I Am In Love W This And You Ofc And Oh My Fuck Good Lord I’m Shaking Crying Throwing Up You’re A

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.

HELLLO TIS I

okay so no.1 the theme ate SO HARD??? im drooling and i am on my KNEES

anyhow here to req a joao fic !!

so like what if reader is a ballerina or figure skater and she obvs comes home with like cuts and bruises from training and comps and stuff and basically joao makes thee BIGGEST fuss over it

like it can be treated with time but no. that man will bring a whole medic bag to treat the TINIEST cut and will overreact to every single injury she has !

this is so shitty but i requested this to someone else *uhm uhm evelina uhm uhm* and she has NOT written it yet so i'm frolicking here

you can ignore this if you want bc the idea is shit but yeah idk i js wanted to req something

BYEYEYYE HAVE A GOOD DAY / NIGHT AND ILYYYYY <33

MWAHHHH

❦ - delicate.

summary:: well there isn’t much to summarise bro 💔.

warnings:: none?

writers notes:: first and foremost i love this req and im tryna make my fics longer but idk how to drag it on yk? but i think if somewhat figured it out! ALSO EVE I MANAGED TO DO IT BEFORE YOU 👅👅👅👅👅👅👅.

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

joão swore he almost had a heart attack the first time he saw them.

the tiny, angry red cuts littering your feet and ankles, some fading into soft pink scars, others fresh from your last competition. you had always told him ballet was tough, that it wasn’t just twirling around in pretty dresses, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched over his lap, casually scrolling through your phone like nothing was wrong. meanwhile, he was staring at your feet like they had personally offended him.

‘what the hell is this?’ he blurted out, his fingers hovering over one particularly deep cut near your ankle.

you glanced at him, unfazed. ‘what’s what?’

‘this,’ he practically whined, gesturing wildly at your feet. ‘why do you look like you’ve been fighting for your life?’

you snorted. ‘joão, relax. they’re just cuts from my pointe shoes. they’ll heal.’

‘heal?’ he repeated, horrified. ‘how long have they been like this?’

you shrugged. ‘i don’t know. it happens all the time.’

his jaw dropped. ‘all the time?’

you sighed, putting your phone down. ‘it’s normal, babe. every ballerina deals with it. my feet just need time to recover between competitions.’

joão wasn’t hearing any of it.

‘this isn’t normal. this is self-destruction. why didn’t you tell me?’

‘because i knew you’d react like this.’

he scoffed. ‘of course i’m reacting like this! you’re literally injured and acting like it’s nothing.’

you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch. ‘joão, they’re fine. it’s not like i broke something. they’ll be healed in a few days.’

but he was already shaking his head, carefully lifting your foot to examine it closer.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he muttered, brows furrowed in concern.

‘what would you have done?’ you teased. ‘wrap me in bubble wrap?’

he didn’t answer, which told you exactly what you needed to know.

you laughed, cupping his cheek. ‘you’re ridiculous, you know that?’

‘you’re the ridiculous one,’ he shot back, still frowning at your feet. ‘how can you just ignore pain like this?’

‘because i have to. it comes with the sport.’

he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

‘so what, you just suffer in silence?’

you bit your lip. ‘i wouldn’t call it suffering. it’s just part of the process. like how you play with bruises or minor sprains sometimes.’

joão blinked, then scowled. ‘not the same thing.’

‘it’s literally the same thing.’

he huffed, still clearly displeased.

‘okay, but do you at least take care of them? like, properly?’

you hesitated for half a second, and that was all the answer he needed.

‘you don’t, do you?’ he accused.

‘joão—’

‘unbelievable.’

before you could stop him, he was already up, marching toward the bathroom.

you sighed, knowing exactly what was coming.

he returned moments later with a first-aid kit, a determined look on his face.

‘babe, really?’ you groaned.

