Latest Posts by joaosnovia - Page 3

i said i was gonna spam but i ran out of ideas so i'm gonna come back when i get more xx

take ur time bae i love you bro ur giving me life 🙏

i thought i'd spam you with reqs so you have like a lot of ideas to write idk

please delete them if they're bad or shitty or you just don't want to write them <33

no pressure at all pooks take all the time you need to write the ones you want <3

i'll try to make them like more on the fluffy side rather than romantic since i know youre fasting and it's ramadan for you !!

BYE I LOVE YOU IM HAPPY TO WRITE ALL OF THEM IVE BEEN SO OUTA IDEAS ATP AND I NEEDED THEM DONT DIE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE UOU

RIGHT. this is absolute blasphemy where are the joao fics at?? I SWEAR TO GOD yall are driving me insane like fym i have to write them MYSELF? excuse me. SO. send me joao requests if you wish because on god i’ve had enough of this nonsense 🤬. i miss when there was new fics every week like some of them were absolutely peak writing like i think ab that kiss me thru the phone fic every day #bringthatback 💔. @barcapix i love u pls don’t ever die bc i need you to make more fics b4 this flu sends me to heaven ❤️. OKAY LOVE YOU GUYS

Hector fort taking care of reader who had her period unprepared and is embarrassed about it cuz her ex used to get mad at her for it?

Maybe?

Perhaps?

(Idk how to request if you didn’t notice already 😭)

❦ - unexpected but never a problem.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: nooooone? cussing i think…?

writers notes:: i love you anon you’re so cute i saw it and instantly wrote it you’re adorable! anyways im not very good w requests so i really dunno if this is what you wanted but i hope u love it nonetheless? gimme feedback yg i beg 💔. ALSO I HAVE NO JOAO REQUESTS GIMME SOME PLSSS

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

you realize it too late.

the uncomfortable dampness, the slight cramping you brushed off earlier, the way hector’s hoodie, his favorite one, now feels impossibly heavy around your waist as you tie it there in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence.

you should have known. you should have been prepared. but your cycle has always been unpredictable, and with how distracted you’ve been lately, school, work, trying not to fall too hard for the boy currently walking beside you - you weren’t paying attention.

now, you’re hyperaware. of every step you take, of every shift in fabric, of how you can feel it, and god, you don’t even want to check. you don’t want to know how bad it is.

but the worst part? you know what happens next.

or, at least, you think you do.

‘you good?’ hector asks, nudging your shoulder gently.

his voice is casual, light, but you can hear the underlying concern. you’re usually more talkative, always teasing him about something, and now you’re barely saying a word.

you swallow hard. ‘yeah. just… tired.’

he doesn’t look convinced. he studies you for a second, his gaze flicking to the hoodie tied around your waist.

then he stops walking.

‘okay, what’s wrong?’

your stomach twists. ‘nothing, hector, i just..’

‘nah, you’re acting weird. did something happen?’

the worry in his voice only makes the knot in your throat worse. but what are you supposed to say? hey, i just bled through my clothes, and i’m freaking out because my ex used to act like it was the worst thing in the world whenever this happened?

your silence lasts a second too long.

hector frowns. then his eyes flick down again, just for a second, before realization dawns on his face.

your heart pounds.

this is it. this is where he pulls back, where he sighs in frustration, where he makes some offhand comment about how you should’ve planned better. you brace for it, already shrinking into yourself, already fighting back the burning embarrassment

but then he’s shrugging off his jacket.

before you can react, he steps closer, wrapping it securely around your waist, completely covering the hoodie. he makes quick work of tying the sleeves, knotting them tight like it’s second nature.

your breath catches.

‘there,’ he says easily, tugging once to make sure it’s secure. ‘you wanna go home?’

you blink. ‘…what?’

he gives you a look. ‘you’re clearly not comfortable. we can dip.’

he’s not mad. he’s not annoyed.

he’s just helping.

you stare at him, your chest tight, emotions tangling together too fast for you to process.

‘you don’t have to do all that,’ you mumble.

he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘why wouldn’t i?’

you hesitate, fingers gripping the edge of the jacket now wrapped around you. ‘because it’s gross.’

his brow furrows. ‘who told you that?’

you freeze.

you don’t mean to react, but the words hit you like a gut punch. because you know who told you that. over and over again, in every careless remark, every sigh, every time he made you feel like something you couldn’t control was your fault.

and hector sees it.

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, before looking at you again, softer this time.

‘listen, i don’t know who made you feel bad about this, but that’s bullshit. it’s not gross, it’s not your fault, and you sure as hell don’t need to be embarrassed about it.’ he shakes his head, muttering, ‘like, how do you even get mad at someone for having a body? that’s insane.’

you let out a breathy laugh, small, but real.

hector smirks. ‘there she is.’

you roll your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosens. ‘you’re stupid.’

‘nah, i just have common sense.’ he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. ‘now, c’mon. let’s get you home.’

you don’t argue. you just squeeze his hand, let yourself lean into the warmth of him, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel ashamed.

Can you write a drabble/fic about Kenan coming to ask for your hand/your nikkah?

❦ - ‘and we created you in pairs.’

summary:: love is long, everyone knows but that’ll never stop kenan. your baba is a very stubborn man but kenan is always his favourite.

warnings:: none..?

writers note:: loving the islamic requests! i have another nikkah fic in my requests as well so i really hope you guys like it! and again ramadan mubarak 🤍. ‘and we created you in pairs.’ - al Qur’an 78:8.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan had never been afraid of big moments.

he had played in front of thousands, taken penalties under pressure, carried his team when they needed him most. but standing outside your family’s home, palms damp and heart hammering in his chest, he felt something different. this wasn’t a match he could win with skill or speed. this was about sincerity, about proving himself in a way that no game ever could.

he inhaled deeply, exhaling a quiet bismillah before knocking on the door.

when your father answered, his expression was unreadable. kenan greeted him with a steady assalamu alaikum, the words feeling heavier than usual, like a bridge between where he stood and where he hoped to be.

your father stepped aside, letting him in without a word. kenan had been here before, but this time, everything felt different. the walls seemed taller, the space between the seats in the living room wider. your mother sat beside your father, her face softer, but still expectant.

he knew what they were waiting for.

so he sat with his back straight, hands resting on his knees, and met your father’s gaze.

‘i want to ask for her hand in marriage,’ he said, voice unwavering.

there was no point in hesitation. no point in dancing around it. he was here to be clear, to be honest, to ask for something he already knew in his heart was meant for him.

your father studied him, his silence pressing down on the room like a weight. then he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

‘why?’ he asked.

kenan had prepared for this, had thought of every possible way to explain how much he loved you, how much he respected you, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. but now, sitting here, words felt too small.

‘because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,’ he said, and the truth of it settled in his chest. ‘because she makes me a better man. because i want to build something real with her, something that pleases Allah, something that lasts. i want to protect her, support her, and never let her question how much she’s loved and valued.’

he didn’t look away. he let every word settle between them, let your father see the sincerity in his eyes.

your mother glanced at your father then, something unspoken passing between them. kenan caught the slight shift in your father’s posture, the way his fingers tapped against his knee as if weighing his next words.

‘this is a big responsibility,’ he finally said.

kenan nodded. ‘i know. and i’m ready for it.’

your father exhaled, long and slow. then he sat back, folding his arms. ‘a husband isn’t just someone who provides. he leads. he protects. he sacrifices. you say you’re ready, why do you believe that?’

kenan thought about all the things he could say. about how he had grown, how he had worked on himself, how he had prayed for this moment, for you. but instead, he spoke simply.

‘because loving her is easy. but making sure she’s loved the way she deserves, that’s the real work. and i’m willing to do it. every day.’

a silence stretched between them. it was your mother who smiled first, her expression warm, reassuring. your father was harder to read, his gaze sharp, searching. then, after what felt like forever, he gave a small, considering nod.

‘we’ll think about it.’

it wasn’t a yes.

but it wasn’t a no.

kenan let out a quiet breath, nodding in understanding. he knew this wasn’t something they would rush into. it wasn’t something they would take lightly. and he respected that, respected them for it.

but as he stepped out of your home, feeling the cool evening air on his face, he didn’t feel discouraged.

because he had taken the first step toward forever with you. and he would take as many as it took.

the days passed slowly. kenan kept himself busy, training, praying, waiting. he knew your family would take their time, that this wasn’t just about him but about their trust, their belief that he was the right man for you.

then, one evening, his phone buzzed.

a message from you.

come over. baba wants to talk.

he barely thought before moving, grabbing his keys, slipping on his shoes. his heart raced the whole way there, but his mind was calm. steady. whatever happened, he had put his heart on the table. that was all he could do.

when he arrived, your father was already waiting for him, sitting in the same spot as before. your mother was beside him, her expression unreadable. kenan greeted them both, sitting with the same quiet respect as last time.

your father exhaled, folding his hands together.

