And All Of A Sudden I’m In Love W Franco 1000x More Than I Was Before??

where’s man going

saira i have an idea

what if i send you a joao fic idea everyday until i die (have to go offline)

how about yes! i have a few other fics (a LOT of kenan and cubarsi but i have a draft for a joao one u requested 👅

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

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

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

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

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

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

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

franco.

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

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

you try not to stare.

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

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

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

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

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

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

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

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

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

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

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

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

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

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

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

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

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

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

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

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

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

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

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

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

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

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart does something stupid.

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

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

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

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

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

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

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

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

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

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

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

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

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

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

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

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

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

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

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

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart stumbles.

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

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

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

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

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

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

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

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

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

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

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

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

you say yes.

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

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

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

‘you asked,’ you reply.

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

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

but he’s soft. all soft.

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

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

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

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

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

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

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

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

just before you open the door, he stops.

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

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

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

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

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

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

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

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

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

the next morning, he texts you:

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

you type:

‘same. weird.’

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

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

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

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

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

it’s raining.

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

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

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

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

and you do.

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

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

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

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

you look at him. really look.

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

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

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

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

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

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

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

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

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

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

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

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

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

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

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

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

Hi! Could you write something where the reader lives in Madrid and decides to go out to a bar with some college friends? It turns out that one of her friends' boyfriends is a friend of Jude and some other Real Madrid players. That night, the reader ends up meeting him. She already knew who he was—thought he was insanely attractive—but kept that to herself. That night, they just have a great conversation, full of flirting, but in a fun and natural way. When she gets home, she's completely dazzled—not just because of how good-looking he is, but because he’s actually really interesting too. She tells her college friends everything, but also her best friend. A few days later, the reader is at her internship (I imagine something in the healthcare field because it takes up a lot of her time). That day, her best friend is visiting, but since the reader is still at work, her best friend goes out with some of their other friends. The reader, exhausted from her shift, just wants to go home and sleep. She’s already turned down any plans for the night. But once she’s finally home, lying on the couch, she gets a message from her best friend: "You won’t believe this. Your man is here." She thinks about going but tells herself it's not worth it—they haven’t talked since that night, so why would she do this? Then, another message: "Girl, you cannot let this chance slip away." She finally gives in and goes. When she gets there, she spots him but pretends she hasn’t seen him—even though she knows he’s already seen her. And that night… something happens.

I thought of something like this. Sorry if it's a bit confusing—I've been thinking about this story for days. Could you please write it? I love your writing, and I'm sure it would be amazing!

❦ - madrid, maybe?

summary:: madrid was supposed to be about school, work, and keeping your head down, not late nights, stolen glances, and jude bellingham throwing your whole plan off track. you told yourself it was nothing. then again, madrid has a way of making nothing feel like everything.

warnings:: fair amount of cussing, alcohol consumption, reader is lowkey drunk asf, mentions of work related stress, a lot of angst (yeah im sorry for that but i needed to), eventual relationship && reader being a bit of a bitch.

writers note:: so i lowkey spent a LOT of hours doing this but i think it was worth it..? but anyways also lmk if i should make another part of the joao felix series! it could be longer but yk.

tags: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the night had started like any other.    

it had taken more convincing than usual to get you out. after a long week at your internship, long shifts, barely any sleep, endless responsibilities, you had been desperate for a night in. a night where you could just exist without needing to be on all the time.  

but your friends had other plans. you never come out anymore, they’d whined. one drink. just one drink.

so here you were, tucked into a crowded bar in the heart of madrid, nursing something cold in your hands while your college friends laughed and talked around you. it wasn’t bad, really. the music was good, the energy infectious. maybe you’d needed this more than you thought.  

you had just started to relax when a familiar name was dropped into the conversation.  

‘jude’s on his way,’ your friend’s boyfriend announced casually, barely looking up from his phone.  

the name sent a ripple of recognition through the group. your friends exchanged glances, excitement flashing in their eyes. even if you weren’t a huge football fan, you weren’t oblivious. you knew who he was.  

jude bellingham.  

and, sure, you’d seen the photos, watched the clips. it was impossible to live in madrid and not know about him. but the thought of actually meeting him? it was something you had never even considered.  

still, you kept your reaction to yourself. unlike the others, you weren’t about to sit there and gush about him like he was some unattainable celebrity. he was just a guy, right?  

just a guy.  

but then he walked in.  

and, immediately, you realized how wrong you were.  

he wasn’t just a guy.

he was tall. taller than you expected, effortlessly commanding the room without even trying. he moved with an ease that was almost unfair, like he knew exactly who he was, exactly what kind of attention he drew.  

and, god, he was stupidly attractive.  

even more than in pictures, sharper jawline, softer eyes, an easy sort of confidence that was somehow both infuriating and completely magnetic.  

you forced yourself to look away, taking a sip of your drink. you were not going to be one of those girls.  

but then, of course, he ended up right next to you.  

the introductions were quick, casual. your friend’s boyfriend did most of the talking, barely noticing the way jude’s eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary.  

and then, suddenly, it was just the two of you.  

it started simple enough. polite conversation, the usual questions. but it didn’t take long for the banter to start.  

he was quick. sharp. he caught onto things most people wouldn’t, met your sarcasm with just as much of his own. you teased him about his spanish, about the way the entire bar had turned to look at him the moment he walked in.  

‘you’re used to this, aren’t you?’ you said at one point, tipping your glass slightly toward him.  

his lips quirked. ‘what?’