‘yes, really. you clearly need someone to take care of you since you won’t do it yourself.’

you rolled your eyes but let him take your foot in his hands. he was surprisingly gentle, his fingers light as he dabbed at the cuts with antiseptic wipes.

he paused when you flinched, looking up at you with wide eyes.

‘does it hurt?’

‘not really.’

his glare told you he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue. instead, he carefully applied ointment to each cut, blowing softly on your skin like it would somehow make the sting go away.

you watched him work, your chest tightening.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you whispered.

he glanced up, his gaze softening. ‘i want to.’

you smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

‘you’re a little dramatic, you know that?’

he snorted. ‘yeah? well, you’re a little reckless, so i guess we balance each other out.’

you laughed, letting him finish bandaging your feet.

when he was done, he pressed a kiss to each foot before meeting your gaze.

‘no more competitions for a while, right?’

‘not for a few weeks.’

‘good. because i’m making sure you actually rest this time.’

‘yes, doctor félix,’ you teased.

he smirked. ‘damn right.’

he pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he needed to keep you safe from the world.

you sighed, relaxing into him.

maybe having someone fuss over you wasn’t so bad after all.

but joão wasn’t done.

for the next two days, he treated you like you were made of glass. he wouldn’t let you walk barefoot around the apartment, claiming the floors were ‘too rough.’ he brought you socks, ice packs, pillows, anything he thought might help, even though you insisted you were fine.

‘joão, i can literally walk perfectly. i danced on these feet last week,’ you reminded him.

he scoffed, tossing you another pillow. ‘yeah, and look where that got you.’

‘oh my god.’

he followed you around, ready to catch you at the slightest sign of discomfort. if you so much as winced, he was at your side in seconds.

‘are you okay?’

‘joão, i stubbed my toe.’

‘that’s how it starts!’

you groaned, shoving his face away.

but as much as he annoyed you, you knew it came from love.

late at night, when you were curled up in bed, he would trace the scars on your ankles with gentle fingers, his touch barely there.

‘you work so hard,’ he murmured against your skin.

‘so do you.’

‘yeah, but i don’t bleed for it.’

you turned in his arms, brushing your lips over his.

‘this is what i love, joão, and i know you hate seeing me hurt, but it’s part of what makes me strong.’

he exhaled, pulling you even closer. ‘i just wish i could take the pain for you.’

you smiled, tucking your head under his chin.

‘you already do, in your own way.’

he kissed the top of your head, whispering, ‘always.’

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry the weight alone.

❦ - the alchemy

summary:: jamal wins bundesliga with his girl by his side.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: expect this series to be done today!! bc these are concerningly easy to write esp when you have the idea clear in your mind! i was gonna make it that he won ucl as per @hearts4musiala request but i’m a culer so that doesn’t work w me.. 😔.

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

The stadium was alive with chaos, golden confetti falling like a storm, the roar of fans echoing through the Allianz Arena. Jamal Musiala stood in the middle of it all, his hands clutching the Bundesliga trophy, the weight of it almost surreal. This moment had been everything he’d worked for, dreamed of, but somehow it felt even better because you were here.

You watched him from the sidelines, beaming, your chest swelling with pride. He’d worked so hard for this. You’d seen every late night, every self-doubt he barely let himself voice, and every time he pushed himself beyond what you thought was possible. Now, as he stood at the center of glory, you could see it in his eyes, the quiet disbelief, the golden glow of triumph.

He found you instantly in the crowd. His eyes softened in the way they always did when he looked at you, like you were the only thing grounding him in the chaos. Without thinking, you pushed through the barriers, weaving past teammates and staff who barely noticed your presence in the delirium of celebration.

When you reached him, Jamal didn’t say a word. He pulled you in, one hand still clutching the trophy while the other found your waist, holding you tightly against him. His forehead fell to yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, the noise of the world fading into the background.

‘You did it,’ you whispered, your voice catching.

‘We did it,’ he murmured back, his voice low and soft.

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. ‘This was all you.’