‘we’ve talked. we’ve thought about it. and we’ve prayed on it.’

kenan held his breath.

then

‘if she agrees, you have our blessing.’

relief hit him so hard he almost closed his eyes. he nodded, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat.

‘thank you,’ he said, meaning it more than he could ever express. ‘thank you for trusting me with her.’

your father held his gaze, and for the first time, kenan saw it, the shift. the acceptance. the quiet approval behind his eyes.

and then, from the corner of the room, he heard soft footsteps.

he turned, and there you were.

standing in the doorway, eyes warm, a small smile playing on your lips.

his heart settled.

this was it.

this was the beginning of everything.

https://www.tumblr.com/joaosnovia/776758335281168384/ykw-i-was-watching-a-video-of-gavi-walking-and-ive

Guys he just has bow legs 😭

it happens to a lot of footballers when they’re kids because when they’re having growth spurts and when their bones are still developing, there’s a lot of stress on their knees!

The action of kicking mostly uses the inside leg muscles, when can sometimes make an imbalance that can pull the knee joint inwards, which makes the shin bone to angle outwards/inwards!

(sorry for the physio yap 😭 long story short he’s alg but he has a higher risk of knee injuries and knee arthritis 😃)

LMAOOO IKKK I MENTIONED IT BC I SAW A TT AB HOW GAVI HAS REALLY FUCKED UP LEGS AND I JUST NEVER NOTICED IT @barcapix

Hiii, would you write for Trent Alexander-Arnold?

❦ - headlines.

summary:: a day in the life w your boyfriend.

warnings:: made up match (just to make my uncle happy?)

writers note:: idk if this is a question or request but here you are!! also magui blocked me on tiktok and i’m honoured bc her ego can’t match her sensitivity! 🤍

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

trent was always the first to wake up. it didn’t matter if it was a matchday, an off day, or the rare chance to sleep in, his body was wired to rise with the sun. most mornings, he would slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake you, and head downstairs to start his routine. but today, he stayed.

he turned onto his side, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. his arm draped over your waist, fingers brushing against the warm skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. outside, the faint sounds of liverpool waking up drifted through the window, but inside, everything was still.

‘why’re you so close,’ you huffed out a laugh, barely opening your eyes as you reached back, fingers carding through his curls. ‘we’ve been together for years, trent. thought the novelty would’ve worn off by now.’

‘never.’ his voice was low, a little rough, and you shivered when he pressed a lazy kiss just beneath your jaw.

it would have been easy to stay in bed all day, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, but trent had training. you knew the exact moment he realized it too, his sigh was deep, reluctant, his grip tightening like he could somehow hold onto time if he held onto you tight enough.

‘you don’t have to go,’ you said, knowing he absolutely did.

‘don’t tempt me,’ he groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. ‘slott would kill me.’

‘probably,’ you admitted, stretching your legs before sitting up. ‘but imagine the headlines. “trent alexander-arnold skips training for a lie-in with partner.”’

‘bit long for a headline, that.’

‘fine. “trent’s in love.”’

his eyes softened as he looked at you, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile. ‘always.’

you never got tired of watching him play.

there was something about the way he moved, the way he saw the game differently from everyone else. the way he took risks that no one else would, because he knew he could make them work.

tonight was a big game. liverpool vs. man city. the kind of fixture that made your stomach twist with nerves, even though you weren’t the one stepping onto the pitch.

you sat in the stands, surrounded by familiar faces, players’ families, friends, all of you bound together by the same tension. trent had looked good in warm-ups, sharp and focused, but you knew him well enough to sense the pressure sitting on his shoulders.

when the match started, city came out strong, pressing high, forcing liverpool deep. trent was everywhere, tracking back, winning duels, threading passes between the lines. then, in the 32nd minute, it happened.

the ball broke loose in midfield. trent took a touch, lifted his head, and saw the opening before anyone else did. a perfect switch across the pitch, straight to salah’s feet. in a flash, salah was inside the box, cutting onto his left foot and curling it past the keeper.

anfield erupted.

trent didn’t celebrate much. he never did unless it was something special. but his eyes found you in the stands, and when you blew him a kiss, he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

the game wore on. city equalized, then took the lead, but liverpool kept fighting. in the 85th minute, a free kick was awarded just outside the box.

your heart pounded as trent stepped up.

he took a breath, then struck the ball cleanly. it curled over the wall, dipped at the last second, and nestled into the bottom corner.

he turned on his heel, arms outstretched, letting the roar of anfield wash over him.

and then, without thinking, he ran straight to you.

he didn’t even hesitate, just climbed over the barriers and reached for you, his hands on either side of your face as he kissed you, hard, ignoring the cameras and the cheers and everything else.

when he pulled away, breathless, he grinned. ‘told you i’d make the headline.’

here’s mine? my handwriting is REALLY shit bc i’m in a moving car but whatever! anyways idk how long i’ve been an f1 fan bc i was lowkey born into it…?

tags:: (IM SO SORRY IF UN WANTED bc these are my only moots that haven’t done it yet!) @paucubarsisimp @httpsdana @hearts4musiala

I did the the f1blr 2025 introductory board by @lil-shiro (thank you lil neb)

Tagging, and with no pressure of course ! @blairdii @kolbalissh @shrimptiger @beabnormal24 @chamberkat @strwbrryfire @xxxdeerlordxxx @artchvies @girldriveroscar @isacksteban @finn95o @allphatauri @lain-at-the-gay-bar @disarmd @ellearts

i am screaming crying throwing up to the point words can’t describe my emotions in english bro. oh dios mío, esto me ha hecho querer sollozar porque necesito un hombre así, en realidad has elevado mis estándare 🤯 i’ve never seen a fic this good im flabbergasted you’ve made my day.

joao fic with he stays sober at a forge in italian club in milan, so reader can get drunk and he’s trying to take her home because she can’t walk straight but he’s struggling because he knows no italian at all (i also know your italian so thought this would be a good idea)😛

Milano & L'amore - João Felix

joao felix x fem!reader

sy: milan comes with its fun, but also its less appealing moments. tonight’s an example.

a/n: although i hate the abbreviation of the ‘mafia’ and even mentioning it i couldn’t think of anything else as a placeholder so💔 plus this is not proofread idk im tired so sozsoz for any mistakes ..

warnings: portuguese and italian and the use of alcohol

the bartender slides you another shot of tequila across the marble countertop, and you catch it surprisingly easy.

the club is a kaleidoscope of green and pink, the flashing lights sending you into a drunken void.

“another one?” your boyfriend, joão, comes up from behind. his aftershave is overwhelmingly strong, which makes you even more nauseous.

“yes, another one,” you mock, taking a swig.

the liquid burns down your throat, the addictive wave of alcohol scorching into your head. your slumped over the bar, barely sitting upright and the stool is nothing but a flimsy cushion underneath you.

“y/n, i think you’ve had enough for tonight,” joão tries to snatch the drink, but you slide it away.

“i decide when i have enough,” you counter, almost falling backwards but joão’s swift enough to catch you on time.

“really?” he scoffs. “your gonna play this game with me? you know this isn’t healthy.”

with a second gulp of your drink, you slam the glass down onto the table to look up at your sober boyfriend who looks merely amused.

“your always acting like this,” you lazily mumble. “always lecturing me at… parties.”

you mimic him whilst swaying your hands in the air. “no y/n you can’t drink this, don’t do that. come over here, don’t go there.”

joão looks at you with an jovial expression—in the way your still able to form a sentence despite the amount of churning alcohol pitting in your stomach.

“now,” you fist the glass up to his face. “stop being so boring and have some!”

his grin falters, now unimpressed. “i’ll pass.”

“we’re in milan joão!” you lazily squeak, pulling him down by his half unbuttoned shirt, faces now inches apart. “you need to have some fun.”

he pinches his nose. “yeah and you need gum.”

your smile is carefree, joyful. you sling your arms around the nape of his neck, littering sloppy kisses over his tanned skin.

“awh aren’t you the sweetest?” you mistake his comment for a compliment. “i’m so lucky to have you bebê waby.”

joão purses his lips, rolling up his sleeves. “c’mon, enough. we’re going home right now.”

as he tries to lift you up, you vividly protest.

