joaosnovia

Latest Posts by joaosnovia

are we being deaduzz 🥀 @n0vazsq

NO BUT THAT WAS A LEGIT QUESTION?

what does one do with such brainrot gems..

i just have to get these out, my inbox is drowning

@n0vazsq @joaosnovia

he’s so me

14/03/24 (📷 Mark Sutton)

JULES DOESNT EVEN REMEMBER WHY 💔

wtaf actually no just meme pics 🫳

do you look at them..? @barcapix

Bro someone needs to study the soccer to F1 girl pipeline. It’s crazy how so many girls (including me) loved soccer as a kid and then transitioned into the car racing space.

STOP BC THIS IS SO TRUE. personally, i was always a football girl growing up but i think what made me more into f1 is that f1 was always in the picture for me growing up! i went to my first grand prix when i was 2 or 3 i don’t remb but it was silverstone and i think that also influenced me 😭. but also since 2016/17, i’ve been atleast attempting to balance both sports but i deffo started liking f1 more than i used to in the last 3 years!

it’s been a hot minute since i read a joao fic i miss him wtf

𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤 - 𝙅𝙤𝙖𝙤 𝙁𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙭

summary: João always plays Call of Duty but his girlfriend is determined to distract him so she can ask him something

warnings: slightly suggestive

author's note: english is not my first language, divider from @sisterlucifergraphics

João's favourite videogame is Call of Duty, damn we are meant to be together

It was one of those peaceful days off, both me and joao were home with no commitments for the day, our plans were to just chill and relax. Yeah relax. If it wasn't for Joao's loud voice from the living room, he was playing Call of Duty and he was shouting various insults in portuguese. I went to the living room and i saw him laying on the couch with the controller in his hand and a concentrated look. Damn he didn't even see im standing right here, i had to do something.

I went up to our bedroom and changend into a pair of shorts and a white tanktop, then i went downstaris to the living room again. I walked straight to the couch and then i sat on Joao's lap.

He immediately paused playing, got up and wrapped his arms around my waist

"amor, what are you doing?" he asked giggling and putting his face in the croock of my neck

"nothing... i just wanna watch you play" i said with a small smirk

"fine" he sighed and laid again

He continued playing and i paid attention to what was happening on the screen, then i decided to distract him a bit: i started moving my hips just a little to create a bit of friction.

I saw him twitching his leg, my plan was already achieving the desired results.

After a while i moved again my hips, like i had to adjust myself on his lap. This time i heard him grunt a little but he continued playing. I had to get tough to distract him, so i started to gather my hair for a ponytail so my hips could move even more against his lap. This time actually worked, he immediately got up and stopped my movements with his hand on my waist

"are you trying to get me hard in the middle of the game?" he asked with a serious tone ù

"oh no, i just wanted to distract you a bit" i replied with an innocent smile

he lowered his face to level my neck and started kissing it "don't lie to me amor" he said with his tone low "tell me what you want"

i sighed and reluctantly pulled away a bit "i just want you to teach me how to play" i said flushing a bit, god why it was so embarassing?

Joao was taken back a bit "you acted like that just to ask me this?" he aksed

"yeah but... nevermind" i said as i tried to get up but his strong hold kept he sat

"no no amor, now you will stay here and i will teach you everything about ths ok?" he said in a sweet tone "don't be embarassed to ask me things like this again ok?"

Thus began the most boring 15 minutes of my entire life, don't get me wrong i like the game, but he was literally explaining me everything. When the explanation was over he told me to try and play. When the round was over he looked at the screen and stared at it in disbelief "amor, your score is just a few points below my usual and it's just your first round!"

I giggled, proud of myself "that's because is have a good teacher" and gave him a well deserved kiss

okay next, i js wanna laugh. okay so, were at a charity event or something, and im volunteering, helping hand out juice boxes, signing people in, keeping children from using cones as swords, that typa stuff. until FRANCO COLAPINATA shows up, he's js being annoying really, until shes had enough and YEET the juice box at his head, and then he's all nonchalant and shit like "UH HUH I DESERVED THATTT AHAHA" .... and then you can tell the juice box turned him on bc you can like tell he wants her, and thennn WEEKS pass, and he DM's her. "saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?” MUWUAHAHSNA

❦ - manzanas contigo.

warnings:: none, maybe cussing..?

writers notes:: pls send more franco/f1 reqs bc i loved writing this sm and hes so fun to write for!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs

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you don’t even want to be here.

the email had said volunteers needed, and your overly kind soul had said sure, why not, and now you’re seven hours deep into wrangling children hopped up on fruit snacks and sun. the charity event is cute in theory, music, booths, a little track set up for games, and a bounce house, but in practice? it’s a battlefield.

you’re stationed at the welcome tent, handing out wristbands and juice boxes and fake smiles.

your feet hurt. your shirt is sticking to your back. a toddler is crying because he dropped his balloon into a bush. and some guy just tried to cut the line because he ‘swears his cousin is already inside.’

you’re not proud of how close you came to smacking him with the clipboard.

but then, because life has a sense of humor, he appears.

franco colapinto.

and you know it’s him, because who else shows up to a local charity event in an alpine cap, looking like he walked out of a sports magazine and directly into your personal hell?

you glance up at the exact moment he’s brushing a curl out of his eyes, all casual and oops i’m hot and didn’t mean to beenergy.

he scans the crowd, sunglasses pushed up on his head, mouth curled like he already knows he’s being stared at. and of course he is. a group of teenage volunteers behind you are whispering, one of them literally smacks the other on the arm and goes that’s him. that’s that guy. the car one.

sigh.

maybe if you stay perfectly still, he won’t notice you.

but of course, you are not blessed with that kind of luck.

his eyes land on you. direct. intentional.

and he starts walking over.

great.

you busy yourself with the juice boxes, shuffling them around pointlessly as if they need organizing, as if you’re not seconds away from face to face contact with a walking headache.

‘so,’ he says, leaning against the table like this is his full time job. ‘what does a guy gotta do to get one of those?’

you glance up. ‘a wristband?’

‘nah. a juice box.’

you stare.

he smiles.

you hold one up. ‘take it and leave.’

‘whoa. feisty. is this how you treat all guests, or am i special?’

you blink. ‘i’ve been here since 6am. i have zero patience and less charm left.’

‘good thing i’ve got enough charm for both of us.’

you raise a brow. ‘that supposed to work on me?’

he shrugs, peeling the wrapper off a straw. ‘worth a shot.’

he doesn’t leave.

he just stands there, sipping slowly, watching you like he’s never seen anyone pass out juice before. his gaze trails across your face, not in a creepy way, just annoyingly observant. like he’s trying to figure out what kind of person signs up for this kind of chaos and doesn’t run away screaming.

you try to ignore him. you really do.

but then he starts helping. like… physically taking wristbands from your hand to hand them to kids, leaning way too close to read names off the sign in list, nodding solemnly at the parents like he belongs here.

and the worst part? people believe it.

‘you two are adorable,’ one lady says as she signs in her daughter.

you nearly choke. ‘we’re not—‘

‘thank you,’ franco cuts in, smiling like he just won an oscar. ‘we try.’

you give him a look. he winks. kill me, you think.

it gets worse when a small child asks for apple juice and franco picks one up, does a dramatic gasp, and goes, ‘apple! the superior juice. i like your taste, kid.’

you break.

you don’t mean to. you truly don’t. but something inside you snaps, and the next thing you know, you’re yeeting a juice box straight at him.

it arcs through the air with surprising grace, smacks him right in the shoulder, and bounces off harmlessly onto the grass.

a moment of silence.

he blinks.

then he laughs. hard.

‘okay,’ he says, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘i deserved that. i fully, absolutely, one hundred percent deserved that.’

you cross your arms. ‘you think?’

he’s still grinning as he bends to pick it up. ‘apple again. symbolic.’

‘you’re ridiculous.’

‘you like me though.’

you scoff. ‘i like peace and quiet.’

‘you’re blushing.’

‘i’m hot. it’s eighty degrees.’

‘you threw a juice box at me.’

‘you were annoying.’

he tilts his head. ‘admit it. it was kinda satisfying.’

you bite back a smile. ‘maybe a little.’

he grins, stepping back finally. ‘i’ll leave you to your cone wrangling duties. but don’t be surprised if you see me again.’