‘people staring at you.’

he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. ‘you mean you staring at me?’

you rolled your eyes, even as heat crept up your neck. ‘please. you wish.’

he laughed at that, and you knew, without a doubt, that he was enjoying this. the game of it all. the push and pull.  

the night blurred after that. conversations overlapping, hands brushing, glances held a second too long.  

by the time you got home, you were dazed. not just from the drinks, not just from the way he looked at you, but from the way he was.

you told your friends everything. and, of course, you told your best friend.  

but then days passed. and he didn’t text.  

and why would he? it was just one night. just a conversation. he probably met a dozen new people a week.  

so you let it go. focused on work. exhausted yourself to the point where there was no room to think about anything else.  

until

‘you won’t believe this. your man is here.’

you stared at the message, blinking away the exhaustion.  

‘no way.’

you were sprawled on your couch, still in your scrubs, every muscle in your body aching from the shift you had just survived.  

you weren’t going out. you had already said no to at least three different invitations tonight. you needed sleep.  

but then another message.  

‘girl, you cannot let this chance slip away.’

you exhaled slowly, phone resting on your chest.  

your best friend was right. what were the chances? what if you never ran into him again?  

before you could overthink it, you got up. changed. left.  

the bar was even more packed than last time. but you spotted him immediately.

and you knew the exact moment he saw you.  

but instead of going to him, instead of acknowledging him at all, you walked right past him.  

you could feel his eyes on you.  

and then, minutes later

‘thought you weren’t coming,’ a voice murmured in your ear.  

you turned, already biting back a smile. ‘i wasn’t.’

he raised a brow. ‘what changed?’

you shrugged, playing it cool. ‘got bored.’

he laughed, shaking his head. ‘you’re trouble, aren’t you?’

‘depends on who you ask.’

‘and if i asked you?’

you met his gaze, holding it. challenging. ‘then i’d say you’ll have to find out for yourself.’

the way his eyes darkened at that; yeah. you knew exactly where this night was heading.

the thing about madrid was that it never really slept. neither did you, apparently.  

despite the exhaustion from your shift, despite knowing you’d regret this in the morning, you were here. back in a crowded bar, back in this game of glances and teasing remarks with jude bellingham.  

he was still standing close, still watching you like he knew exactly what you were doing.  

‘so, you gonna keep pretending you don’t see me?’ he asked, tilting his head slightly.  

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you said smoothly, sipping your drink.  

his lips quirked into that stupid, knowing smirk. ‘right. just a coincidence you walked past me like i was invisible.’

‘maybe you just are invisible," you shot back.  

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. ‘you’re funny.’

‘i know.’

he eyed you for a moment, like he was trying to figure something out. then, casually, ‘so, you do this a lot?’

‘do what?’

‘show up at bars just to mess with guys?’

‘only the ones who deserve it.’

‘good to know,’ he murmured, leaning in slightly. ‘so, what makes me one of them?’

you didn’t answer right away. mostly because his proximity was making it hard to think straight. his cologne, something warm and expensive, lingered in the air between you. it didn’t help that his voice had dropped just enough to make your stomach flip.  

‘well,’ you said finally, keeping your tone light, ‘technically, you never texted me. so, really, i should be the one messing with you.’

his brows shot up. ‘i never texted you?’

‘yeah. you had my number, didn’t use it.’

he scoffed, amused. ‘first of all, i never got your number.’

you paused. ‘wait, really?’

‘yeah. really.’

you frowned, trying to remember if that was true. the night had been a blur, but, maybe he hadn’t gotten it?  

he watched your expression shift and grinned. ‘what, you thought i ghosted you?’

‘i mean… maybe?’

he shook his head, laughing. ‘nah, see, thats crazy. you deadass thought i’d just meet you, have that conversation, and then never hit you up?’

‘i don’t know, you meet a lot of people.’

‘yeah, and i remember the interesting ones.’

you didn’t respond to that. mostly because the words did something weird to your heart. instead, you just sipped your drink again, pretending it hadn’t fazed you.  

jude, apparently, wasn’t done.  

‘you gonna give it to me now?’

‘give you what?’

‘your number.’

you smirked. ‘hmm. i don’t know. you did ignore me for, like, a week.’

he rolled his eyes. ‘you just admitted that wasn’t my fault.’

‘still hurt my feelings, though.’

‘oh, yeah? you were heartbroken?’

‘devastated,’ you said solemnly. ‘could barely function.’

‘should i make it up to you, then?’

your heart skipped, but you kept your expression neutral. ‘and how exactly do you plan on doing that?’

his gaze flickered down to your lips; quick, barely noticeable. but you noticed.

‘i could think of a few ways.’ he said lightly.  

your stomach flipped.  

you should not be enjoying this as much as you were. but it was impossible not to. because the thing about jude was that he was good at this. good at knowing exactly when to push, exactly when to pull back.  

and maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit addicted to it.  

before you could say anything else, someone called his name from across the bar. you both turned, spotting one of his friends motioning for him to come over.  

‘you leaving?’ you asked.  

he looked at his friends, then back at you. ‘not yet.’

‘oh? got something better to do?’

his smirk was slow, deliberate. ‘yeah. think i do.’

an hour passed. maybe more.  

somewhere in between the second and third drink, the two of you had drifted toward a quieter part of the bar. still close to the crowd, but just far enough that the conversation felt more… intimate.  

he asked about your internship, your plans. listened intently, even as you rambled about how exhausting it was.  

‘so, basically, you’re a superhero,’ he said when you finished.  

you laughed. ‘that’s a bit of a reach.’

‘nah,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘saving lives, barely getting sleep. sounds heroic to me.’

you rolled your eyes, but your stomach did a stupid little flip at the way he said it.  

eventually, though, the energy around you shifted. the bar had thinned out, people heading home.  

you should’ve, too. but you weren’t ready yet.  

and neither was he.  

‘wanna get out of here?’ he asked suddenly.  

you glanced up. ‘oh?’

he huffed a laugh. ‘not like that.’