He laughed under his breath, pressing a kiss to your temple. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

You knew he meant it. The nights he’d called you after a bad game, the moments he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders; you’d been there. But this wasn’t about you. It was about him, about the magic he created every time he stepped onto the pitch.

‘Proud of you, Jam,’ you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

His smile grew, but there was something else in his eyes, something tender and unspoken. ‘Feels like alchemy, doesn’t it?’ he said.

You blinked at him, confused.

‘All the doubt, the pain; turning it into this,’ he explained, lifting the trophy slightly. ‘It’s like gold. It’s like… us.’

Your chest ached at the way he said it. At how easily he compared this golden moment to the love you’d built together.

You kissed him then, soft and fleeting, the kind of kiss that didn’t need words. The world cheered around you, but Jamal only kissed you back, as if this was the real win of the night.

And maybe it was.

❦ - is this a curse..?

summary:: you and your boyfriend sneak into the abandoned end of winter wonderland and you come across this alleged fortune teller who ends up making you two do side quests.

warnings:: none?

writers note:: this concept was honestly really old bc it was originally made in bangladesh when i visited an abandoned theme park so can’t lie bc i found the draft version in my notes app so i just fixed it up fast asf but yea hope yall like it bc i found it funny. joao is giving cave diver in this so i wouldn’t be surprised if he willingly went into the nutty putty cave by choice?

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

‘are you sure this place isn’t haunted?' you asked, eyeing the flickering carnival sign overhead.

'only one way to find out,' joão grinned, pulling you forward. the fairgrounds were technically closed, but a gate left half open practically invited mischief. and you, against better judgment, followed him in.

'if a clown jumps out, i’m drop kicking it,' you muttered.

'noted,' he laughed, leading you past rusted rides and empty food stalls. the air smelled faintly of popcorn and nostalgia, tinged with just enough creepiness to keep you on edge.

then you saw it: an old fortune-telling booth with faded gold lettering; madame lulu sees all.

'nope,' you said immediately.

'oh, yes,’ joão countered, already slipping inside. 'come on, where’s your sense of adventure?'

'buried under common sense,' you grumbled but followed anyway.

inside, it was dark, save for a single flickering bulb overhead. a mechanical fortune teller doll stared blankly from behind the glass. joão inserted a coin, and the machine whirred to life, spitting out a card.

he read it aloud: 'seek what’s lost, find what’s true. beneath the dragon’s gaze, waits a clue.’

you stared. '...is this a scavenger hunt?'

'looks like it,' he beamed. 'let’s go!'

'joão..’

but he was already out the door, dragging you along. beneath the dragon’s gaze turned out to be an old carousel with a dragon-shaped ride. underneath it? a tiny tin box with another clue.

'who set this up?’ you whispered.

'ghosts with a sense of humor,' he shrugged.

the hunt led you across the fairgrounds, through funhouse mirrors that distorted joão’s grin into something terrifying (‘nightmare fuel,’ you’d said, laughing), past a cotton candy stand where he tried to steal an old, hardened puff ('that’s a fossil, not food’), and finally, to the ferris wheel.

'this has final boss vibes,' you said, eyeing the rusted structure.

'only one way up,' he smirked. 'race you.'

'you cheat..’ but he was already climbing into a cart, pulling you in after him.

at the top, the city stretched out beneath you, lights twinkling in the distance. joão pulled out the final clue card, reading it quietly. 'sometimes, what you seek isn’t hidden; it’s been beside you all along.’

'corny,' you teased, though your heart did a weird little flip.

he looked at you, smile softer now. 'yeah... but kind of true.'

you glanced away, the view suddenly not as distracting as the warmth of his gaze. 'so, what was the treasure?'

'guess we found it,' he murmured.

and maybe you had. maybe it was the laughter, the chase, the stolen glances. or maybe, just maybe, it was him.

'next time,' you said, breaking the moment with a grin, 'we’re doing something less dramatic.'

'no promises,' he winked.

