❦ - One Wrong Digit. Part 2.

where are the joao felix fics at bc im only on this app for fics and no one is making them , that’s all i want for christmas gang 😔

fc barcelona out of context

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

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

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

Hiii!! I need a bit of angst with Jude, something where he and the reader break up because he expects her to put his career first. But she also wants to have a solid career, make a name for herself, and be someone in her own right. He wants her to be like the other footballers' wives, but she isn’t that kind of person, she doesn’t have that availability, nor would she give up everything she worked for to live that way. This ends up hurting him, and he can’t understand why she wouldn’t do that for him. You can end it however you want, I honestly can’t imagine a proper ending.

Your writing is incredible, you manage to turn everything into something amazing. 🫶🏼

❦ - not enough to keep you.

summary:: you’re jude’s girlfriend and want to pursue a career of your own but he’s holding you back.

warnings:: angst, no happy ending / no ending? (you guys can make up the ending or i can make a part 2 idk?)

writers note:: this is one of the fics where i finished writing and i verbally had to say ‘oh.’ yeah jude is a cunt in this! and thank u for the lovely message at the bottom i love you all sm! 🤍

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

you stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out jude’s voice. almost.

‘so that’s it then?’ he scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his curls. ‘you’re choosing your job over me?’

your jaw clenched. ‘no, jude. i’m choosing myself.’

his face twisted, like he couldn’t understand why those two things weren’t the same. like he couldn’t fathom a world where you wouldn’t mold yourself around his life, his schedule, his needs.

‘every other footballer’s girlfriend—’

‘don’t.’ your voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air between you. ‘i’m not them. i never was.’

he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. ‘right. you’re not. because they support their boyfriends, they’re there for them.’

‘you think i don’t support you?’ you snapped, the hurt lacing your voice making him falter for just a second. ‘jude, i have given you everything. my time, my patience, my love. but i won’t give up my dreams for you.’

his jaw tightened, frustration rolling off him in waves. ‘but why not? why can’t you just—’

‘because i’ve worked too damn hard for this!’ you cut him off, voice shaking. ‘do you know how much i’ve sacrificed to get where i am? how many nights i spent studying, how many hours i put in to prove i belong in my field? and you want me to just throw that away so i can follow you around, be at your beck and call?’

he exhaled harshly, looking away as if that would make your words hurt less.

‘it’s not like that,’ he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. ‘it is, jude. you want me to be someone i’m not. and that’s not fair.’

silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. his hands curled into fists at his sides, his lips pressed into a thin line. you could see the hurt in his eyes, the frustration, the love, because there was still love. that was the worst part.

but love wasn’t always enough.

you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady your voice. ‘i love you. but i won’t lose myself for you.’

his shoulders dropped, and for the first time, you saw the truth settle in his eyes. that this was it. that he was losing you.

and yet, he didn’t stop you when you turned around, grabbed your bag, and walked out the door.

maybe he finally understood.

or maybe he just didn’t know how to fight for you without asking you to lose yourself in the process.

YOU GET IT BRO WTF HAPPENED

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

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

didn't see that from before but youre a TIFOSI?? i am officially in love with you. we are getting married. final decision

oh say less bbg. 😏

YES IM A TIFOSI - ALWAYS!! we’re meant to be 😍

If you get a star ⭐️ in your inbox. It means your moot appreciates you, and your efforts in the community. Send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love! <3

I LOOOOVE YOU ok bai 🙏.

Hi! Sorry to bother you

Can i ask for one of joao were reader helps him to forget about his ex but later she founds out They are still talking from time to time but Its actually no how she thinks? Like angst with reader being totally insecure but with happy ending

Thank you!!

❦ - silver springs.

summary:: he said he was over her. u believed him, until u saw her name light up his phone. you tried not to care. but it’s hard to love someone who still lives in their past. you just wanted to be chosen. fully. completely. loudly. and in the end… he did.

warnings:: angst?

writers notes:: TIME CAST A SPELL ON ME. BUT YOU WONT FORGET ME? anyways yea

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you didn’t ask about her.

not when he first told you there was someone. not when his voice got tight talking about her. not when you noticed the way he paused before answering questions like “how long were you in love with her?”

you just listened. held his hand. let him exist without pressure. because god, you knew what heartbreak looked like, and his had barely scabbed over when you walked in.

you didn’t ask for more than what he could give. just stayed close enough to be steady. never too much. never too loud.

and he started smiling again.

he laughed with you. he kissed you like he meant it. he held you like he didn’t want to let go.

so you told yourself it was real.

even when something in your chest whispered, not quite.

even when his phone would light up with her name late at night and he’d pretend he didn’t see it.

you found out accidentally.

you weren’t snooping. not really. you were just grabbing his charger off his nightstand while he showered, and his phone buzzed, and it was instinct to glance. just a glance.

