Jacked And Kind~João Fèlix

❦ - moonlight

summary:: it’s midnight in barcelona after the barcelona copa del rey celebrations after party and you and your lover are on the balcony, enjoying life.

warnings:: none

writers note :: so i’m gonna start a series of blurbs based off songs so lmk if u want any players based on any songs. also in my original version hector was smoking a cigarette but i realised its a bit much so i removed it 😔😔.

tags: @barcapix ; lmk if u wanna be added

The moonlight turns everything silver, but it’s the way Hector looks at you that makes the night feel magical. The two of you sit on the balcony, a half empty wine bottle between you. Below, the city hums quietly, but up here, it’s just the two of you.

Hector leans back in his chair. His shirt is undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, the sharpness of his usual demeanor softened by the glow of the night. He glances at you, smirking. ‘You’ve been staring at me for a while now.’

You scoff, raising your glass. ‘Maybe you’re just nice to look at.’

He laughs, the sound low and warm. ‘Careful, cariño. Keep saying things like that, and I might get used to it.’

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. Nights like this; quiet, intimate, unhurried, feel like a dream. ‘This doesn’t feel real sometimes,’ you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

‘What doesn’t?’ he asks, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

‘This.’ You gesture vaguely to the balcony, the moonlight, the way he’s looking at you. ‘Us. It’s too perfect.’

Hector leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.’

You laugh softly, your cheeks warming. Before you can respond, he stands and holds out a hand to you. ‘Come here.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Dancing’ he says, his lips curving into a grin. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared.’

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. There’s no music, just the faint hum of the city, but he doesn’t seem to care. His arm slips around your waist as he starts to sway, guiding you effortlessly.

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you say, resting your hands on his shoulders.

‘Maybe,’ he replies, pulling you closer. ‘But I’m yours.’

The world feels smaller now, reduced to the warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breath. You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat calming and steady.

‘You know,’ he murmurs, his voice soft, ‘you’re the only one who gets to see me like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like I’m just a man. Not a ghost, not a name people fear. Just me.’

You look up at him, brushing your fingers against his jaw. ‘You’ve always been just you, Hector. That’s why I love you.’

His lips find yours, the kiss slow and grounding, like a promise sealed under the moonlight.

‘Don’t let go,’ you whisper.

‘Never,’ he says, his arms tightening around you. And in that moment, you believe him.

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.'

can you make a story about Marc and reader, where he teases her about the height difference

❦ - short n sweet.

summary:: you didn’t choose to be short. but marc chose you. so therefore he can’t complain you’re short! but he does 💔.

warnings:: none!?

writers note:: lowkey gonna spam bc i always write my fics in my notes bc tumblr deletes drafts and i’ve written sm all i need to do is format 👅.

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

you weren’t even sure how the conversation started. one moment, you were waiting for him outside the training grounds, minding your business, and the next, marc was teasing you relentlessly about your height.

‘can you even see over the dashboard when you drive?’ he smirked, looking down at you as you both walked toward his car.

you rolled your eyes. ‘yes, marc. i don’t need a booster seat.’

‘are you sure?’ he nudged your side, laughing. ‘i can get you one, you know. i’ll even make it barca themed.’

‘oh, you’re hilarious,’ you deadpanned, shoving him lightly. it barely did anything, considering he was literally towering over you.

marc had been on this for weeks. every chance he got, he’d make some comment about how much smaller you were compared to him. it wasn’t even like you were that short, he was just unfairly tall.

‘wait, stand next to me for a sec,’ he said, stopping in his tracks.

you groaned. ‘marc—’

‘just for a second,’ he grinned.

you sighed but humored him, standing beside him as he straightened his posture. he looked down at you, then burst out laughing.

‘oh my god, i swear you’re getting shorter.’

you smacked his arm. ‘or maybe you’re just a freakishly tall human being.’

he ignored your insult, clearly enjoying himself. ‘i bet if we took a picture, people would think i’m your bodyguard.’

you gasped. ‘you did not just say that.’

he was dying of laughter at this point, barely able to breathe. ‘no, no, seriously. imagine me in a suit, standing behind you, all serious. people would think i’m protecting you from the paparazzi.’

you groaned dramatically. ‘you’re the worst.’