‘god help me,’ you mutter.

he strolls away, sipping the slightly dented juice like it’s champagne.

and yeah. maybe your heart is doing something dumb.

maybe you do glance up once or twice, wondering if he’s still watching you.

maybe he is.

you don’t expect to see him again.

honestly, you’d hoped the juice box incident would be enough to scare him off. but two saturdays later, at a completely different event, you’re there, collecting raffle tickets and babysitting the world’s most chaotic face paint station, and there he is.

franco colapinto.

wearing a hoodie this time. hood up. trying and failing to blend in, as if his stupidly nice smile and the way he walks like the world was made for him don’t give him away instantly.

you see him from across the lot.

he doesn’t even try to be subtle. just lifts his hand in a little wave and starts walking straight toward you like this is a planned reunion and not a complete surprise.

you look around. as if there’s someone else he could be greeting. spoiler: there isn’t.

‘you again,’ you say when he reaches you.

‘me again,’ he grins, pulling down his hood like he’s revealing a secret identity.

you sigh. ‘are you following me?’

‘you wish.’

‘so this is a coincidence?’

he shrugs. ‘or fate.’

you deadpan. ‘you’re insufferable.’

‘you say that every time.’

‘i mean it every time.’

he gestures around, like he’s settling in. ‘need help again? or do i have to earn my juice box rights this time?’

you narrow your eyes. ‘don’t you have a job?’

‘i do. it’s off-season. i’m thriving.’

‘this is how you spend your free time? crashing fundraisers?’

‘not crashing,’ he says, very seriously. ‘contributing. i donated five bucks to the bouncy castle. i’m basically a hero.’

you don’t laugh. you don’t.

okay, maybe a little.

he’s already rolling up his sleeves and jumping into whatever task you’re doing, like last time, and suddenly you’re stuck with him for three hours again.

he helps a little girl glue pom poms onto a paper crown.

he nearly gets paint on his nose and doesn’t notice.

he lets a five year old draw a blue lightning bolt across his cheek and calls it his new racing stripe.

and every now and then, he looks over at you like you’re the funniest thing in the world, even when you’re just frowning at a clipboard or trying to untangle a balloon string from a folding chair.

you pretend not to care.

you pretend really hard.

the third time is the worst.

mostly because… you kind of expect him now.

you’ve made the mistake of mentioning your volunteer schedule to a friend on your story. and it’s fine. really. except now, when you show up to the saturday pet adoption drive with a clipboard and a tight ponytail, you scan the crowd. like an idiot.

he’s not there.

you tell yourself you’re relieved. that you don’t need another afternoon of his smug little comments and stupidly good hair.

but you still keep checking.

twenty minutes pass.

an hour.

two.

he doesn’t come.

you keep busy. hand out flyers. try not to cry when a little dog named charlie gets adopted. organize leashes by size.

and you don’t look at the time more than seven times. promise.

at some point, you’re wiping your hands with a napkin behind the tent when your phone buzzes.

it’s a dm.

from franco.

you blink.

sorry i couldn’t be there today. doing actual job things. tragic.

you stare at it.

then another:

but saw apple juice earlier. still flinched.

and another:

still want to hang out sometime. even if you hit me with stuff. maybe especially because you hit me with stuff.

you can’t help it. your lips twitch.

you don’t reply right away.

you finish your shift. take the long way home. drink half a juice box you saved from the cooler, even though it’s lukewarm now.

and when you’re lying on your bed, staring at the message, you finally type:

you’re impossible.

three dots.

impossible but charming?

you:

debatable.

him:

you didn’t say no though.

you stare at your screen for a second too long.

then:

one coffee. you pay. no weird pickup lines.

his response is immediate.

deal. i’ll try to behave. no promises.

you tell yourself it’s just a coffee.

one coffee. thirty minutes, max. maybe forty five if he says something dumb and you need time to drag him for it.

it’s not a big deal.

except it is. because you spend too long picking an outfit. change your shirt twice. then change it again. then panic change it back to the first one and tell yourself to get a grip.

you meet at some small place he picked, half hipster café, half bookstore. it smells like cinnamon and old paperbacks. you hate how nice it is.

franco’s already there.

and of course he looks… stupidly good. hoodie, again. curls poking out. one hand lazily spinning his coffee cup. and that grin, that stupid boyish grin, when he spots you.

‘you came,’ he says, standing.

‘don’t sound so surprised.’

he does a little half bow. ‘welcome to the least boring hour of your life.’

you roll your eyes and sit across from him. ‘don’t flatter yourself.’