"hey. i saw your interview. you looked good."
from her.

your stomach dropped.

you didn’t open the chat. didn’t need to. your hands were already shaking.

you hadn’t heard her name in months. he hadn’t mentioned her in even longer.

and now… this?

your mind spiraled quietly. you didn’t say anything when he came out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, smile lazy and soft when he saw you. you smiled back.

but it didn’t reach your eyes.

you started noticing more after that.

the way he’d text with his phone tilted away from you. the way he’d get quiet sometimes, scrolling, jaw tense. the way he’d answer a call in the other room and come back like nothing happened.

it could’ve been anyone.
but it wasn’t.
you knew.

still, you didn’t say a word.

you started pulling away in small ways. cancelling plans. not staying the night. letting his calls go to voicemail. when he noticed, you just said you were tired. busy. nothing’s wrong.

and he believed you.

or maybe he didn’t. maybe he was just waiting for you to say it.

you almost did one night, when he took you to dinner and held your hand the whole time and kissed your forehead and said “i love you” like it was a truth he’d always known.

your heart cracked.

because you wanted to believe him.

but her name still sat in your bones. still itched under your skin. still whispered you’re second best. always were.

you cried that night when he fell asleep beside you, arms around your waist, breath warm on your neck.

silent tears. shaking shoulders.

he didn’t wake up.

you told yourself you were overreacting.

that maybe they were just friends. maybe they talked sometimes and it didn’t mean anything. maybe he’d moved on and you were the one stuck.

but you knew what heartbreak looked like.
you knew what grief looked like.
and sometimes, you still saw it in his eyes.

like he was still waiting for her shadow to disappear.

and you?
you were just holding the light.

you didn’t mean to see it.

again, you weren’t looking.

you were sitting on his couch one rainy afternoon, one of those quiet days where the world feels far away. he was in the kitchen making you tea, hoodie sleeves pushed up, soft music playing from his phone.

it buzzed once.

then again.

your name was on the mug he was holding.

her name was on the screen.

and you looked. again.

"still can’t believe it’s you in the red kit. i always thought you'd wear blue."
"you still look good."

your hands curled into fists.

it was always her.

her voice in his phone.
her ghost in his ribs.
her name on the edge of every silence.

you stood before you could think about it. grabbed your coat. didn’t wait.

you didn’t answer when he called.

not that night. not the next morning. not after the fifth voicemail where his voice got quieter, sadder, more confused.

you couldn’t do it.

you couldn’t be the one he loved when he was lonely. the one who kissed him back while he kept someone else alive in the back of his mind.

you weren’t a substitute. you weren’t a second choice.

you wanted to be the one.

he showed up three days later.

hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since you left.

you didn’t open the door at first.

he knocked once. then again.

then softly: ‘please, baby.’

and you opened it. because even though you were angry. even though your chest ached. even though your pride begged you not to—

you still loved him.

and he looked at you like he was afraid you didn’t anymore.

‘why didn’t you tell me you still talk to her?’

his face fell.

he didn’t lie. he didn’t deflect. he just said quietly, ‘because i knew how it would look.’

you didn’t speak.

‘i should’ve told you,’ he said. ‘but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘but you did.’

he looked down. ‘i know.’

he stepped closer, hands open, not touching.

‘i don’t love her anymore,’ he said.

you blinked.

‘i don’t want her back. she was my past. you—’ he exhaled. ‘you’re my now. my always, if you’ll let me be that.’

‘then why talk to her at all?’

he hesitated. then, gently:
‘because closure’s not always clean. sometimes it lingers. sometimes people try to keep a piece of you even when they shouldn’t.’

‘and you let her?’

his eyes met yours. honest. hurting.

‘i let her talk. but i didn’t answer back in the ways that matter. not anymore. not since you.’

you didn’t say anything for a long time.

the rain tapped on the windows. the silence filled every crack in your chest.

then you whispered, ‘do you still think about her?’

‘not the way i think about you.’

he reached out. touched your hand.

‘when you laugh,’ he said, ‘i don’t think of her. when you fall asleep on my chest, i’m not dreaming of anyone else. when you kiss me, i forget what it felt like to lose before you.’

tears filled your eyes.

‘i never wanted to be a replacement, joão.’

‘you’re not,’ he said, voice breaking. ‘you’re everything i didn’t know i needed.’

you let him hold you after that.

not because it fixed everything.

but because love, real love, is messy. it stumbles. it bleeds. it breaks open and still reaches forward.

and he reached for you.

held you like he’d never let go again.

whispered i’m sorry into your hair a hundred times.

kissed you like he meant forever.

and maybe it wouldn’t always be perfect.

but for the first time, it was real.

and this time, it was yours.

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

❦ - the love of italia.

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

warnings:: none

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

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz was not having a good game.

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

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

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

kenan had just given him a look.

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

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

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

from that moment on, he was done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he did.

a clean strike. bottom corner. unstoppable.

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

his eyes went straight to you.

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

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

‘kenan, that goal—’

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

not just any kiss, a statement.

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

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

when he finally pulled back, his expression unreadable.

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

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

and honestly? he was right.