“ey antonio,” you call to the bartender, using the first name that comes to mind. “don’t make him take me away! we’re friends, right?”

the bartender solely spares you a glance, continuing to pour drinks like he’s heard this exact situation play out a hundred times before.

before you can resist further, you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, swung over joão’s shoulder like a misbehaving child.

“joão! put me down this instant, traidor,” you yell, kicking your legs.

joão, clearly, has more strength than you will ever possess, when he doesn’t even phase at the wriggling your doing to try and escape.

“joão! estou faland—serious,” you babble. “this.. não é justo.”

any words that spring to mind, you voice, even if it was a mix of both english and portuguese. you still somewhat have a smidge of conscious left, and you use it to snatch a fresh glass of vodka from a passing waiters tray.

joão catches on, glancing up at you. “y/n, where did you get that from—no!”

your mid-sip, when he forcefully slides it from your grasp and tosses it into a nearby waste bin.

“what’s wine ever done to you?” you slur, poking him in the chest as he finally sets you back down outside the club.

“for starters, that wasn’t wine,” he corrects. “and second of all, it stole my girlfriend from me.”

your eyes widen dramatically. “you have a… girlfriend? oh, so when did you meet her, huh?” you gasp. “you’re using me.”

joão runs a hand down his face. “no, amor, i don’t have another girlfriend.”

there was in fact, no other girl, but obviously you had way too many to drink than he anticipated.

“hmm,” you squint at him like you’re trying to read his mind.

visibly stressed, he runs his fingers through his hair as he pulls out his phone for a taxi. whereas, your too busy playing with the buttons on his shirt to notice.

“joão,” you spout, reaching up to squish his face between your hands. “you’re so… handsome.”

he sighs deeply, gently prying your hands off. “obrigado, amor. now let me find us a taxi, okay?”

but before he can even look up from his phone, you gasp dramatically. “wait. wait. where’s my bag?”

joão’s heart nearly stops. “what?”

you twirl around in circles, patting your sides. “i had a bag. where’s my bag? joão, my bag—”

“anjo, hey look at me,” he says, firmly locking your shoulders down. “you didn’t bring a bag.”

“oh.” you pause. “are you sure?”

“yes, i’m sure,” he groans, raking a hand down his face, almost on the brink of having heart palpitation. “we have more important things to worry about. like getting you home.”

as if the universe is mocking him, not a single car is in sight. the street is presumably quiet, as it is almost 3am and most people are already inside the club or stumbling off in different directions.

the portuguese looks around desperately, until spotting a driver leaning against the streetlamp.

“come on,” he tugs on your hand. “let’s see if he’s free.”

but you, in your drunken wisdom, come to a halt and dig your heels into the ground. “wait.”

joão groans. again. “wait for what y/n?”

you nervously grab onto his wrist with your spare hand, and whisper (noisily). “what if he’s part of the mafia?”

he stares at you, blinking so fast that he hopes you’d snap back into reality. the mafia?

your confident in your conspiracy, staring back with all of the faint seriousness you had left. not that you had much tonight, though.

“y/n,” he erupts flatly. “he’s a taxi driver.”

you hiss. “that’s what they want you to think.”

joão closes his eyes for a long moment, breathing in so deeply like he’s summoning for any patience that god can offer him. then, his nostrils flare determinedly, and without another word, he drags you along.

the driver looks up as you approach “sì?”

“uh.. possiamo eh,” he gestures vaguely. “possiamo.. prendere un taxi?” (can.. we get a taxi?)

“dove vuoi andare?” the driver now turns to face you fully. (where do you want to go?)

joão blanks. well shit. did he really expect a local in milan to be fluent in english? luckily, he briefly understood what he’d said but knowing how to form a response was a new challenge.

“uh.. to our hotel?”

“quale hotel?” the driver gives him a pointed look. (which hotel?)

joão’s mouth opens and closes. of course he knows the name of the hotel. but right now? right now, when you were clinging to his arm and sputtering some nonsense about ‘dangerous italian gangsters’(?). his brain was fried.

for you, this is nothing short of in awe. “awh baby you sound so smart right now.”

“y/n, please.” he feigns.

the driver sighs, patience thinning. “l'indirizzo?”(the address?)

he quickly fumbles for his phone, trying to pull up the hotels location. his hands are full because of your constant swaying against him, always looking to grab his attention.

“joãoo,” you pout, pressing your cheek against his chest. “why is your heartbeat so fast? is it normally this fast?”

“um, no,” he presses his lips into a thin line, still struggling to get the location. you continue to ramble about something else, but ignores you.

after a painful few seconds, he finally grabs the address, showing it to the driver.

the man squints at the screen, then exhales heavily, like he’s deeply regretting taking this job tonight. but he nods. “va bene. venite.” (okay. come)

you snort. “look at you, my multilingual king.”

he helps you into the backseat, making sure you don’t hit your head in the process, before sliding in next to you.

when the engine starts, your head hits his shoulder, he cuddles you closer, his arm around your waist like a crafted seatbelt.

after a few beats of silence, you grumble. “you still love me after all this right?”

joão ushers a breathy laugh, resting his chin atop your head. “more than anything mi vida.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb

gang i’m 5’7 too 👅

tags:: @barcapix @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; SORRY FOR UNWANTED

@ mutuals rb this w how tall you are i wanna know

i’m 4’11

hiya!! could you write something for jamal Musiala about how you two being out and about in london, it’s a relatively warm spring day, you’re wearing a midi red polka dot dress, some docs paired with your miu miu ivy bag with cute charms on and jamal was wearing green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic tshirt, his go to black Nike cortez and a surpreme cap. You’re both wearing your matching jewelry (rosequartz bracelet) . His arm never leaves your waist, you’re snuggled into each other while walking and laughing about silly stuff your talking about or seeing on the street. You then go in for a kiss but his cap is in the way so he puts it on backwards, looking even more handsome, something about that backward cap is doing something to you, you quite frankly can’t stop staring and kissing him. in the middle of one kiss you’re getting interrupted by fans who want to take a picture, kindly accepting their request. You both have swollen and red lips from kissing and the most love sick smiles on your faces. Paparazzi and the internet goes crazy over you two.

Thank you :)

❦ - london days.

summary:: req says enough

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: idek what to say atp bro but it’s a cute concept i love it & also idk what happened but this didn’t save so this is rushed now

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the sun was shining brightly in london, a soft warmth filling the air as you strolled down the busy streets, hand in hand with jamal. it was one of those rare spring days where the warmth made everything feel light and easy. you couldn’t have asked for a better day.

you were both in your element, laughing, joking around, and just enjoying each other’s company. your red midi polka dot dress flowed gently around your legs as you walked, paired with your docs that added a little edge to your otherwise soft look. your miu miu ivy bag with its cute little charms swung lightly with every step. jamal, as always, looked effortlessly good. he was wearing his green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic t-shirt, and his usual black nike cortez. his supreme cap sat snugly on his head, completing the look.

but what made it all better was the way his arm never left your waist, how close he kept you, the way he pulled you into him like it was second nature. it was easy, familiar, like the most natural thing in the world.

‘you know,’ jamal said, a laugh in his voice, ‘i swear that guy just tried to sell me a “limited edition” air max for 500 pounds. i told him they weren’t even real’

you burst out laughing at the way he imitated the vendor, shaking your head. ‘you’re too nice, jamal. if i were you, i would’ve asked for a discount’

‘hey,’ he grinned, pulling you a little closer, ‘i’ve got a reputation to keep up. wouldn’t want to look too gullible’

you snorted, ‘right, right, so instead, you’re just gullible in a different way, got it’

he nudged you with his shoulder, his smile still wide. he made everything feel easy, like nothing in the world could go wrong as long as you were together.

as you turned a corner, the moment felt perfect. the streets of london were busy, but none of it really mattered. you were so wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world just faded into the background.

without thinking, you reached up to kiss him, but his cap got in the way, pressing against your forehead. he laughed, pulling back just enough to flip it backwards in one quick motion.

and something about that made you stop.

he somehow looked even better like this. the way the cap sat on his head, the effortless confidence in the way he adjusted it, your heart skipped a beat.

without thinking, you kissed him again, your hands finding their way to his face as he smiled against your lips. he kissed you back just as eagerly, his hands resting on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.

but then, just as you were completely lost in him, voices interrupted the moment.

‘excuse me, could we take a picture with you two?’

you pulled away, cheeks warm, lips slightly swollen. jamal looked at you, his expression just as dazed as yours, before turning to the fans with a grin.

‘of course’

they quickly snapped a few pictures, giggling and thanking you both. you tried to compose yourself, smoothing down your dress, though you could still feel the ghost of jamal’s lips on yours.