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

❦ - one wrong digit. part 2.

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

warnings:: none

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

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

part 1

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

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

and apparently, it lingers in his too.

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

weird how?

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

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

maybe that’s what makes this different.

there’s a long pause before he replies.

joão: do you want it to stay different?

your heart skips.

do you?

this time, the pause stretches longer.

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

facetime.

your stomach flips.

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

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

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

joão félix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘what?’ he teases.

‘nothing,’ you mumble.

he chuckles. ‘you’re bad at lying.’

‘shut up.’

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

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

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

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

he smirks. ‘so you do.’

you sigh dramatically. ‘maybe.’

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

you should’ve expected this.

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

but then, it stops being just at night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

joão gasps dramatically. ‘clingy?’

‘yes.’

‘you like it,’ he accuses.

you roll your eyes. ‘do not.’

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

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

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

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

and that’s the problem.

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

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

kenan yıldız headers

like/reblog if you save x

- requested!

and all of a sudden i’m in love w franco 1000x more than i was before??

Mi vida | FC43 x Reader

pairing . . . franco colapinto x rbr!driver!reader

summary . . . What's better than one chaotic F1 driver? Two! And that's the story of how you got together with your boyfriend, Franco

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none! story set few days before monza! cringe-ish (??) dialogue at the end?

faceclaim . . . girls from pin!

alexavia yaps . . . woohoo!! finally wrote a smau again and its for my boy franco!!! kinda short but yeah i made franco and y/n gen z pr nightmares!! hope yall enjoy it <3

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1, yourbsf and 2.3M others

yourusername look at my driver dawg he's losing this race Tagged: francolapinto

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maxverstappen1 he's in a williams

yourusername and?

maxverstappen1 him losing shouldn't be a surprise

francolapinto 😔

yourusername MAX DONT BULLY HIM

maxverstappen1 ill make sure to tell him sorry when i lap him

francolapinto what did i ever do to you max

maxverstappen1 say lewis is your idol

username1 i live for the rbr teammates and franco fighting

username2 raw. next question

username3 girl went to f1 and became a whole new person (cough franco terroriser cough)

yourusername i need to put him in his place, I AM the one with the redbull seat not him

username3 Y/NRPLIED HOLY SHIT

username4 praying for their pr managers

username5 i just know they made max's life a living hell

username6 i'm shaking for the interviews because i know y/n and franco will be menaces

username7 franco's f2 interviews and y/n's interviews now scream 'i will destroy your life'

username8 woah

username9 y/n please post more y/n

francolapinto who's that handsome man

yourusername me

francolapinto you can't be this beautiful

yourusername wow okay tell that to your next girlfriend because WERE DONE

francolapinto dont break up with me before my first f1 race ill ram you into the wall

yourusername ill crash in fp1

francolapinto noo mi vida youre so sexy pls dont die haha

yourusername forgiven 😊

username10 are we just going to ignore them breaking up in a comment section

username11 that happens like thrice every day just ignore them

username12 man i love them

username13 goats of f1 frrr

username14 theyre so iconic being the first couple in f1

username15 meow

username16 real

username17 screaming crying throwing up

username18 manifesting franco ends up in the points

username19 what about y/n??

username18 queen always ends up in the points

username19 mb mb

username20 franco calling her 'mi vida' MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS SHIT

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, bizarrap and 1.1M others

francolapinto life is hard (p12 in my first race) but at least mi vida got p8! and we did the track walk together 😊🫶 Tagged: yourusername

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username21 i REFUSE to believe franco typed that caption

username22 FRRR like its too innocent and peaceful

username23 their pr managers took over

username24 HOW IS HE SO PRETTYYYY

username25 my kind of love frrr

username26 no.1 couple argument closed

username27 sigh i wish i was a wag

alex_albon photo credits?

yourusername up my ass

francolapinto no mi vida only i can see up your ass

yourusername what he said

alex_albon tmi....

username28 theyre back!!!!

