenan had been here before, but this time, everything felt different. the walls seemed taller, the space between the seats in the living room wider. your mother sat beside your father, her face softer, but still expectant.

he knew what they were waiting for.

so he sat with his back straight, hands resting on his knees, and met your father’s gaze.

‘i want to ask for her hand in marriage,’ he said, voice unwavering.

there was no point in hesitation. no point in dancing around it. he was here to be clear, to be honest, to ask for something he already knew in his heart was meant for him.

your father studied him, his silence pressing down on the room like a weight. then he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

‘why?’ he asked.

kenan had prepared for this, had thought of every possible way to explain how much he loved you, how much he respected you, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. but now, sitting here, words felt too small.

‘because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,’ he said, and the truth of it settled in his chest. ‘because she makes me a better man. because i want to build something real with her, something that pleases Allah, something that lasts. i want to protect her, support her, and never let her question how much she’s loved and valued.’

he didn’t look away. he let every word settle between them, let your father see the sincerity in his eyes.

your mother glanced at your father then, something unspoken passing between them. kenan caught the slight shift in your father’s posture, the way his fingers tapped against his knee as if weighing his next words.

‘this is a big responsibility,’ he finally said.

kenan nodded. ‘i know. and i’m ready for it.’

your father exhaled, long and slow. then he sat back, folding his arms. ‘a husband isn’t just someone who provides. he leads. he protects. he sacrifices. you say you’re ready, why do you believe that?’

kenan thought about all the things he could say. about how he had grown, how he had worked on himself, how he had prayed for this moment, for you. but instead, he spoke simply.

‘because loving her is easy. but making sure she’s loved the way she deserves, that’s the real work. and i’m willing to do it. every day.’

a silence stretched between them. it was your mother who smiled first, her expression warm, reassuring. your father was harder to read, his gaze sharp, searching. then, after what felt like forever, he gave a small, considering nod.

‘we’ll think about it.’

it wasn’t a yes.

but it wasn’t a no.

kenan let out a quiet breath, nodding in understanding. he knew this wasn’t something they would rush into. it wasn’t something they would take lightly. and he respected that, respected them for it.

but as he stepped out of your home, feeling the cool evening air on his face, he didn’t feel discouraged.

because he had taken the first step toward forever with you. and he would take as many as it took.

the days passed slowly. kenan kept himself busy, training, praying, waiting. he knew your family would take their time, that this wasn’t just about him but about their trust, their belief that he was the right man for you.

then, one evening, his phone buzzed.

a message from you.

come over. baba wants to talk.

he barely thought before moving, grabbing his keys, slipping on his shoes. his heart raced the whole way there, but his mind was calm. steady. whatever happened, he had put his heart on the table. that was all he could do.

when he arrived, your father was already waiting for him, sitting in the same spot as before. your mother was beside him, her expression unreadable. kenan greeted them both, sitting with the same quiet respect as last time.

your father exhaled, folding his hands together.

‘we’ve talked. we’ve thought about it. and we’ve prayed on it.’

kenan held his breath.

then

‘if she agrees, you have our blessing.’

relief hit him so hard he almost closed his eyes. he nodded, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat.

‘thank you,’ he said, meaning it more than he could ever express. ‘thank you for trusting me with her.’

your father held his gaze, and for the first time, kenan saw it, the shift. the acceptance. the quiet approval behind his eyes.

and then, from the corner of the room, he heard soft footsteps.

he turned, and there you were.

standing in the doorway, eyes warm, a small smile playing on your lips.

his heart settled.

this was it.

this was the beginning of everything.

Hiii, would you write for Trent Alexander-Arnold?

❦ - headlines.

summary:: a day in the life w your boyfriend.

warnings:: made up match (just to make my uncle happy?)

writers note:: idk if this is a question or request but here you are!! also magui blocked me on tiktok and i’m honoured bc her ego can’t match her sensitivity! 🤍

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

trent was always the first to wake up. it didn’t matter if it was a matchday, an off day, or the rare chance to sleep in, his body was wired to rise with the sun. most mornings, he would slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake you, and head downstairs to start his routine. but today, he stayed.

he turned onto his side, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. his arm draped over your waist, fingers brushing against the warm skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. outside, the faint sounds of liverpool waking up drifted through the window, but inside, everything was still.

‘why’re you so close,’ you huffed out a laugh, barely opening your eyes as you reached back, fingers carding through his curls. ‘we’ve been together for years, trent. thought the novelty would’ve worn off by now.’

‘never.’ his voice was low, a little rough, and you shivered when he pressed a lazy kiss just beneath your jaw.

it would have been easy to stay in bed all day, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, but trent had training. you knew the exact moment he realized it too, his sigh was deep, reluctant, his grip tightening like he could somehow hold onto time if he held onto you tight enough.

‘you don’t have to go,’ you said, knowing he absolutely did.

‘don’t tempt me,’ he groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. ‘slott would kill me.’

‘probably,’ you admitted, stretching your legs before sitting up. ‘but imagine the headlines. “trent alexander-arnold skips training for a lie-in with partner.”’

‘bit long for a headline, that.’