‘thanks for being so nice,’ one of them said, smiling as they walked away.

as soon as they were gone, you looked up at jamal. his lips were still a little red from kissing you, and his cheeks had a faint flush. he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

‘you okay?’ you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

he grinned, eyes soft. ‘yeah. just… getting used to this whole public couple thing’

you laughed, but you both knew it was true. the internet and paparazzi had already caught onto you two, and the pictures were probably spreading like wildfire. people loved the way you two looked together, how natural and real it seemed.

but none of that mattered. all that mattered was the way he was still holding onto you, how he wasn’t letting go.

you kept walking, still laughing, still holding each other close. the spring day had just gotten a whole lot better.

hi hello! do you write for kieran tierney? if you don’t feel free to ignore this. but if you do can i please request a one shot where they’re talking about the fact that kieran’s moving to celtic at the end of the season and if they’re at a place in their relationship where the reader would move with him and it’s all angsty? hurt/comfort maybe? have a great day!

❦ - moving on.

summary:: moving on is hard, especially when you’re expected to pick everything up and move. not everything goes to plan and life is the best example of that.

warnings:: i don’t think so…

writers notes:: never did i expect to be writing for him but ykw heck yeah 😍. anyways i love writing angst it’s my element i fear, others may disagree but i love it sm

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the apartment felt quieter than usual. the soft hum of the city outside and the distant buzz of your phone were the only sounds that kept you grounded as you stared out of the window. it had been a long day, and all you wanted was some peace. but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

kieran’s voice broke through the silence, though it was quieter than usual, almost uncertain. ‘i think i’m really going to go for it. celtic. end of the season.’

the words hung in the air, thick with unspoken tension.

you didn’t turn to face him immediately, afraid that if you did, you’d betray the way your stomach had twisted in response. you felt the air grow heavy with the weight of his decision. he hadn’t exactly asked you what you thought, but you didn’t need him to. you both knew what this meant.

celtic was his home. he’d always spoken of them fondly, of the pride in representing the club that had raised him, that had seen him grow into the man he was today. and now, after everything, after all the time apart, after the struggles, the ups and downs, it was finally happening.

the move.

your heart ached at the thought.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. ‘it’s... it’s a good opportunity, kieran. for you.’

it sounded almost dismissive, even to your own ears, but you couldn’t make yourself say anything else. because the truth was, a part of you was afraid. afraid that this was the moment that everything would change. that maybe you weren’t ready to let go of what you had here. or that, perhaps, you weren’t ready to follow him into this new chapter of his life.

kieran didn’t respond right away, and you finally turned to face him. he was sitting at the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on his phone. his shoulders were tense, but his face, his face was the same as always. the face that had smiled at you in countless photos, that had comforted you when things felt rough, that had been the one constant in your life for so long.

but now, it was a mask. a mask you weren’t sure you could break through.

‘you don’t seem happy,’ he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

you took a shaky breath, the lump in your throat growing with every second. ‘of course i’m happy for you. it’s celtic. it’s everything you’ve worked for. but... but what about us?’

the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. you didn’t want to be selfish, but you couldn’t help it. his dream was becoming a reality, and you... you didn’t know where you fit into that anymore.

‘what about us, kieran?’ you repeated, your voice trembling. ‘are we at a place where... where i should follow you? can we keep doing this long-distance thing? or is this the end?’

the question hung between you, thick with all the unsaid words that had built up over the past few months. you’d both been busy, so busy, between his commitments, your own, that the time together had become sparse. and with this looming decision, with the inevitability of his move to celtic, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

kieran was silent, his gaze falling away from yours. ‘i didn’t want to put that pressure on you,’ he said quietly. ‘i don’t want to make you feel like you have to come with me.’

‘but i’m not sure i’m ready to leave everything behind,’ you confessed, your voice cracking. ‘i’ve built my life here, kieran. my job. my friends. i can’t just pick everything up and go.’

his eyes softened, and he stood up from the counter, walking over to you slowly, carefully. when he reached you, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the few stray tears that had fallen.

‘i didn’t mean to make you feel that way,’ he murmured. ‘i’m not asking you to leave everything behind for me. but you’re part of my future. that’s not something i can just... walk away from.’

you blinked up at him, trying to process the gravity of his words. you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that you could make it work, that love could conquer distance, could conquer time.

but it wasn’t that easy. not when you were being pulled in different directions, your own future uncertain.

‘and what if this doesn’t work out, kieran?’ you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. ‘what if you go to celtic, and things change? what if we change?’

he closed his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of your question was too much to bear. then, with a slow breath, he replied, ‘i don’t have the answers. i don’t know what the future holds. all i know is that i want you in it. i want us in it. but i can’t ask you to follow me if you’re not ready.’

the silence that followed was deafening. you wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to reassure him that you didn’t want to lose him. but you also needed to be sure of yourself. you needed to know that you were making the right choice, for both of you.

‘kieran...’ you started, but the words caught in your throat.

he kissed your forehead gently, and you melted into him, allowing yourself the brief comfort of his touch. ‘whatever you decide, i’m not going anywhere,’ he whispered. ‘but i’m here for the long haul, and i need you to know that.’

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of his words, even if they didn’t fully ease the uncertainty in your heart. for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to breathe in the scent of him, to just be with him. you weren’t ready to make a decision, but you didn’t want to let go of what you had, either.

the future was uncertain, but in this moment, you had each other. and maybe that was enough to keep you going.

for now.

Helloooo can I request reader bringing home a stray cat and trying to hide it from Guille?

Thank u <3

❦ - sneaking around.

summary:: req pretty much explains it

warnings:: none, i think there’s cussing but idk

writers notes:: so i wrote this like 2 weeks ago and it’s quite lazy but i have HUGE requests to do so im really genuinely sorry bc this is the best you’re getting outa me esp w exam season 💔.

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

bringing home a stray cat had not been part of the plan.

you’d just been walking back from the store when you saw him, tiny, scrappy, and clearly in need of help. and maybe it was the way he meowed at you, or maybe it was just your soft heart, but before you knew it, you were sneaking him inside your apartment, carefully avoiding making noise.

there was just one problem.

guille.

your boyfriend, guille fernández, who liked animals but was very aware of how much responsibility they came with. and, more importantly, who had specifically told you, ‘don’t bring home any more strays.’

but this wasn’t ‘any more.’ this was just one.

‘alright, little guy,’ you whispered, setting the cat down gently in your room. ‘we just have to keep you hidden until i figure something out.’

he meowed up at you. loud.

‘shhh—’

‘shhh what?’

you froze. guille’s voice came from the hallway.

shit.

‘nothing!’ you called back, quickly grabbing a hoodie and draping it over the cat, who did not appreciate the gesture.

too late. guille stepped into the room, giving you a suspicious look. ‘what are you doing?’

‘uh—nothing?’

he squinted. ‘why are you standing like that?’

‘like what?’

‘like you’re hiding something.’

before you could respond, the smallest meow escaped from under the hoodie.

guille’s eyes narrowed. ‘no. no way.’

‘babe, listen—’

‘you brought home another stray?’

you gave him your best innocent look. ‘technically, he followed me.’

guille groaned, dragging a hand down his face. ‘we talked about this.’

‘but look at him!’ you pulled back the hoodie, revealing the tiny cat, who blinked up at guille like he was the most unimpressed thing on earth. ‘he’s cute, right?’

guille sighed, staring at the cat. ‘we are not keeping him.’

‘of course not,’ you agreed way too quickly. ‘just, you know, temporarily.’

guille gave you a long look. then, finally, he exhaled. ‘fine. but you’re cleaning up after him.’

‘obviously.’

‘and feeding him.’

‘of course.’

‘and i swear, if you name him something stupid—’

‘his name is fernando.’

guille groaned again, but when he thought you weren’t looking, you caught him scratching behind fernando’s ear.

you smirked. yeah. this cat was staying.

could you please please please write a cute fic about joão x reader and it’s like reader is graduating university or something but joão has a game so he can’t make it so then reader is annoyed at his but he ends up ditching his game for her🥺😫

love your writing so much!!!!