‘mhmm.’

i’m serious,’ he said, grinning. ‘just, wanna walk for a bit?’

you hesitated, then shrugged. ‘sure.’

the streets of madrid at night were something else. a little quieter now, but still buzzing, still alive.  

you and jude walked side by side, the conversation lighter now. less teasing, more comfortable.  

‘so, what do you actually do for fun?’ he asked at one point.  

you scoffed. ‘fun? don’t know her.’

‘nah, see, i knew you were gonna say that.’

‘because it’s true!’

he shook his head. ‘i don’t believe it. you have to have some kind of guilty pleasure.’

you thought for a second. ‘hmm. okay. maybe i watch reality tv when i’m too exhausted to do anything else.’

he gasped dramatically. ‘no way.’

‘shut up.’

‘what show?’

‘not telling you.’

‘nah, you have to tell me now.’

you pursed your lips. ‘love island.’

his eyes widened, like he’d just uncovered the greatest secret in the world.  

‘i knew you were toxic,’ he said, laughing.  

‘excuse me?’

‘nah, it makes sense now.’

‘okay, and what’s your guilty pleasure, then?’

he thought for a moment. ‘i still watch kids' cartoons sometimes.’

‘no way.’

‘swear down.’

you squinted at him. ‘you’re lying.’

‘i swear.’

you were still laughing when you realized you had stopped walking.  

and then you realized something else.  

you were standing too close.  

you weren’t sure who had moved first. all you knew was that his hand was brushing against yours now, his gaze a little softer, his voice a little lower.  

and suddenly, the air between you wasn’t just charged; it was buzzing.

you swallowed.  

‘so,’ he murmured, ‘if i asked you again…’

‘asked me what?’ you said, playing dumb.  

his lips quirked.  

‘for your number.’

your heart was racing now. but you still pretended to think about it.  

then, finally

‘guess you have to make it up to me somehow first.’

he grinned. ‘oh, yeah?’

‘yeah.’

‘and how exactly do you want me to do that?’

you smiled. ‘figure it out.’

judging by the look in his eyes, he already had an idea.

‘so, if i asked you again… for your number?’

‘guess you have to make it up to me somehow first.’

‘oh, yeah? and how exactly do you want me to do that?’

you had smiled, told him to figure it out.

and, of course, jude bellingham took that as a challenge.

hours earlier.  

the second you’d said the words, his grin had turned slow, deliberate.  

‘figure it out, huh?’

you shrugged, pretending to be unaffected by the way his gaze lingered on your lips before flickering back up to your eyes.  

‘if you really want my number, yeah,’ you said lightly. ‘gonna have to earn it.’

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.  

‘alright,’ he said finally. ‘challenge accepted.’

the next hour had been a game.

you weren’t sure when the shift had happened; when the teasing had become this.

he had been trying to impress you before, sure. but now? now, jude was determined.

he had leaned into the flirting, turned up the charm to levels that should have been illegal.

he started making you laugh on purpose, telling ridiculous stories about his teammates, doing impressions, playing into every little quirk he had already picked up about you.  

when you rolled your eyes, he’d smirk and say, ‘there she goes again.’

when you crossed your arms, pretending to be unimpressed, he’d lean in and murmur, ‘c’mon, you’re dying to give me your number.’

he kept finding excuses to touch you; a hand on your back as you walked through the street, a brush of fingers when you reached for something at the same time. light touches, nothing overwhelming, but just enough to keep your heart racing.  

but you weren’t going to make it easy.  

you pushed back, met his teasing with just as much of your own. made him laugh, made him work for it.  

at one point, he sighed dramatically, tilting his head back.  

‘this is actually crazy,’ he said. ‘most girls would’ve given in by now.’

‘good thing i’m not most girls,’ you shot back.  

he looked at you then, something unreadable flickering in his expression.  

‘yeah,’ he said after a second. ‘guess you’re not.’

eventually, you ended up at a small plaza, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the cobblestone. it was late really late, but neither of you seemed to care.  

the energy between you had settled. still charged, but warmer now.  

‘so,’ he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, ‘are you gonna give me anything to work with here?’

‘what do you mean?’

‘like, a hint at least?’

‘for what?’

‘how to win your number,’ he said, exasperated.  

you laughed, tilting your head slightly. ‘hmm. i don’t know…’

he groaned. ‘you’re killing me.’

‘good.’

he stared at you for a second, then suddenly straightened.  

‘alright,’ he said. ‘i’ve got it.’

‘got what?’

‘the way i’m getting your number.’

you raised a brow. ‘oh?’

‘yeah,’ he said confidently. ‘gimme a second.’

before you could ask what he was doing, he pulled out his phone.  

you watched, confused, as he opened instagram, typed something, and handed it to you.  

his profile was already open.  

follow me.

you let out a short laugh. ‘wow. smooth.’

‘look, i could go old school and ask for your number directly,’ he said, grinning. ‘but i know you’d make me jump through five more hoops before you actually gave it to me.’

‘true,’ you admitted.  

‘so, this is my compromise.’ he nodded toward the screen. ‘follow me. then i’ll dm you. then you have to respond.’

you hummed, pretending to think about it.  

then, finally, you hit follow.

jude immediately took his phone back, typing something quickly.  

a second later, yours buzzed.  

new dm from judebellingham:

does this mean i win?

you grinned, typing back.  

hmm. undecided.

another message.  

fairs. i’ll keep working on it, then.

now, lying in bed, you scrolled back through the messages, rereading them even though you knew them by heart.  

it was stupid, really. how giddy this was making you.  