‘fine. “trent’s in love.”’

his eyes softened as he looked at you, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile. ‘always.’

you never got tired of watching him play.

there was something about the way he moved, the way he saw the game differently from everyone else. the way he took risks that no one else would, because he knew he could make them work.

tonight was a big game. liverpool vs. man city. the kind of fixture that made your stomach twist with nerves, even though you weren’t the one stepping onto the pitch.

you sat in the stands, surrounded by familiar faces, players’ families, friends, all of you bound together by the same tension. trent had looked good in warm-ups, sharp and focused, but you knew him well enough to sense the pressure sitting on his shoulders.

when the match started, city came out strong, pressing high, forcing liverpool deep. trent was everywhere, tracking back, winning duels, threading passes between the lines. then, in the 32nd minute, it happened.

the ball broke loose in midfield. trent took a touch, lifted his head, and saw the opening before anyone else did. a perfect switch across the pitch, straight to salah’s feet. in a flash, salah was inside the box, cutting onto his left foot and curling it past the keeper.

anfield erupted.

trent didn’t celebrate much. he never did unless it was something special. but his eyes found you in the stands, and when you blew him a kiss, he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

the game wore on. city equalized, then took the lead, but liverpool kept fighting. in the 85th minute, a free kick was awarded just outside the box.

your heart pounded as trent stepped up.

he took a breath, then struck the ball cleanly. it curled over the wall, dipped at the last second, and nestled into the bottom corner.

he turned on his heel, arms outstretched, letting the roar of anfield wash over him.

and then, without thinking, he ran straight to you.

he didn’t even hesitate, just climbed over the barriers and reached for you, his hands on either side of your face as he kissed you, hard, ignoring the cameras and the cheers and everything else.

when he pulled away, breathless, he grinned. ‘told you i’d make the headline.’

hiya!! could you write something for jamal Musiala about how you two being out and about in london, it’s a relatively warm spring day, you’re wearing a midi red polka dot dress, some docs paired with your miu miu ivy bag with cute charms on and jamal was wearing green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic tshirt, his go to black Nike cortez and a surpreme cap. You’re both wearing your matching jewelry (rosequartz bracelet) . His arm never leaves your waist, you’re snuggled into each other while walking and laughing about silly stuff your talking about or seeing on the street. You then go in for a kiss but his cap is in the way so he puts it on backwards, looking even more handsome, something about that backward cap is doing something to you, you quite frankly can’t stop staring and kissing him. in the middle of one kiss you’re getting interrupted by fans who want to take a picture, kindly accepting their request. You both have swollen and red lips from kissing and the most love sick smiles on your faces. Paparazzi and the internet goes crazy over you two.

Thank you :)

❦ - london days.

summary:: req says enough

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: idek what to say atp bro but it’s a cute concept i love it & also idk what happened but this didn’t save so this is rushed now

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the sun was shining brightly in london, a soft warmth filling the air as you strolled down the busy streets, hand in hand with jamal. it was one of those rare spring days where the warmth made everything feel light and easy. you couldn’t have asked for a better day.

you were both in your element, laughing, joking around, and just enjoying each other’s company. your red midi polka dot dress flowed gently around your legs as you walked, paired with your docs that added a little edge to your otherwise soft look. your miu miu ivy bag with its cute little charms swung lightly with every step. jamal, as always, looked effortlessly good. he was wearing his green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic t-shirt, and his usual black nike cortez. his supreme cap sat snugly on his head, completing the look.

but what made it all better was the way his arm never left your waist, how close he kept you, the way he pulled you into him like it was second nature. it was easy, familiar, like the most natural thing in the world.

‘you know,’ jamal said, a laugh in his voice, ‘i swear that guy just tried to sell me a “limited edition” air max for 500 pounds. i told him they weren’t even real’

you burst out laughing at the way he imitated the vendor, shaking your head. ‘you’re too nice, jamal. if i were you, i would’ve asked for a discount’

‘hey,’ he grinned, pulling you a little closer, ‘i’ve got a reputation to keep up. wouldn’t want to look too gullible’

you snorted, ‘right, right, so instead, you’re just gullible in a different way, got it’

he nudged you with his shoulder, his smile still wide. he made everything feel easy, like nothing in the world could go wrong as long as you were together.

as you turned a corner, the moment felt perfect. the streets of london were busy, but none of it really mattered. you were so wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world just faded into the background.

without thinking, you reached up to kiss him, but his cap got in the way, pressing against your forehead. he laughed, pulling back just enough to flip it backwards in one quick motion.

and something about that made you stop.

he somehow looked even better like this. the way the cap sat on his head, the effortless confidence in the way he adjusted it, your heart skipped a beat.

without thinking, you kissed him again, your hands finding their way to his face as he smiled against your lips. he kissed you back just as eagerly, his hands resting on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.

but then, just as you were completely lost in him, voices interrupted the moment.

‘excuse me, could we take a picture with you two?’

you pulled away, cheeks warm, lips slightly swollen. jamal looked at you, his expression just as dazed as yours, before turning to the fans with a grin.

‘of course’

they quickly snapped a few pictures, giggling and thanking you both. you tried to compose yourself, smoothing down your dress, though you could still feel the ghost of jamal’s lips on yours.

‘thanks for being so nice,’ one of them said, smiling as they walked away.

as soon as they were gone, you looked up at jamal. his lips were still a little red from kissing you, and his cheeks had a faint flush. he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

‘you okay?’ you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

he grinned, eyes soft. ‘yeah. just… getting used to this whole public couple thing’

you laughed, but you both knew it was true. the internet and paparazzi had already caught onto you two, and the pictures were probably spreading like wildfire. people loved the way you two looked together, how natural and real it seemed.

but none of that mattered. all that mattered was the way he was still holding onto you, how he wasn’t letting go.

you kept walking, still laughing, still holding each other close. the spring day had just gotten a whole lot better.