❦ - priorities.

summary:: atp i’m gonna stop summarising it bc the req is lit the summary 💔.

warnings:: none

writers note:: i’m not writing these in order i’m lit doing in in whatever’s easiest bc i have LOADS in my drafts that i need to finish but im setting it aside bc it’s ramadan

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the moment you saw the text, your heart sank.

joão: babe, i’m so sorry, but i can’t make it to your graduation.

you stared at your phone, reading the message over and over, hoping it would somehow change.

you knew this was a possibility. football was his career, his life, and sometimes that meant missing important things. but this? this wasn’t just anything. this was your day. the one day you wanted him there more than anything.

you: seriously?
you: joão, this is my graduation.

three dots appeared. then disappeared. then reappeared again.

joão: i know, amor. i hate this. but it’s an important game.

you clenched your jaw, shoving your phone into your pocket before you said something you’d regret.

fine. whatever.

if he wanted to put football first, that was his choice.

but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

you went through the motions, getting dressed, fixing your cap, taking photos with your family, but your heart wasn’t in it. the whole time, you kept thinking about how there should’ve been an extra seat saved for joão. how he should’ve been there, cheering for you, smiling at you with that proud look he always got when you accomplished something big.

instead, he was miles away, playing a game that would happen a hundred more times, while you only graduated once.

but fine. fine.

you weren’t going to let this ruin your day.

except.

when you walked onto the stage, shaking hands, accepting your diploma, when you looked out into the crowd, scanning the faces,

you saw him.

right there, sitting between your parents, looking slightly out of breath but beaming at you like you’d just won the champions league.

your steps faltered. for a second, you thought you were imagining it. but no—he was there.

your stomach flipped. your heart pounded. and then you had to keep moving, walking off the stage, back to your seat, your mind reeling the entire time.

he ditched his game.

for you.

after the ceremony, you found him before he could find you.

‘you’re insane,’ you said, staring at him.

joão grinned. ‘nice to see you too, grad.’

‘joão.’ you crossed your arms. ‘you had a game.’

‘yeah,’ he shrugged. ‘but you had this.’

your heart melted. ‘but your coach—’

‘will kill me? probably,’ he admitted. ‘but i don’t care. this was more important.’

and just like that, every ounce of frustration you’d felt earlier vanished.

because this was what mattered. not the missed game, not the schedule conflicts—just this. him choosing you.

so instead of arguing, you did what you’d been wanting to do all day.

you kissed him.

right there, in the middle of the crowd, with your diploma still clutched in your hand.

and when you pulled back, breathless, joão just smiled.

‘congrats, amor.’

What about the opposite of the short reader Gavi fic and instead one where reader is taller then him? Maybe she's teasing him by not letting him kiss her and then with this prompt "I'm your boyfriend and I demand that you kiss me"? Only if you want to though of course❤️

✮ Mujer Bonita - Pablo Gavi

pablo gavi x taller!fem!reader

sy: what the request says.

a/n: this was so great like as a tall girl myself we need a little more recognition so thank youuuu❣️(sorry if this is a lil short)

warnings: no!

heels or flats. boots or barefoot. did it matter?

one thing you found ridiculously adorable in your relationship with pablo, was the incredulous height difference between you two.

whenever you mention a height difference to your friends, family—anyone for that matter—they’re always quick to assume that he’s the taller one.

it’s a societal standard in any existing community, that a relationship only ‘works’ or ‘lasts’ if the guy has the superior height dominance, but you two had shattered that stereotype.

that’s what made it so special.

but, to your utter dismay, he couldn’t resist using it against you.

“pablo! are you ready yet?” you shout from the top of the stairs, adjusting the strap of your dress.

he mumbled something of a reply, the scuttles of his trainers squeaking against the polished laminate. you didn’t need to see if you could hear.

after thrashing some last minute essentials in your purse, you pursued down the stairs and find gavi infront of the mirror, in your hallway.

smoothing down his hair like usual, the unholy amount of fidgeting with the smallest strands of hair, that were barely visible to the human eye.

“i don’t think the fried baby hairs need styling pabs,” you walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder. “they’re too short to even stand up.”

he mutely mimicked the movement of your lips as you spoke, twisting and turning his head just as you always do.

“fried?” he paused mid motion, before his hazel eyes flickered up to meet your in the reflection. “that’s rich coming from someone who nearly cremated her hair trying to curl it last week.”

your jaw palpably dropped. “that was one time!”

“one too many,” he proudly smirked.

sassy for a man that merely reached 5’8.

“are you gonna continue using that attitude with me?” you playfully threaten him in which he steps back in mock fear, but you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

laughing under your breath, you turned toward the front door, but before you could reach it, you felt his hands grip at your waist.

pablo had pulled you back, his chin resting against your shoulder as he huffed dramatically.

“you’re doing it again,” he grumbled, skimming his hands along the matte material of your dress.

you bit back a smile. “doing what?”

“you know what,” his arms tightened around you. “everytime i try to kiss you, you act like i need a damn step stool.”

you chuckled, placing a hand over his. “it’s not my fault you’re short.”

“i’m not short,” he whined, pulling away just to step in front of you. “im actually, nationally, the average height.”

you snorted. “yeah for women.”

his mouth fell open slightly, as if offended, before he squinted at you. “you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“i know so bebé,” you boasted, and gave him a small tap to his chest. “somebody has to have humour in this relationship.”

pablo narrowed his eyes, straightening his posture and licking his lips. “i’m your boyfriend, and i demand you kiss me.”

you pretended to think about it, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “demand? where did you learn that word? from pedri?”

gavi huffed, exaggeratedly flinging his arms away from you like he was being physically repelled.

“dios mío,” he grumbled under his breath, tugging on his suit jacket as he was about to walk off. “i hate you.”

“hey,” you giggled, reaching for his wrist to pull him back. “i was just messing with you amor, don’t be so serious.”

the spaniard turned his head, followed by a roll of his eyes. “yeah yeah, i’ve heard that before.”

“ohh well if your going to be so dramatic about it,” you hummed, pulling him close to your body and resting your hands on the front of his shoulders.

but were you going to satisfy him so easily?

just to tease him one last time, you leaned down like you were finally caving in—only to pull away at the last second.

pablo groaned in frustration before finally taking matters into his own hands, gripping your face and pulling you down to meet his lips.

the height difference never mattered after all.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb

jealous kenan about his teammates finding you attractive and his rival team so he’s not playing good until the last bit and when reader comes down to the pitch she just gives her a hungry kiss to show everybody she’s takin

❦ - the love of italia.

summary:: kenan finding out that almost the whole of italy put him off his game by a lot, eventually motivating him to do better.

warnings:: none

writers note:: thing is, i wrote this as soon as i got the req (ages ago) before ramadan thinking that i’d be able to post it before then but life had other plans so khalas, the haram police can’t catch me because i wrote this BEFORE ramadan.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz was not having a good game.

it wasn’t because he was out of form, or tired, or struggling tactically. no, kenan was playing like shit because his mind was elsewhere. specifically, on you.

it had started before kickoff. you’d come to support him, looking effortlessly good in one of his old juventus hoodies, the sleeves hanging past your fingers, your hair falling just right. that alone would’ve been enough to distract him, but what really set him off was the way his teammates, and worse, the opposing team, had noticed.

‘so that’s your girl, huh?’ one of his teammates had asked in the locker room, nodding toward where you were chatting with some staff near the stands. ‘damn. didn’t know you were pulling like that.’

kenan had just given him a look.

then, during warmups, he caught some of the other team’s players also looking. one even had the audacity to say something to him as they passed.

‘number 10’s playing for more than just three points today, huh?’

kenan clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

from that moment on, he was done for.

it was obvious from the first whistle, kenan was off.

his passes were sloppy. his first touch was heavier than usual. he missed chances he’d normally bury without thinking. and every time someone from the rival team got near him, talking just enough shit for the ref not to hear, his blood boiled a little more.

‘what’s up with yildiz today?’ the commentators were already talking about it.

his coach was yelling from the sidelines. his teammates were trying to snap him out of it. but nothing worked. because every time he looked up, there you were, beautiful, perfect, and completely oblivious to the chaos happening in his head.

it wasn’t until the last few minutes of the game that something finally clicked.

it was still 0-0. they had one last attack. the ball came to kenan’s feet, and for the first time all game, his frustration sharpened into something useful.

he drove forward, weaving past defenders like they weren’t even there. everything else faded. the noise, the tension, the trash talk, it didn’t matter. all that mattered was getting this goal.

and he did.

a clean strike. bottom corner. unstoppable.

the stadium erupted. his teammates surrounded him, yelling, pulling him into hugs. but kenan barely reacted. his celebration was already planned.

his eyes went straight to you.

the second the final whistle blew, you made your way down to the pitch. you weren’t even thinking, you just knew you had to get to him.

by the time you reached the field, kenan was already waiting. his jersey was damp with sweat, his breathing still heavy, but his eyes were locked onto you like you were the only person in the world.