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. that you were just enjoying the attention, that this was just harmless flirting.  

but then; 

another message.

judebellingham: you up?

your breath caught.  

it was so late. did he just get home, too? was he still thinking about tonight?  

you hesitated for a second.  

then,

maybe. why?

jude: just wondering if i was the only one still thinking about tonight.

your heart stopped.

you stared at the message for a long time, suddenly very aware of how fast your pulse was racing.  

he was good so good at this.  

and, worst of all, 

you had no idea what the hell you were going to do about it.

you weren’t answering.  

jude had sent the message almost fifteen minutes ago, and your reply still hadn’t come through.  

he wasn’t the type to overthink things—not usually. but something about this was different. something about you had thrown him completely off his game.  

he ran a hand through his hair, staring at the chat. maybe he shouldn’t have sent that last message. maybe it had been too much. too soon.  

but, fuck, he hadn’t been able to help himself.  

the night had ended, he had gone home, but his mind was still buzzing. still replaying everything, the teasing, the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed, the way you’d refused to make things easy for him.  

he had met plenty of people in madrid. plenty of girls who had flirted with him, who had been interested.  

but none of them had felt like this.

and that? that was messing with him.  

his phone buzzed.  

should i lie or tell the truth?

his heart kicked up, and suddenly, he felt stupid for even doubting that you’d respond.  

jude: always the truth

he watched the little typing bubble pop up, then disappear.  

then pop up again.  

then disappear.  

he smirked. you were hesitating. interesting.

finally;

then yeah. i’m thinking about it too.

the next morning, you woke up to another message.  

judebellingham: coffee later?

you stared at the words, your stomach flipping.  

it was a bad idea.  

you knew this.  

your life was too busy, your schedule too packed. you barely had time for yourself, let alone whatever the hell this thing with jude was becoming.  

not to mention, he was him.

jude bellingham, the biggest star in madrid. constantly surrounded by cameras, by attention.  

it was so easy to imagine how this would play out.  

a few fun conversations. some flirting. maybe even something more.  

and then?  

he’d get bored. move on.  

because that’s how these things went.  

so you should say no.  

you should.

but…

what time?

you almost backed out twice.

first, when you realized you had been standing in front of your closet for ten whole minutes, overthinking what to wear.  

it wasn’t a date. just coffee. casual. nothing serious.  

so why were you acting like it meant something?  

but then, 

you walked in.  

and jude was already there, waiting for you.  

the second he spotted you, his whole face lit up.  

‘thought you were gonna stand me up,’ he said, grinning.  

you rolled your eyes, slipping into the seat across from him. ‘tempting, but no.’

he smirked. ‘you were thinking about it, though.’

‘maybe.’

he leaned back slightly, still watching you with that look.

like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.  

you ignored the way your pulse picked up, reaching for the menu.  

‘so,’ you said, acting casual, ‘are we actually getting coffee, or did you just want an excuse to see me again?’

his smirk deepened.  

‘bit of both, to be honest.’

you were so fucked.  

an hour passed. then another.  

coffee turned into brunch. brunch turned into you two still sitting there, talking like you hadn’t just met a few days ago.  

and that was the problem.

it should have been surface level. light, fun, meaningless.  

but then he was asking about your family, about your childhood.  

then he was telling you about birmingham, about moving away when he was just a kid.  

then he was making you laugh again, and it wasn’t just because he was funny; it was because he was genuinely interesting.

by the time the bill came, you realised,

you didn’t want to leave.  

which was exactly why you had to.  

you pulled out your wallet, but jude was already handing over his card.  

‘i got it,’ he said.  

‘i can pay for my own coffee, you know.’

‘yeah, but i invited you.’

‘i can still’

‘let me, yeah?’

you hesitated.  

he was looking at you again, and there was something in his expression that made it really hard to argue.  

so you just sighed. ‘fine.’

he grinned. ‘thank you.’

you rolled your eyes, standing up. ‘you’re annoying.’

‘and yet, here you are, still spending time with me.’

you shook your head, walking toward the door. he followed.  

‘so,’ he said, once you were outside. ‘when am i seeing you again?’

you exhaled slowly, staring at the ground.  

‘jude’

‘don’t do that,’ he said, suddenly serious.  

‘do what?’

‘shut me out before this even goes anywhere.’

your stomach twisted. ‘i’m not.’

‘you are.’

you bit your lip, glancing up at him.  

the easygoing smirk was gone. in its place was something softer, something real.  

‘i get it,’ he said. ‘you’re busy. you’ve got a life, your job, your own shit to deal with.’

he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling.  

‘but if you’re pulling back because you think this is just some game to me.’ he met your gaze. ‘it’s not.’

your heart stuttered.  

you wanted to believe him.  

‘we barely know each other,’ you pointed out.  

‘so let’s change that,’ he said simply.  

like it was that easy.  

and maybe, for him, it was.  

but for you?  

you had spent so long keeping people at a distance. protecting yourself from the inevitable disappointment of expecting too much.  

so why did part of you want to take the risk?  

‘just think about it,’ he murmured, stepping back. ‘yeah?’

you swallowed. nodded.  

he studied you for a second longer, like he wanted to say something else.  

then he turned, walking away.  

you stood there for a long time after he left, staring at the spot where he’d been.  

thinking about his words.  

thinking about how, for the first time in a long time.

you wanted to let someone in.

you were avoiding him.  

not entirely; you still answered his texts, still sent the occasional dry joke in response to his voice notes. but you weren’t making any effort beyond that.  

no more late night messages. no more lingering conversations. no more seeing him in person.  

and jude wasn’t stupid. he noticed.  

you’re dodging me. 

the message came in late one night, right as you were finishing up work.  

you stared at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard.  

he wasn’t wrong.  

but admitting that would mean confronting why.

so you typed something else instead.  

i’m busy.

a minute passed.  

then, 

jude: bullshit.

your stomach twisted.  

you sighed, shoving your phone in your pocket before you could answer.  