‘not flattering. manifesting.’

you try to look annoyed, but the truth is, you’re already smiling. just a little. traitorous.

you talk.

not about anything huge at first. just… dumb things. favorite drinks. worst airport experiences. why he thinks pineapple on pizza should be illegal (you argue passionately against this).

he tells you about crashing a go kart once when he was twelve because he was ‘trying to wave like a champion’ and forgot to steer.

you tell him about the time you accidentally walked into the wrong class and sat through fifteen minutes of astrophysics before realising.

he laughs with his whole chest.

and it’s easy. too easy. every time your fingers brush reaching for the sugar, it feels like something electric. every time he leans in a little, like he’s really listening, your heart stutters.

you should not be this into him. and yet.

you’re both halfway through your drinks when he goes quiet for a second, then says, ‘i almost didn’t message you.’

you blink. ‘why not?’

he shrugs, looks down, spins the empty cup between his hands. ‘i dunno. didn’t want to be annoying.’

‘you already are.’

he grins, but it’s softer now. ‘yeah, but like… in a cute way.’

you shake your head, but your cheeks are warm. ‘you’re such a menace.’

‘you threw juice at me.’

‘because you were asking for it.’

he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes on yours. ‘maybe i was.’

your breath catches. just a little. just enough.

you clear your throat. ‘you’re not smooth, you know.’

‘i don’t need to be. i just need to make you smile.’

you hate him.

you really, really don’t.

you leave the café two hours later.

two.

neither of you wants to say goodbye yet, so you walk. just… around. your shoulder brushes his once. then again. then a third time, and this time, it stays there. just for a second longer than it should.

he doesn’t let go first.

eventually, you end up back where you started.

he looks at you like he wants to say something. then looks away. then back.

‘can i see you again?’ he asks, soft.

you nod. and for once, don’t try to be clever.

‘yeah. i’d like that.’

the second date happens faster than either of you expect.

you’d planned to wait. play it cool. but then franco sends you a picture of a strawberry smoothie and says ‘looked gross. thought of u,’ and you end up laughing so hard in the middle of your kitchen that you just… cave.

you text him:
you free tonight?

he replies in literal seconds:
always. pick the time. i’ll teleport.

you meet again at the same café. but this time, he’s not already sitting.

he’s waiting outside. leaning on the wall. hoodie again, he really only owns five of them, he tells you later, and his curls are just barely damp from the light rain that’s started falling.

he sees you and that grin hits his face like clockwork. like he’d been saving it just for you.

‘you came,’ he says.

‘you say that every time.’

‘yeah, but like… every time you do, it messes me up a little.’

you pretend you don’t hear that part.

it’s darker inside. quieter. the same table’s free, but this time, you sit next to each other.

close.

too close.

he smells good. not in an obvious, cologne drenched way. it’s something warmer. shampoo and sugar and the kind of scent that lingers even after he leaves.

your knees touch under the table.

neither of you moves.

you talk again.

about bigger things this time. pressure. travel. burnout. he admits he sometimes feels like everything’s moving too fast, and he’s scared he won’t be able to hold on.

you nod. you tell him about how you fake confidence half the time. how sometimes you feel invisible until someone needs something.

he listens. really listens.

then says, ‘you’re not invisible.’

you blink. ‘okay?’

‘just saying. i notice you. always have.’

you laugh a little. ‘that’s creepy.’

‘yeah,’ he says, smiling into his drink. ‘but like… romantic creepy.’

you don’t mean to stay late. but time’s slippery around him.

by the time you realize it’s almost midnight, you’re both sitting outside the café, sharing a leftover pastry and watching the rain slide down the windows.

you don’t want to go.

he doesn’t want to say goodbye.

so he walks you home.

he stops outside your door.

you both kind of hover there. like two idiots waiting for someone to do something. say something.

‘this was nice,’ you say quietly.

‘yeah,’ he says, and then, softer, ‘i wanna kiss you.’

your breath catches.

he doesn’t move closer. doesn’t touch you. he just stands there, all warm eyes and soft voice.

you whisper, ‘then why don’t you?’

he grins. all teeth and nerves and too much hope.

‘cause the minute i kiss you, i’m not gonna stop thinking about it. and i want you to wanna kiss me back. like really want to.’

you stare at him.

he shrugs. ‘just being honest.’

you nod. heart in your throat.

then say, ‘next time.’

he smirks, already backing away.