username29 i live for their chaos

username30 got me on my KNEES

username31 what id pay to be her

bizarrap ayyy ¿cuándo vas a hacer que nos veamos? (ayyy when are you going to make us meet?)

francolapinto pronto pronto (soon soon)

bizarrap dame una fecha exacta hermano (give me an exact date bro)

francolapinto cuando vienes al gran premio (when you come to the grand prix)

bizarrap vale vale (okay okay)

username32 I SEE THE AESTHETIC VISION FRANCO

username33 shes so pretty omgggg

username34 idk if i want to be y/n or franco

username35 holy shit hes gorgeous

username36 came here for franco stayed for y/n

yourusername woah youre so hot

francolapinto youre hotter

yourusername nahhh youre way hotter

francolapinto kiss me if im wrong but im hotter

yourusername then i wont kiss you because youre hotter

francolapinto fuck i didnt think of that

yourusername ill still kiss you just come over to my driver room

francolapinto 🏃🏃

maxverstappen1 should i be worried or....?

yourusername mind your business max

maxverstappen1 i'm the one who's going to here those disgusting noises not you

yourusername too bad

alex_albon i feel like i should be grateful its not happening in williams

francolapinto im here mi vida where are you i cant see you

yourusername im right here in the room??

maxverstappen1 WHAT IS FRANCO DOING IN MY ROOM

francolapinto shit wrong room

yourusername hurry up franco

francolapinto On my way!

maxverstappen1 let me leave the garage first

username37 man i love them

username38 HELP FRANCO GOING TO MAX'S ROOM???

username39 did max just expose them or

username40 i feel like im intruding reading the comments between them

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1, bizarrap and 2.8M others

yourusername haters wish they were on our level fr Tagged: francolapinto

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username41 if being in a parasocial relationship with them was a crime id be executed

username42 THE PICS??? EXCLUSIVE SUBSCRIPTION??? EXCUSE ME???

username43 how are they both so good looking

username44 the face card is INSANE

username45 I NEED THIS SO BADLY UGHHHHHHH

username46 STOP not the matching glasses

username47 need a boyfriend who will take me on bike rides while i wear my redbull helmet and he wears his williams helmet

francolapinto i dont want to see my beautiful face i want to see YOUR beautiful face

yourusername but youre so pretty how can i not put your face more than mine

francolapinto mi vida your face isnt even on there

yourusername yes it is

francolapinto its covered by that ugly helmet

redbullracing 🤨

francolapinto this one is ugly i like her own customised helmet

yourusername aww amor 🫶 i love your helmet and i love you

francolapinto i love you more

yourusername no i love you more

francolapinto no

alex_albon if you continue with this sappy stuff ill vomit

yourusername okay 'goodmorning baby'

alex_albon SHUT UP

yourusername oi francolapinto we found his weak spot

francolapinto lets get ready to terrorise him

yourusername bet

username48 if they need a third im always available

username49 i want to see mother and father but theyre more like mommy and daddy

username50 erm

username51 if my bf aint like this ion want him

alex_albon ill admit this is actually cute

yourusername thank you!!

francolapinto we're not cute we're hot

yourusername we're both tho

francolapinto true

alex_albon why'd you have to ruin such a beautiful and innocent moment

francolapinto life

yourusername WORDS 🗣️ 💯🙏❗

username52 legit can't decide who's better looking

username53 oh how i need this more than oxygen

maxverstappen1 franco doesn't how to play padel

yourusername he beat me

maxverstappen1 anyone can beat you

francolapinto don't bully her like that

maxverstappen1 or what

francolapinto brazil 2018 pt2

maxverstappen1 DONT YOU DARE

yourusername ok max thats it go stare lovingly at charles or idk

maxverstappen1 ???

francolapinto we all know max dont worry

maxverstappen1 ??????

username54 so um whens the wedding

username55 man i need me a francoyn relationship

username56 did they just confirm lestappen?!?!??!?!