but it didn’t matter.  

because, for the rest of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

the truth was, it was easier this way.  

the second you had walked away from that café, you had known, this thing with jude was dangerous.  

because you liked him.  

more than you should.  

and that was bad.

because, at the end of the day, he was still him.

jude bellingham, the football star. the golden boy.  

he was fun, charming, ridiculously attractive.  

but he was also someone with a whole life you didn’t belong in. a world of flashing cameras and public scrutiny, of schedules packed with travel and endless commitments.  

and you?  

you barely had time to breathe most days.  

you had your job, your responsibilities, your own life.  

it didn’t make sense to let yourself fall for him.  

so you had started pulling back.  

distancing yourself before you could get in too deep.  

before you could get hurt.

but clearly, he wasn’t going to let you do that quietly.  

the next time you saw him, it wasn’t planned.  

you were out with friends, trying to pretend like everything was normal, like your mind wasn’t elsewhere.

and then, 

there he was.  

across the bar, laughing with a group of people you didn’t recognize.  

your stomach flipped.  

and, just as quickly; his eyes found yours.  

you froze.  

he didn’t.  

his smile faded, and before you could even think about running, he was already moving toward you.  

‘hey,’ he said when he reached you.  

you swallowed. ‘hey.’

he studied you for a second, then nodded toward the door.  

‘let’s talk.’

you hesitated.  

‘jude.’

‘don’t.’ his voice was low, firm. ‘don’t make excuses. just come outside.’

you exhaled slowly.  

you could say no.  

you should say no.  

but you didn’t.  

outside, the air was cold, but the tension between you was colder.

you crossed your arms. ‘what do you want me to say?’

jude let out a short, humorless laugh.  

‘oh, i don’t know,’ he said. ‘maybe an actual explanation?’

‘i told you, i’ve been..’

‘busy. yeah. i got that.’

he shook his head, jaw tight.  

‘but we both know that’s not really the problem, is it?’

you looked away.  

‘you’re pushing me away,’ he continued, his voice quieter now. ‘and i don’t get it.’

your throat felt tight.  

‘i just…’ you exhaled. ‘i don’t think this is a good idea.’

he frowned. ‘why not?’

you hesitated.  

because you were scared.  

because you didn’t trust yourself with this.  

because you knew that if you let him in, you’d fall hard.

but saying any of that out loud felt impossible.  

so instead, you went for the easiest excuse.  

‘because i don’t have time for this.’

jude scoffed, running a hand through his curls.  

‘that’s such bullshit,’ he muttered.  

‘it’s not,’ you said, forcing your voice to stay even. ‘i barely have time for myself, jude. i can’t add this..’ you gestured between you, ‘whatever this is on top of everything else.’

his expression darkened.  

‘so what?’ he said. ‘you’re just gonna pretend like none of this ever happened? like that night meant nothing?’

your chest ached.  

‘it was fun,’ you said, voice hollow. ‘but that’s all it was.’

jude stared at you.  

and for the first time since you met him, he looked hurt 

you forced yourself to hold his gaze, to keep your expression neutral, even though every part of you was screaming at you to fix it.

but you couldn’t.  

this was for the best.  

finally, he nodded, stepping back.  

‘right,’ he said quietly. ‘got it.’

the space between you felt huge.

he glanced away, let out a slow exhale.  

then, without another word, he walked away. and you let him. but as you stood there, watching him disappear into the night, you wondered if you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.  

the worst part wasn’t the fight.  

it was after.

the silence.  

the space where his texts used to be. the absence of his name lighting up your phone late at night. the realization that you had gotten used to having him around, in your inbox, in your thoughts, in you.

and now?  

nothing.  

days passed. you threw yourself into work, into school, into anything that would keep your mind from wandering back to him.  

but it didn’t matter.  

jude was everywhere.  

in the headlines, on tv, on the back of strangers’ jerseys in the street.  

in the playlist you hadn’t been able to listen to since that night.  

in the memories that crept in during quiet moments, the way he laughed, the warmth of his gaze, the way he looked at you like he actually saw you.

and worse, the last thing he had said.  

‘got it.’

so final. so done.

but then, 

friday night.

you weren’t supposed to go out.  

you had planned to stay in, avoid the possibility of running into him again.  

but your best friend had shown up at your apartment, refusing to take no for an answer.  

‘you’ve been moping,’ she said flatly. ‘it’s getting sad.’

you glared. ‘i am not..’

‘you are,’ she cut in. ‘and honestly? i can’t watch you wallow for another weekend.’

so now, here you were.  

back at the same bar where everything had started.  

part of you hoped he wouldn’t be there.  

part of you hoped he would.

and then, 

of course.  

he was.  

you spotted him across the room, surrounded by friends, smiling at something someone said.  

your heart clenched.  

god, you missed that smile.  

but then, his eyes lifted.  

found yours.  

and just like that, everything came rushing back.

the tension. the longing. the regret.

but you looked away first.  

because you didn’t know how to fix this.

and maybe he didn’t want you to.  

fifteen minutes later, you were at the bar, nursing a drink you didn’t really want, trying to not look for him in the crowd.  

so when someone stepped up beside you, you didn’t even glance over.  

‘we really gonna keep doing this?’

your breath caught.  

slowly, you turned.  

jude.  

closer than you expected.  

his eyes searched yours, something unreadable in his expression.  

‘look,’ you started, but he shook his head.  

‘no,’ he said. ‘my turn.’

you blinked.  

‘i don’t get you,’ he went on, voice low. ‘one minute, you’re there. with me. and the next, you’re gone.’

guilt twisted in your chest.  

‘i…’

‘i know you’re scared,’ he said, softer now. ‘i get it. i do.’

you looked away, but his fingers brushed your wrist, grounding you.  