‘i’ll hold you to that.’

you tell yourself you’re not waiting.

not waiting for a text. not waiting for a call. not waiting for the memory of him saying i wanna kiss you to stop looping in your head like some kind of cursed romantic ringtone.

but when his name flashes on your screen two days later, your whole face warms.

what if we didn’t do coffee this time?

you stare.

what do you wanna do then?

he replies instantly.

drive. music. idfk. i’ll bring snacks. you bring the vibe.

you:
so i’m the vibe?

him:
always.

he picks you up at 7:03.

he’s in a black hoodie this time, and his car smells like mint gum and the ghost of bad fast food. there’s a half eaten bag of crisps on the passenger seat, which he tosses in the back when you open the door.

‘you’re late,’ you say.

‘you’re early. time’s fake. get in.’

he drives like he thinks he’s in a movie.

one hand on the wheel. other messing with the aux. windows down. hair wind-blown and wild. he sings under his breath to every second song. raps to the third one badly. you don’t stop laughing the entire first hour.

you don’t know where he’s going, but you don’t care.

being next to him feels like its own kind of destination.

eventually, he parks by the water.

some random lookout. the city’s lights glitter below, far enough to feel small. the kind of view that feels too beautiful to deserve.

you sit on the hood of his car. shoulder to shoulder. knee to knee. the air’s cold, but not too cold. and everything’s soft. quiet.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

and then, gently, he says, ‘i think about kissing you a lot.’

you blink.

he keeps staring ahead, like he didn’t just drop a bomb. ‘not in a creepy way.’

you laugh. ‘do you always think you’re being creepy?’

‘only when i like someone too much.’

the words settle in your chest like warmth. like lightning.

‘franco,’ you say.

he turns.

‘kiss me.’

his eyes go wide. like for a second, he’s not sure if he heard you right.

then, slowly, he leans in.

he kisses you like he’s afraid to mess it up. like he’s been waiting exactly this long, and not a second less. soft, steady, sure.

and when he pulls back, he just rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you speaks for a minute.

you break the silence. ‘not bad.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘that’s it? not bad?’

‘seven out of ten. you’ll need practice.’

‘cool. guess i better keep showing up.’

you’re not sure when it shifted.

when the maybe turned into definitely. when the texting turned into facetime turned into mornings with your feet tangled under his on the couch. when the almost turned into always.

but now, here you are, franco at your door with a half-melted milkshake and a stupid grin, like he’s been thinking about this all day.

‘you’re late,’ you tease, taking the drink.

‘you’re still hot,’ he says, walking in like he lives here.

(he kind of does.)

you’ve been soft ever since the drive.

he kisses you now like he needs to. like he missed you, even if it’s only been a few hours. like kissing you is just a normal part of his day, something between brushing his teeth and ruining your kitchen by cooking you breakfast at 2 a.m.

sometimes, you wake up to his hand resting on your waist, his face buried in your shoulder. like his body forgets how to be without you.

you don’t say it. not yet. but you feel it.

you think he does too.

it’s been weeks.

weeks since franco colapinto got beaned in the forehead with apple juice and decided that was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

weeks since he dm’d you with that dumb message:
saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?

weeks since you said yes.

and now here you are, propped up on his couch, socks mismatched, face lit by the glow of a documentary you’re not watching, because franco’s lying with his head in your lap and he keeps dragging his fingers along your leg like he can’t believe you’re real.

‘what,’ you murmur.

‘nothing,’ he says. then, quietly: ‘just thinking about the juicebox.’

you snort. ‘again?’

he nods, sleepy and fond. ‘you threw that thing with intention. it was beautiful.’

‘you’re so weird.’

‘you’re the one who assaulted me with a children’s drink.’

‘you flirted with me for two hours while i was working.’

‘you looked hot with a clipboard. sue me.’

you roll your eyes. he reaches up, brushes your hair behind your ear.

‘you know i really did think about you every time i saw juice after that?’

‘you said that already.’

‘i mean it. i’d be in a store and be like… damn. i miss her aim.’

you swat him. he laughs. kisses your wrist.

later, when you’re brushing your teeth in his oversized hoodie, he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head.

‘should we save the juicebox?’ he asks, voice muffled in your hair.

‘what, like… frame it?’

‘yeah. put it above the bed. shrine to our origin story.’

‘you’re so dumb.’

‘dumb for you.’

you groan. he grins.

he still gets teased by his friends about the Incident.

he still buys apple juice ‘for the bit’ and lines the fridge with it like a threat.

but when he kisses you goodbye before his next race, all soft and slow like he’s imprinting it in his memory, he says:

‘thanks for hitting me.’

and you say,
‘thanks for being annoying enough to deserve it.’

and maybe, maybe, that’s just your love language now.

jules core

WHAT IS THIS VIDEO I’M HOLLERING

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.