username57 im sighing dreamily at these pictures

bizarrap ah so youre the girlfriend?

yourusername yes yes i am

bizarrap y'know i cheer for you and not franco because you get higher places

yourusername im flattered 😊

francolapinto this is a betrayal you should be cheering for ME only

username58 THE PICS.

username59 giggling blushing and kicking my feet

username60 when will y/n post more y/n sigh

francolapinto how are you so gorgeous

yourusername i should be asking YOU that

francolapinto mi vida you are the prettiest girl i have ever seen in my life and you call ME gorgeous?

yourusername fuck yes

francolapinto i love you

yourusername love you more

williamsracing

liked by francolapinto, yourusername, alex_albon and 1.3M others

williamsracing can you spot the odd one out? Tagged: francolapinto, yourusername

click to view all comments

username61 how to kms no borax no glue

username62 people DIED (i'm people)

username63 they haven't commented yet???

username64 ikk it's so weird

username65 they usually hop on after like 6 secs

username66 its not a want its a NEED

username67 MILF = man i love franco (and y/n)

username68 i just KNOW their kids will be BEAUTIFUL

username69 face card never declined

username70 and never will

redbullracing don't go stealing around our drivers

williamsracing im just the admin 😔

redbullracing me too 😔

username71 driverS????

redbullracing that was typo

username72 IS FRANCO GOING TO REDBULL??????

username73 redbull admin x williams admin

username74 the otp fr

username75 the lack of franco and y/n is concerning

username76 WHERE ARE THEYYYYYY

francolapinto add more photos of mi vida i want to see her beautiful face

yourusername i want to see YOUR beautiful race

francolapinto running

username77 there they are

maxverstappen1 admin why now i have to hear them make out for the next 3 hours

williamsracing sorry?

username78 3 HOURS???

username79 theyre more chaotic than we thought

username80 aww y/n looks so cute

yourusername shit where's franco i want to see his face

williamsracing we want to see YOUR face

yourusername oh...😊 admin you make me blush

francolapinto admin?

williamsracing im sorry pls dont kill me

francolapinto i wont just because you take photos of me for mi vida

williamsracing i love you y/n

yourusername love you too admin

yourusername and you too franco

francolapinto love you more mi vidaaa

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, bizarrap and 1.1M others

francolapinto to mi vida, the love of my life, happy anniversary to us and i love you forever Tagged: yourusername

click to view all comments

username81 deleting all my socials after this

username82 they are SOULMATES vro

username83 this screams 'forever and always'

username84 'mi vida' OKAY BRO BYE IM LEAVING THIS EARTH

username85 legit fairytale vibes

username86 imagine being this in love

bizarrap ¡enhorabuena a los dos! ¡que sean muchos más! (congratulations to you two! here's to many more!)

francolapinto gracias hermano, lo aprecio (thanks bro, i appreciate it)

yourusername gracias!! (thank you)

username87 the caption is from a song i refuse to belive franco wrote it

username88 i am JEALOUS, ENVIOUS, GREEN.

username89 poetry fr

username90 they ARE the main characters

username91 FRR like everyone else is just a side character

username92 alex play 'that should be me' by justin bieber

alex_albon congrats to you two! least favourite couple i know!

francolapinto thank you alex!

yourusername thank you!!!

alex_albon did you just ignore my statement

yourusername yes we chose to ignore it

username93 this is the kind of love ppl write books about

username94 STOP NOT THEM CONGRATULATING EACH OTHER ON THE RADIO IN THE LAST RACE

username95 if they break up then love isnt real

maxverstappen1 you two deserve it! take care of my little sister francito

yourusername MAX STOP

francolapinto will do

yourusername i love my life

francolapinto and i love you

username96 i just know they are each other's ride or dies

username97 where to buy a franco asking for a friend

username98 if i could id just take over one of their bodies to experience this love

username99 im waiting for the fics

username100 straight out of romeo and juliet

yourusername i love you so much, and ive did since forever. you are everything to me, i could never let you go. you deserve everything, mi amor

francolapinto youre my everything too, and im keeping you forever, no takebacks. if I deserve the everything, it’s only because you’re MY everything, mi vida. every star, every light, it all reminds me of you. te amo más de lo que las palabras pueden decir (I love you more than words can say)

yourusername STOP IM GOING TO CRY 🫶🥹 I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH

francolapinto I LOVE YOU MORE THAN EVERYTHING MI VIDA

fin.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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 😛