‘but you don’t get to pull me in and then push me away like i don’t fucking matter,’ he said.  

your throat tightened.  

‘that’s not..’

‘it is,’ he said quietly. ‘that’s what it feels like.’

silence stretched between you.  

you swallowed hard. ‘i thought i was protecting myself.’

he exhaled, shaking his head. ‘from what me?’

‘from getting hurt,’ you whispered.  

‘and how’s that working out for you?’ he shot back. ‘because, newsflash, i’m hurt too.’ 

that stopped you.  

he let the words sink in, then sighed.  

‘look,’ he said, softer. ‘i don’t know what this is. i don’t know where it’s going.’

his gaze held yours. steady. certain.  

‘but i know i like you. i know i haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met.’

your breath hitched.  

‘and yeah,’ he added, ‘maybe it’s messy. maybe it’s complicated. but damn, i think it’s worth figuring out.’ 

your walls, carefully built, meticulously maintained, cracked.  

because fuck.

you wanted this.  

wanted him.

so you let out a shaky laugh, blinking back the sting in your eyes.  

‘you’re really bad at letting things go, huh?’

he smiled, a little broken, a little hopeful.  

‘not when it comes to you.’

that did it.  

you reached for him, and he met you halfway.  

pulling you in.  

warm, solid, familiar.

‘i’m scared,’ you admitted against his chest.  

‘yeah,’ he murmured into your hair. ‘me too.’

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.  

‘but maybe,’ you said, ‘we figure it out anyway?’

his smile was soft. real.

‘yeah,’ he said. ‘i’d like that.’

and when he kissed you, 

it didn’t feel like an ending.  

it felt like finally.

if someone had told you a few months ago that you’d be here, lying on jude’s couch, your legs draped over his lap while a movie played in the background (completely ignored), you would’ve laughed.  

or panicked.  

probably both.  

but now?  

now it just felt right.

‘you’re not even watching,’ jude mumbled, poking your side.  

you glanced up from your phone. ‘neither are you.’

he smirked. ‘yeah, but i invited you over to watch it. not scroll through tiktoks.’

‘you didn’t invite me over for the movie.’ you shot back, raising a brow.  

he grinned. ‘fair enough.’

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.  

this was how it had been lately, easy. familiar. like you had slipped into some rhythm you didn’t even realize you’d wanted.  

the initial whirlwind of everything, the confusion, the push and pull, had settled.  

now there were lazy mornings when you stayed over, his hoodie swallowing you whole as you sipped coffee in his kitchen.  

there were texts throughout the day, some sweet, some stupid, all of them making you smile.  

there were nights like this, where nothing was planned and yet it was perfect.

‘hey.’ his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. ‘what’s going on in that head of yours?’

you shrugged. ‘just… thinking.’

‘dangerous,’ he teased, but there was a softness in his gaze.  

you hesitated, then admitted, ‘i didn’t think it’d be like this.’

his brow furrowed. ‘like what?’

‘easy,’ you said quietly. ‘i thought it’d be more… complicated.’

he tilted his head. ‘it was complicated. you made it complicated.’

‘hey.’ you swatted his arm, but he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  

‘but,’ he added, squeezing gently, ‘it’s not anymore.’

and that was the thing, you had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. stopped holding yourself back.  

because he hadn’t left.  

hadn’t pulled away when things got hard. hadn’t treated you like some passing thing.  

he was here.

with you.  

choosing you.  

every single day.  

your chest warmed at the thought.  

‘what?’ jude asked, eyes narrowing playfully. ‘you’re looking at me like you’re about to say something sappy.’

you snorted. ‘don’t flatter yourself.’

he grinned. ‘too late.’

but then, quieter, he added, ‘you are happy, right?’

the vulnerability in his voice made your heart squeeze.  

so you shifted, leaning in until your forehead rested against his.  

‘yeah,’ you whispered. ‘i am.’

his smile softened. ‘good. ’cause i really, really, like you.’

you grinned. ‘yeah? i hadn’t noticed.’ 

he rolled his eyes but kissed you anyway, slow and unhurried.  

and in that moment, with his hand in yours and his lips against yours, you thought.

yeah. this was it.  

WEDDING

all images were taken from pinterest.

where he and reader met thanks to her brother's marriage to his cousin.

paring: joão félix X reader!

a/n: i really hope you like it because i loved the result 😭

requests are open | check here my masterlist

i don't think I've ever taken a shower so quickly in all my years of life, all because i woke up bizarrely late but it's not reason enough for me to leave the house without taking a bath. and i had to make a big effort to remember where i was going today, i only remembered that it was an important event but my mind busy with college can't remember everything.

but the post-it stuck to the fridge made me eat quickly and get to the car even faster. i completely forgot that today was reserved for my brother's bride, it's the day to help her choose her wedding dress and consequently the bridesmaids' dresses.

"i hope you're already arriving." the message she sent arrived on my cell phone a few seconds after i parked the car near the wedding dress atelier. my brother was with my cousins and some men i didn't know outside, which intrigued me. "what are you doing here?" i asked, approaching. "we'll try on the suits right after you guys." he replied and i nodded. "today is going to be a long day for you guys." i smiled and entered the place most loved by all brides. i hadn't even gone up the stairs when i heard laughter from the men outside "fabio, joão wants to be your brother-in-law." an unknown male voice shouted and more laughter was heard.

i found the comment funny even though i don't know who said it, much less who joão is. i just know that single life is really cool. even though i sometimes miss sleeping cuddled up with someone, but i don't think i have any intention of meeting anyone at my brother's wedding, unless  mr. destiny has other plans.