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

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

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

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

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

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

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

franco.

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

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

you try not to stare.

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

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

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

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

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

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

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

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

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

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

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

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

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

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

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

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

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

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

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

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

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

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

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

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

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

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart does something stupid.

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

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

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

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

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

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

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

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

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

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

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

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

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

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

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

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

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

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

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

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart stumbles.

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

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

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

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

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

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

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

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

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

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

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

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

you say yes.

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

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

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

‘you asked,’ you reply.

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

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

but he’s soft. all soft.

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

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

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

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

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

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

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

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

just before you open the door, he stops.

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

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

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

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

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

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

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

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

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

the next morning, he texts you:

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

you type:

‘same. weird.’

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

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

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

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

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

it’s raining.

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

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

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

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

and you do.

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

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

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

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

you look at him. really look.

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

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

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

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

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

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

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

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

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

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

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

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

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

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

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

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

i love you and this might seem like a broad ask do feel free to skip but could you possibly do a post on just joao felix

ofccc! Thank you for requesting!

This is texts with João Félix!

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: a little brain rot 😛

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Losing my mind 'cause life’s a mess and I can’t catch up on the masterpieces my queens have been posting

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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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

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‘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.’

what do yall think abt franco x alonso!reader

“ur so pretty i almost forgot you colonized my country”

that’s so franco smh

ok but franco being obsessed with you (in a good way... I guess)

▪︎ franco, who fell for you the moment he saw you. when his eyes fell on you for the first time, he was ready to kill and die for you.

▪︎ you, with your beautiful face and gorgeous body. he doesn't see imperfections, he doesn't care. everything about you is so... perfect.

▪︎ franco, who stares at you with eyes full of love, they always shine when he's looking at you. he observes every detail; from your hair, its texture, to your nails. he loves your skin, how soft it feels under his fingertips; he also loves your voice and how it sounds when you say his name.

▪︎ franco, who loves cuddling with you whenever he has the chance. he loves that, every single time, you smile and take him in your arms, your perfume on his clothes, on his skin.

▪︎ franco, who loves talking about you with other people. he loves to tell them how amazing you are, how smart, sweet and loving. how his life is so much better since you said yes when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

▪︎ franco, who has tears in his eyes every time you look at him and tell him that he's the prettiest boy ever and that he's also the best thing life has given you.

▪︎ franco, who doesn't want to pressure you but he's already imagining an entire life with you.

▪︎ franco, who loves you so much that sometimes he thinks he will stop breathing. and there are also days in which he thinks that the love he has for you is a thousand times bigger than the love you have for him. but he doesn't care... he has enough love for the both of you.

▪︎ franco, who doesn't see that you love him as much. that he doesn't need to hold you oh so tightly, that you aren't going anywhere, that you want an entire life by his side too.

▪︎ franco, who is so obsessed with you that he can't see that you definitely feel the same for him.

i feel weird writing how reader and __ first met, Lowkey love doing already dating fics

so this is for all the people on my general taglist bc i’ve gotten rq for f1 fics and i need yall to lmk if you want to be added to that also lmk even if ur not on there @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli

Hi love I’m the one who requested the angsty Hector fic I just wanna say 🎤

YOU DID SO GOOD OMG THE ANGST??? YOU SHOULD WRITE MORE ANGST YOU WRITE IT SO PERFECTLY IT HIT IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES LIKE I LITERALLY CRIED WTH THE WHOLE FIC WAS SO GOOD LIKE I JUST KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE GOOD SO I KEPT DELAYING IT ITS LIKE 2AM I JUST FINISHED READING IT AND IVE HAD SUCH A TERRIBLE DAY THIS MADE IT A HUNDRED TIMES BETTER THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH FOR TAKING TIME FROM YOUR DAY TO BLESS US WITH THESE FICS 🗣💕💕

PLS WRITE MORE ANGST 😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

PLEASE I LOVE YOU AND IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST I FEEL SO BAD! and idk if it’s actually as good as people are saying it is bc i actually haven’t proof read or actually read it yet so i guess ill do that now😭 but thank you so much for requesting it bc istg it really broadened my mind on writing and w all the angst parts i was listening to frank ocean nd u also requested this when i was watching baby religiously so ofc i had to reference that a bit!

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

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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.