‘kenan, that goal—’

you didn’t get to finish. because the moment you were close enough, he grabbed you. one hand firm on your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck. and then he kissed you.

not just any kiss, a statement.

it was possessive, like he wanted to make sure every single person watching, his teammates, his rivals, the entire damn stadium, knew exactly who you belonged to.

you barely registered the cheers (and teasing whistles) from his teammates. all you could focus on was kenan, his body pressed against yours, the way his fingers dug into your waist.

when he finally pulled back, his expression unreadable.

‘you’re mine,’ he muttered, voice low enough for only you to hear.

your breath caught. but before you could even think of a response, he smirked, like he already knew the answer. like he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

and honestly? he was right.

Hii!! I just want to say that I'm absolutely addicted to your stories. Honestly, they've become the best part of my day, i get to escape the world for a bit. I hadn’t been able to find a book that truly hooked me, but your writing is simply incredible!! I’m completely obsessed ❤️❤️❤️

THANK YOUUUU ❤️!! you guys don’t know how much this means to me! every single bit of praise honestly makes my day. i love you all so much 🤍.

Can you do one of kenan liking reader who’s a family friend and can it be like reader is moving to Turin because she’s and influencer so she got a nice apartment and has to set up and kenan finds out by his mom and dad so he uses that to get closer to her (before he was shy) and then the end can be all you

❦ - match made in turin.

summary:: kenan has always had a crush on you but distance always held him back. you finally moved to turin, leaving a huge surprise.

warnings:: uhh none?

writers notes:: i have sm kenan requests i love it

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz had a crush.

a long, painfully obvious, yet entirely unspoken crush.

it had started when he was younger, back when you were just ‘a family friend’, someone he saw at gatherings, during summer vacations, or whenever your families crossed paths. back then, he’d been too shy to talk to you much. and even now, despite growing older, despite playing for one of the biggest clubs in italy, despite all the confidence he had on the pitch, when it came to you, kenan still found himself fumbling.

which was why, when he found out you were moving to turin, it was from his parents and not you.

‘did you hear?’ his mother had said over dinner, her voice casual, unaware of how her words would completely upend kenan’s night. ‘she’s moving here. got a new place and everything. apparently, she’s arriving next week.’

kenan, mid bite, nearly choked. he coughed, reaching for his water as his dad chuckled.

‘you alright?’ his dad asked, though the amused look in his eyes made kenan suspect he knew exactly what was going on in his head.

his mom continued, oblivious. ‘i told her to let us know if she needs anything. she’ll probably need help setting up the apartment.’

kenan was barely listening at this point. all he could think about was that you were moving here. to his city. for the first time, he wouldn’t have to wait for random family gatherings or holidays to see you—you’d be here, close, a part of his everyday life.

and maybe, just maybe, this was the excuse he needed to finally do something about this crush he’d been harboring for years.

when you landed in turin, you barely had time to breathe before your phone lit up with a message from kenan.

kenan: heard you moved in today. need help with anything?

it was unexpected. not that kenan wasn’t friendly, he was. but you’d always been the one to reach out first, the one to keep conversations going when he got quiet. this was new.

you: wow, look who’s being proactive.
you: but yeah, actually. i still have to set up some furniture.

his reply came almost instantly.

kenan: omw.

and just like that, you had company.

when kenan showed up at your new place, he looked different, not physically, but in the way he carried himself. he still had that soft awkwardness, the quiet confidence, but there was something else too. a kind of determination.

‘hey,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘so where’s the furniture?’

‘straight to the point, huh?’ you teased, closing the door behind him.

he only shrugged, fighting back a grin. ‘i’m here to help, aren’t i?’

you led him to the mess of boxes and half-assembled furniture in your living room. he took one look at it, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

and that was how the next few hours went, building, unpacking, and somewhere along the way, talking more than you ever had before. kenan was still the same, thoughtful, a little reserved, but now, he wasn’t hesitating. he asked questions, told stories, even made you laugh a few times.

it felt easy. natural. like this had always been the way things were supposed to go.

by the time the last piece of furniture was in place, the sun had set, casting a warm glow through your new apartment.

‘not bad,’ kenan said, surveying the space.

‘yeah,’ you agreed, stretching your arms over your head. ‘couldn’t have done it without you.’

he looked at you then, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between you. something that had been building for years but never fully acknowledged.

you smiled. ‘guess i owe you dinner or something.’

his lips twitched, as if he was fighting the urge to smile too wide. ‘i wouldn’t say no to that.’

you nodded toward the kitchen. ‘i think i have instant ramen.’

he laughed, shaking his head. ‘or we could go somewhere actually good.’

‘wow, okay, mr. fancy.’

he only shrugged, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. something that told you this wasn’t just about dinner. it was about something more.

and maybe, finally, you were both ready for it.

Hey I love your work can you please do a fic with Gavi were the reader is a professional tennis player and they are trying to get to watch each others matches but it's like really difficult. That would be soo cool. And maybe the reader is like Pedris sister or something. And he wants to see every match of her even if it's in halftime and their like dating since their 15 . Thank you

❦ - love && war.

summary:: you’re both supportive of each others careers but obviously there’s obstacles. matches, opens, you name it. that’ll never let it stop gavi though.

warnings:: no

writers note:: i feel bad for spam posting but in my defense they’ve been marinating in my drafts for honestly a while and i still have loads to write so bare w me! i keep on forgetting to post but @cherryloveshs & sometimes @barcapix has to keep me humble 💔.

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

dating pablo gavi was a constant battle, not because he made things difficult (well, maybe sometimes), but because trying to align your schedules was practically impossible.

you were both professional athletes, both constantly traveling, both juggling training, matches, and media responsibilities. it was hard enough keeping up with your own career, let alone finding time to see each other.

but somehow, against all odds, you’d been making it work since you were fifteen.

‘where are you watching from?’

the text came through as you were tying your shoelaces, preparing for your next match in a wta tournament in madrid. you barely had time to check your phone before your coach called you over, but when you saw gavi’s name, you quickly typed back.

you: i thought you had a game?

gavi: i do. but halftime is soon. i’ll find a way.

you shook your head, smiling. of course he would. gavi had a champions league match tonight, yet here he was, making sure he didn’t miss your game.

true to his word, at halftime, when the rest of the team was getting their tactics from hansi, gavi was on his phone, sitting at the very edge of the bench so no one could block his signal.

‘bro, seriously?’ ferran torres raised a brow, watching as gavi adjusted the brightness.

‘shut up,’ gavi muttered, completely focused.

pedri, sitting beside him, leaned over to glance at the screen. ‘what’s the score?’

‘first set just started.’

pedri smirked. ‘you realize you have a game to play, right?’

‘yeah, yeah,’ gavi waved him off, barely paying attention.

this was normal by now. every chance he got, whether it was in a hotel room after a champions league away match, or during team flights, or, apparently, at halftime, he was watching your matches.

because if he couldn’t be there in person, this was the next best thing.

but when he could be there?

gavi would move mountains to make it happen.

which was exactly how he ended up flying straight from a la liga match in barcelona to paris, just to watch you play in the french open.

he landed at the very last minute, wearing a hoodie pulled low over his face as he slid into the stands, next to pedri, who had made the trip as well.

‘you’re insane,’ pedri muttered, watching as gavi exhaled, still catching his breath from sprinting through the airport.

‘does she know you’re here?’

gavi shook his head. ‘not yet.’

he wanted it to be a surprise. and when you finally looked up after winning a crucial point, your eyes scanning the crowd, the second they landed on him, he knew you’d seen him.

your expression flickered between shock and something softer, something that made the entire exhausting trip worth it.

gavi didn’t care that he was running on barely any sleep. didn’t care that hansi was definitely going to have words with him when he got back.

all that mattered was this.

seeing you. supporting you. the same way you always supported him.

when the match ended, when you won, you barely had time to process it before you were running toward him.

pedri sighed. ‘madre mia, she’s coming.’

‘shut up,’ gavi said, already standing.

and then you were in front of him, sweaty, exhausted, but so fucking happy.

‘what the hell are you doing here?’ you demanded, out of breath.

‘watching you win,’ he grinned, his voice filled with pride.

you shook your head, laughing. ‘you’re crazy.’

‘for you? always.’

and then, despite the cameras, despite the entire stadium watching, you threw your arms around him, hugging him so tight it knocked the breath from his lungs.

but he didn’t mind.

because this, this chaotic, impossible, beautiful life you had together, was worth everything.