"finally, i thought you would never arrive." i was greeted by my mother opening the door to the salon reserved for brides. her hands promptly grabbed my cheeks. "long time no see, huh?" i joked about the fact that i had spent the entire afternoon at her house yesterday. my mother just stuck out her tongue as an answer and pulled me into the room. my sister-in-law was already trying on a beautiful dress like cindelera's. she looked at me through the reflection in the mirror.

"what do you think?" she asked me. i was speechless. carol was so beautiful in that dress, she really looked like a princess. "it's already my favorite." she smiled and i could see her eyes welling up. "it's mine too." she said, wiping away the tears that had started to form. "i can't believe I've barely arrived and i'm already leaving." the other bridesmaids in the room laughed and carol rolled her eyes. "no way. i'll try on some others to make sure of my choice."

i pretended to snort as i sat on the edge of the couch. there are so many women in the room, my mother, her mother, carol's friends and cousins. i can't even imagine how many bridesmaids she will have. but my brother and she deserve a wedding worthy of royalty.

fabio is two years older than me and we have always been best friends, he knows more about my life than my mother. and i remember perfectly when he introduced us to carol, she is the sister-in-law of anyone's dreams.

"carol, may i come in?" three knocks on the door distracted my attention. most likely one of the boys sitting downstairs wants to speak to the bride. "of course joão, my favorite cousin." joão, the boy from a few minutes ago. i felt something strange when she said that. i involuntarily adjusted my posture and started to fiddle with the necklace around my neck. the door opened slowly, but soon revealed a tall, smiling male figure with brown hair. his gaze went straight to me, since i, sitting on the edge of the sofa, am the first thing anyone who opens the door will see.

he continued on his way towards the bride and i didn't try to hide the fact that i was following him with my eyes, something that my mother noticed "carol's cousin, isn't he cute?" i turned towards her with my eyes slightly widened, she nudged me and motioned for me to turn toward joão again. he was about to leave, but his eyes met mine before his fingers touched the doorknob and my mother gently motioned with her fingers for him to come to her. "mãe." i muttered.

"fabio introduced you to his sister, joão?" she pointed in my direction. "he told me when she passed by us a few minutes ago, but we haven't been introduced." he smiled at me. "nice to meet you, joão!" he extended his hand to me and i shook it. "nice to meet you joão, i'm yn." He didn't stop smiling which made me uncomfortable, he was causing me a very strange feeling "we'll see you later, your brother asked me to go get something with him." he commented "but again, it was nice to meet you." i received a wink that made me disconnect from the outside world, i didn't even see when he opened the door and left and didn't even heard what my mother just said.

it took carol three hours to make sure that the dress she tried on when she arrived was the right one. and it took us another two hours to choose the bridesmaids' dresses. the boys who were waiting for their turn to try on their suits walked past us with tired faces, but i couldn't help but notice that joão was no longer there. i believe we will only see each other again on the wedding day.

two months later.

i don't know how i ended up in a chelsea match and still sitting almost next to the  players on the bench. in fact, i don't know why i accepted my brother's invitation, seriously. there we are, me and five other friends of his, in the middle of the excited fans of the english team.

but the urge to leave disappeared from my body when the players entered the field to warm up. on the screen appeared someone i had seen only once two months ago, joão, carol's cousin. i was surprised, he doesn't look like a football player. i swore he was a student on one of those super competitive courses. joão félix, chelsea's number 14 hasn't left my head since i met him and he is definitely the reason behind my presence here today, my brother commented that he won the tickets from someone.

something that was confirmed when the game ended and the fans began to empty the stadium, but my brothers and friends didn't move a muscle "aren't we leaving?" i asked my brother who denied "let's wait for joão." i swallowed hard and settled into the seat, admiring the view of the field and thinking about joão.

"are you really mad about the game, man?" i was taken out of my thoughts by my brother's voice, when i looked at him, joão was sitting behind him. i smiled simply at the player when he looked at me, he smiled back but there was disappointment written all over his face. chelsea drew with a team i didn't know and joão missed an incredible chance to score the tiebreaker. 

"let's go home. drink and forget about this game." one of my brother's friends said and joão put his hands on his own face. "i don't wanna" he said before taking a deep breath. i stood up with the intention of saying goodbye, i felt it was time to go. "it was nice spending the night here with you guys, but I'm going now." i got up from the bench with my coat wrapped around my arm. "how are you leaving?" my brother asked. "by bus." i answered and he nodded. "don't you want me to take you?" he asked and i quickly refused. "i can take you, it's too late for you to go alone." joão surprisingly offered to take me. he said this as he got up from the bench "great idea! joão is a great driver, you'll be fine." my brother also got up and patted me twice on the shoulder.

i nodded to joão, i hate going home alone at night. even if i go from here to who knows where, i'm completely uncomfortable being in a stranger's car but even more nervous because this stranger is the portuguese player.

we both said goodbye to the guys and i followed joão to the garage. we passed some players on the way and the portuguese guy said goodbye to everyone. but i have to say that i freaked out inside when we got to his car and he opened the  door for me. my gaze went from the door to him, a slight smile appeared on his face "thank you" the thanks came out almost like a whisper.iI watched in the rearview mirror as he walked behind the car and sat in the driver's seat. "where are we going?" he asked as he opened the gps on the car's dashboard. "do you know the address of my mother's house?" he nodded. "yes, i do. i go there with fabio a lot." i smiled. "you can drop me off there then. it's closer than dropping me off at home." he nodded, "but it's okay to drop you off at home if you want, i can go there. where is it?" he questioned "no need, i don't want to bother you! and anyway i would have to go to my mother's house tomorrow, you're already going to save me from having to take the subway." i laughed "are you sure?" i nodded and he put my mother's house address into the gps.