‘no, you’re the worst,’ he shot back playfully, slinging an arm around your shoulders with ease. ‘but it’s okay, i still like you, even if i have to break my neck looking down at you.’

you huffed, but you couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. ‘you’re so lucky i like you too, otherwise i’d trip you in the locker room.’

he grinned. ‘i’d like to see you try, shorty.’

and just like that, the teasing continued.

can u write smth where the reader is so short than pablo *she is 149cm and he is 173* and maybe u can add how his guys say to him he is lucky because he is already short *poor gavi* i think it will be kind of as headcanons

thank you if u did tho ❤❤

santa's helper

credits to the owner!

summary: you're on the christmas market with gavi

warnings: none

pairing: pablo gavi x fem!reader

a/n: i little changed this, but i hope that you'll like it! and tysm 💞

taglist: @joaosnovia, @barcapix

requests are open!

masterlist

The most awaited time of the year for you has come - Christmas. Like every year, you planned to go to the Christmas market in beautifully decorated Barcelona, but this year with a special guest, your boyfriend.

You met Gavi at the beginning of this year and you quickly established a bond that became stronger every day, until today, where you have been a couple for nine months.

What charmed Gavi most about you was your height. You were so tiny next to him, which was good for him because he wasn't very tall either, and you were the perfect height for him, as if you were made just for him.

This was also the reason why he loved teasing you. Whether it was resting his elbow on your head or lifting your things above him while you jumped around trying to reach them and he laughed.

He loved that about you. You never got angry at him for mocking you because you knew he loved you. But you'll never admit to him that you like it.

Today was no different. You were walking hand in hand on a December evening between the stands, here with Christmas decorations, here with food, here there was absolutely everything.

Pablo fully dressed from head to toe, just so no one would recognize him, wanting to spend quality time with you, and you looking so cute and beautiful next to him, wearing black earmuffs, and a black coat, with your hair flowing freely down your shoulders. You were pulling on his hand like a little kid in a toy store.

He kept giggling at you as you jumped excitedly on the Christmas decorations, constantly talking, and he hung on your every word.

At one point you passed a stand with balloons, which you looked at, of course, and Pablo followed your gaze. When he saw them, an idea came to his mind.

“Wait a minute” he said, then turned back.

You stood still, looking at him strangely, and your gaze changed between confusion and excitement as he walked back towards you, balloon in hand.

“Give me your hand” he said and you gave him your hand.

He tied a red ribbon from balloon around your wrist that represented a gingerbread man. You looked at him questioningly.

“You won't get lost now, dwarf” he grinned at you, and you looked at him with pity as he just chuckled.

You started giggling yourself, blushing slightly at the small gift he gave you.

“Thank you, cariño” you said, then stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, but he tilted his chin up so that you couldn't reach his lips.

You became outraged and then walked away from him, and he laughed even more when he saw only a bouncing balloon above the crowd, but not you. He found you after a moment, kissing your cheek in surprise, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“Don't be mad at me anymore, amor” he said, kissing the top of your head. "So where are we going now? These are our last moments together, we need to spend them well" he said, and you started to wonder what he meant.

"What are these our last moments? What are you talking about?" you asked and he just laughed.

"It's sad that you short people have to help Santa Claus with presents during this period" he faked crying. "I'll have to hand you over to the rest of the elves, amor" he said, making a sad face, and you frowned angrily.

He laughed out loud at your angry but very cute face. To him, you looked like the cutest angry hamster in the world. You just snorted at his behavior and then moved to the next stand.

There were many jokes about your height that evening, but you wouldn't exchange it for anything else, because in it all there was the love you were looking for for so long and you just found it with Pablo <3

i am SICK of my user but idk if i shoudk change it bcc im lowkey a hypocrite bc i silently judge people w users like mine but in english

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.

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.

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

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

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

franco.

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

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

you try not to stare.

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

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

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

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

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

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

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

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

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

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

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

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

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

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

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

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

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

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

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

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

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

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

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

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

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

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart does something stupid.

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

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

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

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

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

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

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

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

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

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

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

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

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

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

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

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

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

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

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

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart stumbles.

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

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

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

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

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

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

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

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

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

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

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

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

you say yes.

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

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

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

‘you asked,’ you reply.

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

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

but he’s soft. all soft.

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

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

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

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

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

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

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

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

just before you open the door, he stops.

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

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

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

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

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

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

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

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

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

the next morning, he texts you:

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

you type:

‘same. weird.’

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

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

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

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

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

it’s raining.

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

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

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

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

and you do.

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

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

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

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

you look at him. really look.

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

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

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

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

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

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

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

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

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

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

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

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

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

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

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

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

❦ - valentines surprise.

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

warnings:: uhm none!

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

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

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

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

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

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

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

‘gavi?’ your voice was soft, questioning.

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

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

‘you did all this?’

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

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

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

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

‘open it,’ he urged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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