Kenan and reader are having their first date and he embarrasses himself 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

❦ - first date dilemmas.

summary:: first dates don’t always go to plan. and this was a clear sign of that. whatever, you didn’t mind it though, it was cute.

warnings:: istg imma delete this warning section bc there is rarely any 💔.

writers notes:: lemme start off by saying ISTG IM NOT HALF ASSING THESE. i choose quality over quantity all the time! so obvs the fics are gonna be quite short but i promise they’re good (well atleast i like to think they are?) anyways uhm i promise ill start posting longer ones bare w me! ALSO I HAVE SM FINISHED FICS JUST IN MY DRAFTS SO ILL BE POSTING A LOT TODAY.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan had been hyping himself up for this date all week. he’d picked out what he thought was his best outfit, practiced conversation topics in the mirror, and even watched a couple of rom coms for pointers.

but now, sitting across from you at a cozy little restaurant, his nerves were getting the best of him. he wanted to be smooth, charming, effortlessly cool, except he was pretty sure he was failing miserably.

the first slip up came when he tried to pour you a refill from the water pitcher. in his attempt to be casual, he misjudged the angle, and water sloshed over the rim of your glass, splashing onto the table.

‘oh—’ he grabbed a napkin, trying to mop it up quickly. ‘my bad. i, uh… i promise i don’t do this all the time.’

you smiled, amused. ‘so just on first dates, then?’

he groaned, but at least you were laughing. that was a good sign, right?

things smoothed out for a bit, and he actually started to relax. conversation was flowing, and you seemed to be having a good time. but then, as he was in the middle of telling a story, he gestured a little too enthusiastically, knocking his fork right off the table.

he paused, looking down at it on the floor, then back up at you. ‘you didn’t see that.’

you grinned. ‘oh, i definitely did.’

‘cool, cool, just checking.’ he picked up the fork, set it aside, and tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

by the time dessert arrived, he just sighed and leaned back. ‘okay, i think i just need to accept i’m gonna be at least a little awkward for the rest of the night.’

you tilted your head, considering. ‘i don’t know. i think it’s kind of endearing.’

kenan blinked. ‘wait. really?’

you shrugged, smiling. ‘yeah. it’s cute.’

for the first time all night, he was actually speechless. and, for once, it wasn’t because he’d just knocked something over.

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

❦ - attached by the arms.

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

warnings:: none!

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

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

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

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

the team noticed too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

https://www.tumblr.com/joaosnovia/775907548933013504/hi-could-you-write-something-where-the-reader?source=share

Now to this anon, with that much detail in the fic request you could've written that yourself. Just be talented and shy.

(I'm not the anon)

unfortunately i get requests like this all the time lmaooo! i don’t mind them sometimes they’re funny but i like long detailed ones. you’d be surprised bc i actually have a LONG request w an insane amount of detail in my inbox that im putting off because it actually scared me.. anyways yeah i honestly get them a lot and im glad people are noticing the long requests but in all honesty i really don’t mind 😭.

❦ - silent devotion.

summary:: quiet ramadan nights w kenan. ( @barcapix take notes habibi 💔.)

warnings:: uhh none!

writers note:: ramadan kareem to everyone who celebrates! may Allah make your fasts easy! my requests will be slower now that it’s ramadan i need to stay halal yk 💔. also do you guys call it suhoor or sehri bc i call it fothabala bc my dad is from bangladesh…? anyways enjoy 🤍!

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

you sat on the floor of the apartment, legs stretched out, back against the couch. the table was still cluttered with plates from iftar, but neither of you had bothered to clean up yet. the night felt slow, the air thick with the kind of quiet that only came after long days and empty stomachs.

kenan was next to you, his head tilted back against the cushions, a bottle of water resting loosely in his hand. his eyes were half lidded, exhausted but awake, the way he always was during ramadan. fasting didn’t seem to slow him down at training, but once he was home, you could see it, the weight of it, the way his body ached from pushing itself past hunger, past thirst, past exhaustion.

‘you should drink more water,’ you muttered, nudging his arm.

he huffed out a laugh but took another sip, just to prove a point. ‘you sound like my mother.’

‘well, she’s right.’ you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, watching as he rolled the bottle between his palms, lost in thought.

‘long day?’ you asked.

he nodded. ‘yeah. good, though. i felt sharp.’

you believed him. he never said much, never bragged, never complained. but you knew him well enough by now to hear what he wasn’t saying. the tiredness in his voice, the slight stiffness in his movements. the way he never admitted when it was too much.

‘stay up until suhoor?’ you asked.

he exhaled, considering it. ‘yeah. it’s easier that way.’

so you stayed. the two of you, sitting in the quiet, listening to the city hum outside. he tapped his fingers absently against the bottle, and you leaned your head back, letting the silence settle. neither of you needed to fill it.

ramadan nights always felt like this slow, heavy, still. but not lonely. never lonely.

YOU GET IT BRO WTF HAPPENED

ykw i was watching a video of gavi walking and ive realised how fucked his legs are like first of all i’m literally taller than him and second of all he walks like my granddad what has happened to the poor boy 💔.

STOP they are literally like ( ) I THINK ABOUT THIS DAILY. who did this to my sweet boy?? (ifykyk)

I know this is such a random request but this recently happened to my cousin and I just randomly thought of how joão would react to his partner accidentally losing her engagement ring around the house.

❦ - lost && found.

summary:: you were running errands in the house until you lost your ring.

warnings:: none?

writers note:: i looooove this! and stay tuned for the rest of my requestsss

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

you swore you had it on. you knew you had it on.

one moment, you were going about your day, doing little things around the house, folding laundry, making coffee, scrolling through your phone, and the next, your left hand felt oddly... light.

your stomach dropped.

'joão,' you called hesitantly, already frantically patting down the couch cushions.

he strolled in, freshly showered and still toweling his hair, oblivious to your rising panic. 'hm?'

'i, uh, i think i lost my ring.'

his face froze mid-sentence, towel dropping onto his shoulders. 'what?'

'my ring,' you repeated, heart pounding. 'i was just, doing stuff around the house, and now it's gone.'

joão blinked at you, processing, then immediately stepped into action. 'okay. it's fine. we’ll find it.' his voice was calm, but you could see the tiny crease forming between his brows.

'i swear i didn’t take it off,' you said, running a hand through your hair. 'i would've noticed.'

joão hummed in understanding, already lifting pillows off the couch. 'well, it didn't just vanish. let's retrace your steps.'

and so began the great ring hunt of the félix household.

joão took it very seriously. he checked under furniture, inside the sink drain (even though you swore you hadn't been near it), inside your shoes, every possible and impossible place. you had never seen him so focused, muttering little theories under his breath.

'maybe it got caught in a blanket?'

'did you check the pockets of your jeans?'

'what if it fell in the coffee machine?'

'why would it be in the coffee machine?'

'i don’t know! rings are small, amor!'

you tried to stay calm, but anxiety was creeping in. it wasn’t just any ring, it was the ring. the one joão had spent weeks picking out, the one he slipped onto your finger with that soft, lovestruck look in his eyes.

'maybe i'm not responsible enough to be engaged,' you mumbled dramatically, sinking onto the floor.

joão, who had just finished checking under the rug, turned to you with an exasperated chuckle. 'don’t be ridiculous.' he crouched in front of you, hands cupping your face. 'you lost it in the house. we’ll find it. and even if we don’t, which we will do you really think a missing ring is gonna change anything?'

you sighed. 'no, but..’

before you could finish, joão's eyes flickered to something behind you.

he reached over, plucked something off the floor, and held it up between his fingers.

your ring.

you gasped. 'where was it?!’

joão smirked. 'under the coffee table. you must have knocked it off somehow.'

relief flooded you as he slid it back onto your finger.

'you’re stuck with me again,' you teased, flexing your hand.

he grinned, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 'i was never worried about that.'

Do you think you can do R dragging joao to the shops with her?

❦ - retail therapy.. or not?

summary:: you dragged your boyfriend joao out shopping with you. despite all his protests he ends up enjoying his time.

warnings:: none.

writers note:: anyways so i’ve hired the amazing @cherryloveshs to make the moodboards for me bc she sent me diabolical requests so for the next 20 fics you’ll see the moodboards i told her to make for me 😍.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

you tugged joão’s hand, practically dragging him along the sidewalk as he trailed behind you, every step exaggerated like you were pulling him toward impending doom rather than just another store.

'come on,' you whined, glancing back at him. 'it won’t take long, i promise.'

he shot you a look, one eyebrow raised. 'that’s what you said at the last store,' he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, just that playful exasperation he always threw your way when you got him into situations like this.

'yeah, well, that store didn’t have what i was looking for,' you said, matter-of-fact, giving his hand another tug.

joão sighed dramatically, tilting his head back to stare at the sky like he was praying for strength. 'how many stores do you need to go to?'