"now i understand why i never saw you at the parties that carol organizes." the car stopped at the red light a few seconds after we left the stadium. "why?" he looked at me while resting his head on the window. "because you must always be busy with games and practices." he smiled, a wide smile this time. "yeah, most of the time i arrive late at her events." i grimaced. "you'll never see me staying late at places, i'm a person who goes home very early." green light. "really, i've never seen you at the events and if i did, i would definitely remember, your face is not at all forgettable." i turned my head towards my window, embarrassed "i'll take that as a compliment." he tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. "it's a compliment."

I bit my lip after letting out a shy laugh "thank you." i thanked him awkwardly "it's a great time to say that when we met on the day of choosing the wedding clothes, i could hear someone say that you wanted my brother's brother-in-law." he laughed "i knew you heard, bruno almost grabbed a megaphone to be heard by the entire united kingdom." another red light, this time his hands went to his face "all this because i said a wow when you left."

"I liked knowing that i messed with you." i said before thinking "yeah, i was really surprised that i couldn't get it out of my head." i looked at him out of the corner of my eye "would you be disappointed if i told you that i have a boyfriend?" joão looked at me wide-eyed but i signaled for him to pay attention to the traffic, the cars in front of him had already moved. "do you have?" he became apprehensive "no, i'm just kidding." he chuckled as he placed his hand on his chin. i don't know where i got the courage to flirt like that.

my mother's house is relatively close to the blues house. we arrived quickly and i was a little disappointed, i admit. now that things were starting to happen. joão got out of the car with me and walked me to the door "thanks for the ride." i dared to kiss him on the cheek, his cheeks blushed and his gaze remained fixed on the floor for a few seconds "can we see each other again before the wedding?" he asked "yes, whenever you want." he gave me his cell phone so i could add my number and so i did "good night joão, thanks again." i put the key in the doorknob and saw the player slowly walking away "it was a pleasure! let me know when you need a ride."  he approached the car "bye, good night!" he honked at me before disappearing from my field of vision.

i walked into my house and nearly melted as i closed the door. "i think I'm going to get a new son-in-law." my mother appeared out of nowhere. "it was just a ride." she laughed at me. "today it's a ride, tomorrow a proposal." i just laughed, rolling my eyes. unfortunately, I just saw him  and i've already started counting the days until i see him again.

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

fluff

❦ - hermanita.

summary:: what the req says.

warnings:: none?

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he knew from the beginning.

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

hector sees everything.

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

so one day he just… said it.

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

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

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

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

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

‘don’t break her. that’s all.’

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

no more hiding glances. no more awkward silences.

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

because deep down, hector trusted him.

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

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

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

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

you frowned. ‘what?’

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

you didn’t even hesitate.

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

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

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

then muttered to himself

‘you better marry her.’

OH MY GOD

IM SCREAMING AND THIS LOWKEY REMINDS ME TO POST THE FICS IN MY DRAFTS THANK YOU BAE

hiii i luv u and ur fics and can i request more joao please? there’s barely anything for him now! similar to your headcanons-what about where he takes makeup off for reader when she’s tired? xoxo

✮ Reverie - João Felix

joão felix x fem!reader

sy: when joão helps you remove your makeup after a tiring day.

a/n: this is just a short drabble until i finish five/six fics which should be published within a week or so! (another one for joão, one for torre, one for hector, one for bernal, one for charles, and maybe one for pedri) & also thank u ily 💓

warnings: no

joão came home late again, finding the house all quiet and eerie. the lights were off, curtains shut and many throwovers wearily scattered along the rim of the sofa.

the only source of light was the faint glow coming from upstairs, as he followed the light, his steps quiet, to end up at the foot of your bedroom door.

he gently pushed it open, the wood creaking at the sudden movement. as he stepped inside into the dim room, it was all similarly still—eerily silent, except for the small lamp set on the nightstand.

instantly, his eyes were drawn to you—already curled up on the bed, half-asleep, your makeup still on from the tiring day you endured.

“hey love,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “you forgot to take your makeup off.”

you groaned lightly, eyes barely opening. “too tired.” you murmured something of a sentence and buried your face further into the duvet.

“stay here,” joão ordered mellowly, peppering a kiss to the back of your hand, before disappearing into the bathroom. by now, he was an expert at this routine, and so instinctively rummaged through the cabinets to find the things needed.

a moment later, he returned with a small bowl of warm water, a soft cloth, and some cotton pads saturated with micellar water.

he reclaimed his spot besides you, gently dipping the cloth into the bowl. “let me help you.”

joão began by carefully pressing the damp cloth to your forehead, feeling the tension in your skin ease under his touch.

the brunette wiped at your cheeks, his hands steady and patient as if he were savouring the simple intimacy. each stroke removed a layer of the day—both physically and mentally—as you found yourself sinking further into the plush pillows.

slowly, the exhaustion that had been brewing inside all day seemed to dissipate under his loving devotion.

he moved to your eyes next, the mascara clinging stubbornly to your lashes. his movements were tender, deliberately cautious to not tug or hurt you.

you barely registered the sensation—your body too drained to protest. a hushed sigh of relief escaped your lips, with your eyes glued shut, as his fingertips soothed away the remnants of your makeup.

“almost done,” he muttered. his fingers lingered on your skin a moment longer, appreciating your raw beauty.

to him, makeup or not, you were perfect.

“there, im all finished now.” he murmured, setting the cloth aside. “now you can sleep meu amor.”

you stirred, reaching out to lace his hand with yours and squeezing it lazily. “thank you baby.” your voice still thick with drowsiness.

“anytime,” he chuckled tacitly, circling his thumb the soft curve of your cheek. “get some rest.”

he took his own advice, swiftly settling besides you on his side of the bed. he cradled you close to his chest possessively, as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

joão stayed awake for a while longer, listening to your regular heartbeats against his own as he ensured you were fully asleep.

zayn dark/messy layouts? x