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

hector fort with a sassy/bossy girlfriend who is actually a sweetheart🥹 like yes she will make something out of nothing- but she also give the softest praise when she wants to?

❦ - my favourite player.

summary:: you’re hector’s sassy girlfriend (with kindness 😛)

warnings:: it’s like not a proper fic yk? it’s just a ton of scenarios but too long for headcannons idek atp

writers note:: IM SO INCONSISTENT W POSTING I NEED TO START POSTING THESE AS SSON AS IM DONE WRITING OMDS THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR HOURS.

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

hector fort never really knew what hit him when he started dating you. you walked into his life like a storm, sharp tongue, quick comebacks, and a look that could cut through steel, but underneath that bossy, sassy exterior, you were the biggest softie he’d ever met.

he learned that early on. like the first time you two went out and he showed up three minutes late. three.

‘oh, so you thought i didn’t deserve punctuality?’ you’d said, arms crossed, hip cocked to the side. ‘is that what we’re doing now, fort?’

he scrambled with apologies, cheeks red, swearing traffic was worse than usual. you just sighed, looped your arm through his, and murmured, ‘relax, i’m messing with you. but you are paying for dessert. non-negotiable.’

he never minded paying, especially when you’d grin at him over your ice cream, that spark in your eyes softening just a bit. and god, when you’d say things like, ‘you’re lucky you’re cute,’ it did things to him he didn’t know how to explain.

but it wasn’t just the teasing. it was how you supported him, how you believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. after that match he’d been kicking himself over for days, missed shots, sloppy passes, you cornered him in his apartment, hands on your hips.

‘hector fort, if you don’t stop beating yourself up, i swear—’ you cut yourself off, softened. stepped closer and cupped his face, fingers warm against his skin. ‘baby, you played so well. everyone has off days. i’m proud of you.’

he melted. every damn time.

sometimes, you’d get worked up over the smallest things, like when your coffee order was wrong. ‘how hard is it to do two pumps of vanilla, not three? i’m not asking for rocket science.’ you’d huff, glance at him, and when you caught him grinning, you’d roll your eyes. ‘...whatever. wanna sip?’

he loved that you’d fight anyone and anything, but when it came to him? you handled him with care. your bossiness wasn’t mean, it was protective. you demanded respect for yourself, for him, for the people you cared about. you were fire and warmth all at once.

and hector? he’d never been happier to stand in the middle of that fire.

it was in the little things, too. the texts before his matches, ‘score a goal for me, baby. or don’t. you’re still my favorite.’ the way you’d pull him aside after a rough day and say, ‘c’mere, let me fix your hair. you look like you fought a tornado,’ fingers gentle as you smoothed back his curls.

but nothing compared to the quiet moments. like when you thought he was asleep, and you’d whisper, ‘love you, y’know? so much it’s stupid.’ like he didn’t hear you. like he didn’t tuck those words away, holding them close on the nights he missed you the most.

hector fort knew you were a lot. sassy, bossy, dramatic. but god, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. because beneath all that, you were his soft place to land. his person.

and if you wanted to make something out of nothing, throw a fit over a late pizza delivery or a movie starting five minutes past the showtime? fine. he’d let you. hell, he’d stand right beside you and complain too.

as long as, at the end of the day, he still got to be the one you smiled at like that. the one you whispered those soft, precious things to when you thought no one was listening.

because you, with all your fire and sass and sweetness, you were everything.

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.

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