'just this one,' you promised, fully aware there was a shoe store two doors down you’d 'accidentally' stumble into afterward.

he grumbled under his breath but followed anyway, fingers still laced with yours. when you stepped inside, he blinked at the rows of clothes. 'this place is huge,' he said. 'are we living here now?'

'only if you keep complaining,' you shot back, grinning.

joão immediately put on his most put-upon boyfriend face, shoulders slumping. 'if i die in here, tell everyone i loved them,' he said, loud enough that a nearby shopper snorted a laugh.

rolling your eyes, you started flipping through a rack. 'you’re so dramatic.'

'you brought me here!'

'you said you needed new jeans!' you reminded him.

'yeah, but i thought we’d pop in and out, not... whatever this is,' he gestured vaguely at the racks surrounding you. then, with a sigh that screamed long-suffering, he spotted one of those little benches near the fitting rooms and made a beeline for it. 'i’ll just... sit here and age gracefully while you look.'

'nope,' you said quickly, grabbing a shirt off a hanger and tossing it at him. 'you’re trying stuff on too.'

'why?'

'because you always complain about shopping and then end up loving half the things you try on,' you pointed out. 'don’t think i forgot last time when you acted like you were dying and walked out with three new hoodies.'

'hoodies are different,' he said, already examining the shirt you handed him. 'they’re... comforting.'

'uh-huh,' you deadpanned. 'go. fitting room. now.'

'yes, boss,' he grinned, shooting you a wink before disappearing into the changing room.

while he was inside, you grabbed a couple more things you thought he’d like, hanging them over your arm. you could hear the faint sounds of him grumbling about tags and buttons, which only made you smile.

'ready?' he called.

'let’s see it.'

the door creaked open, and joão stepped out, adjusting the sleeves of the shirt. you blinked.

'okay... rude,' you said. 'you’re not allowed to look that good after complaining this much.'

he glanced in the mirror, a slow smirk spreading across his face. 'not bad, huh?'

'get it,' you said immediately. 'no arguments.'

'thought you said you wouldn’t take long,' he teased. 'you’re the one making me try stuff on now.'

'yeah, yeah,' you waved him off, already scanning for a pair of jeans you thought would go with the shirt.

he laughed, heading back into the fitting room. 'this is payback for making you watch football highlights, isn’t it?'

'maybe,' you grinned.

a little while later, you both emerged with a couple of items draped over your arms, way more successful than joão had anticipated. as you headed toward the checkout, he leaned in and murmured, 'so... coffee after this?'

'of course,' you said. 'thanks for surviving.'

'barely,' he grinned. 'but i’ll need that coffee for recovery.'

'you’ll live,' you teased.

as you left the store, bags in hand and his fingers slipping back into yours, he glanced at you with a soft smile. 'you’re lucky i like you,' he said.

'oh, i know,’ you shot back, laughing as he bumped his shoulder into yours.

and despite all the whining, he never once let go of your hand.

MY SHAYLA 💔🫂

hi baby 😔

hey guysss since schools started again i’ll be quite slow on requests but i PROMISE to get them all done within the next 3 weeks! i didn’t expect to get this many but i love and appreciate every single one i receive so thank you for all the support and patience!! xx 🤍

Hii do u write for Marc Bernal or the Fernandez cousins (Toni and Guille)?

I love ur writing btw <3

❦ - the best kind of trip.

summary:: it’s 2am after a long day and you and marc decide to go on a random road trip.

warnings:: uhhhh none?

writers note:: okay so this isn’t really a req but i wanted to write for him to i took the opportunity!

the city buzzed outside, alive with distant laughter and the hum of traffic, but inside the apartment, it was warm and quiet. the kind of quiet that settled between two people who didn’t need to fill the space with words. you sat curled up on the couch, wearing one of marc’s oversized sweatshirts, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you scrolled through your phone aimlessly. the clock on the wall ticked past midnight, and the space beside you felt too empty. he had texted hours ago: team dinner, i won’t be too late, but as the minutes stretched into hours, your mind began to wander.

it was after one when the front door finally creaked open. you looked up, relief washing over you as marc stepped in, hair tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold. his smile was soft, a little sheepish.

‘hey,’ he said, voice low. ‘sorry i’m late. things ran longer than i thought.’

‘i figured,’ you murmured, unfolding from your spot. you crossed the room and slipped your arms around his waist, holding him close. he smelled like the night air and the faint hint of his cologne, something familiar that eased the tension in your chest.

‘missed you,’ marc whispered into your hair, arms tightening around you.

‘missed you too,’ you replied, voice muffled against his jacket. pulling back slightly, you reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. ‘you eat? i kept some food warm.’

he shook his head. ‘wasn’t really hungry. just wanted to come home.’

you smiled, fingers lingering against his cheek. ‘come on, let’s sit. you look exhausted.’

he let you lead him to the couch, flopping down beside you with a sigh. without thinking, you pulled a blanket over both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. he leaned into you, head resting on your shoulder as your fingers found his hair, combing through the dark strands.

‘these are my favorite nights,’ marc murmured, voice barely above a whisper. ‘just you and me. no noise, no cameras.’

‘mine too,’ you said softly. the television played something neither of you was really watching, casting flickering lights across the room. outside, rain began to patter against the windows, the soft sound filling the spaces between your breaths.

a comfortable silence stretched between you until marc spoke again. ‘wanna do something spontaneous?’

you glanced down at him, brow raised. ‘like what?’

he grinned, boyish and bright despite how tired he looked. ‘let’s go somewhere. right now. just get in the car and drive.’

you laughed, shaking your head. ‘marc, it’s two in the morning.’

‘that’s what makes it fun,’ he argued, sitting up. his eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘we don’t have to go far. just... get out of the city for a bit. clear our heads. what do you say?’

you hesitated, glancing toward the window where rain continued to fall in gentle waves. the idea was ridiculous, and yet, there was something irresistible about it. about him. ‘you’re impossible,’ you muttered.

‘but you love me,’ he shot back, grinning

‘unfortunately,’ you teased, grabbing your keys from the counter. ‘fine. but you’re driving.’

‘deal.’

twenty minutes later, you were in his car, the heater blasting as you sped down near-empty streets. marc rolled the windows down despite the chill, letting the rain-scented air whip through the cabin. you leaned back, watching city lights blur into streaks of gold and red. his hand found yours on the center console, fingers intertwining naturally.

‘this is crazy,’ you said over the music, wind tugging at your hair.

‘the best kind of crazy,’ marc replied, glancing at you with a grin that made your heart stutter.

you drove aimlessly, laughing as marc sang (badly) to old songs, stopping at a 24-hour gas station to load up on snacks. you found yourself giggling at the absurdity of it all, standing in a fluorescent-lit aisle at three a.m., marc holding up a bag of gummy bears like it was the greatest discovery of the night.

‘essentials,’ he said seriously

‘you’re a menace,’ you replied, tossing a bag of chips into the basket.

back in the car, you drove until the city fell away, replaced by dark roads winding through fields and trees. eventually, marc pulled over at a secluded spot overlooking a stretch of water, the surface rippling under the rain. he killed the engine, and for a moment, the world felt suspended, just the two of you in a bubble of quiet.

he got out first, grabbing the blanket from the backseat. ‘come on,’ he urged. you hesitated before following, shivering as the cool air bit at your skin. marc wrapped the blanket around both of you, pulling you close. your head rested against his shoulder as you looked out at the water, the sky beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn.

‘worth it?’ he asked softly.

you glanced at him, taking in the messy hair, the tired but content eyes. ‘yeah,’ you whispered. ‘worth it.’

he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. ‘told you.’

the sky bloomed with colors, pinks, oranges, soft purples, reflecting off the water in shimmering waves. marc held you tighter, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you in the moment. for a while, neither of you spoke, content to watch the world wake up around you.

‘this,’ he murmured after a long stretch of silence, ‘this is what life should be. just... us. no schedules. no pressure. just being.’

you nodded, heart swelling with affection. ‘i could stay like this forever.’

he chuckled. ‘careful, i might hold you to that.’

you tilted your head up to kiss him, slow and soft, the kind of kiss that spoke of quiet promises and late-night adventures. when you pulled back, his smile was lazy and content. ‘love you,’ he said.

‘love you more,’ you replied automatically.

‘impossible,’ he shot back, grinning.

the sun crested the horizon, bathing everything in warm, golden light. marc’s arms stayed wrapped around you as the world stretched out before you, vast and full of possibility. and in that moment, with his heartbeat steady under your palm and the future wide open, you believed that maybe, just maybe, you could stay there forever.