paucubarsisimp - Tumblr blog

paucubarsisimp · 8 days ago

Text

omg i totally forgot about her 😭🙏 umm idk maybe ill do something in the future with her?? maybe her coming back or something? idk also tysm my love 💗💗

silent echoes pt.2

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which you heal and move on

warnings: suicide attempt, tiny bit of angst, cussing?

a/n: i had so many requests for part 2, so here it is!!

part 1

you lie on the floor of your apartment.

still.

breathing, but barely.

the room is dark except for the faint glow of your phone screen on the carpet beside you, useless now. the bottle in your hand feels cold, heavier than it should. you didn’t plan this, not like this. but the tiredness, the silence, the way everyone just drifted away—it all feels like it’s crushing you from the inside out.

you think maybe this will finally make them see. maybe this will make them feel something. maybe this will make you feel something different.

your fingers shake as they grip the bottle tighter.

and then—

there’s a knock.

soft at first.

then harder.

you don’t move.

the knocking becomes pounding.

“y/n?” the voice is frantic, desperate. it’s lando’s voice. your heart stutters. a long pause.

“y/n, please. open the door.”

your breath catches.

but you don’t answer.

the door bursts open.

your body tenses as he steps in, eyes wild and searching.

he drops to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reach for yours.

“no. no. no.” his voice breaks.

“please, don’t do this.”

you want to look away, to hide, to disappear again.

but his tears are wet on your cheek before you even realize.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking like it might shatter. “i didn’t see. i should’ve seen. i was so stupid.”

his hands are shaking as he holds yours, as if afraid you might slip through his fingers forever.

“you weren’t heavy,” he says, choking on the words. “you were light. the light i didn’t deserve.”

you blink slowly, the tears you thought were gone now pricking at your eyes.

“i thought… i thought you didn’t want me anymore. that i was just too much. but i was the one who walked away.”

his forehead falls against your temple. his breath is shaky, ragged.

“please don’t leave me. please don’t do this.”

you feel his arms wrap around you then, holding you tight, as if trying to hold back the silence that’s been creeping between you both.

“you’re not alone,” he says, over and over, like a prayer.

minutes pass and the world feels unbearably still.

then he pulls out his phone with a shaking hand, dialing emergency.

he stays with you.

doesn’t let go.

the ambulance lights flood the room in cold blue and red when they arrive.

he’s with you through the rush of questions, the cold metal of the hospital, the sterile smell that makes your skin crawl.

he holds your hand.

doesn’t speak much.

just stays.

days pass.

recovery is slow, uneven, painful.

some days the silence is louder than ever.

some days you think about giving up again.

but every time, he’s there.

with small gestures. soft words.

quiet presence.

he doesn’t try to fix you, because he knows it’s not that simple.

but he listens.

really listens.

and slowly, maybe, you start to feel seen again.

like maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason to keep going.

lando doesn’t erase the past.

he can’t.

but he stays.

and that’s enough.

for now.

the hospital room feels small, almost too small to hold all the weight pressing down on you.

lando hasn’t left your side.

he’s a quiet anchor, but outside this room, the storm is just beginning.

after a few hours, your phone buzzes—a message from your mom.

“y/n? is everything okay? we heard...”

lando reads it aloud before you see it.

“they know now,” he says, voice heavy.

you don’t answer.

minutes later, the door opens and a woman walks in hesitantly—your mom.

her eyes are swollen from crying, cheeks pale, hands trembling as she clutches a small bag.

she looks at you like you’re both a stranger and her whole world.

“baby,” she whispers, voice cracking. “why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you say anything?”

you want to speak, to explain.

but the words stick in your throat.

your mom sits beside you, reaching for your hand.

“we should have been here,” she says, voice barely audible.

before long, your sister arrives.

she doesn’t say anything at first.

just stands in the doorway, eyes wide and red.

then she kneels beside your bed, taking your other hand.

“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t know. i thought you didn’t want us.”

the silence between you is thick.

the months of distance, the blocked messages, the missed birthdays—it all crashes down now.

your mom looks at your sister, then back at you.

“we’re here,” she says firmly. “we want to be here. please let us.”

lando watches from the corner, quiet, letting you all have this moment.

you look at your mom’s face, the mix of guilt and love.

you see your sister’s hesitation, but also her hope.

something shifts.

it doesn’t fix everything.

it doesn’t erase the pain.

but it’s a start.

a fragile, trembling start.

your mom squeezes your hand, your sister does the same. lando stays quiet in the corner, watching you like you’re a miracle he’s still afraid might disappear.

and you?

you’re still not sure how to breathe.

the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. but it’s shifted—redistributed, somehow. like it’s being shared now. like for the first time in months, maybe you’re not the only one holding it.

your mom smooths the blanket over your legs, the way she used to when you were a kid and feverish, too tired to move. “i should’ve known,” she whispers, eyes full of something too sharp to be guilt and too soft to be anything else. “you were always so quiet about your pain.”

you want to say i wasn’t quiet. you just stopped listening.

but the words don’t come.

you just nod. barely. but it’s enough.

your sister sits back in the chair, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “i thought you pulled away,” she says, voice trembling. “i didn’t realize we were the ones walking away first.”

lando shifts closer now. not touching you, not pushing. just there. solid and quiet and trying.

there’s no dramatic reconciliation. no speeches. no cinematic music rising behind the moment.

just silence. but a different kind this time. not empty. not alone. just… still.

and that’s something.

later that night, when the room is dim and the hospital hums with machines and midnight, you lie awake.

lando is asleep in the chair beside your bed, head tilted, his hoodie bunched under his chin like a pillow. his face looks younger when he sleeps. softer. like the version of him you used to know. like the one who sent sleepy voice notes and held you like you mattered.

you stare at him for a long time.

you want to hate him. you really do.

but grief doesn’t always make room for anger. sometimes it just settles in your bones like cold.

and love? love doesn’t leave just because someone did.

you close your eyes. not to sleep. just to rest. just to float for a moment in the liminal space between pain and peace.

the days that follow are uneven.

your mom brings fresh clothes. your sister brings books you probably won’t read. lando brings you a small stuffed animal from the gift shop—some ridiculous little bear with oversized ears.

you laugh for the first time in weeks when you see it. a breathy, broken thing. but it counts.

lando’s smile when you laugh looks like a crack in his own armor. like maybe he’d been holding his breath, too.

one afternoon, you ask lando quietly, “why did you come?”

he’s quiet for a long time before answering. then: “because i knew, and i didn’t do anything. and i couldn’t live with that.” he looks at you, eyes red but steady. “and because i still love you.”

the words land somewhere between your ribs. not sharp. not soft. just… real.

you don’t say it back. not yet. maybe not ever.

but you don’t look away.

and that’s a beginning.

you’re not healed.

you still flinch when the nurse knocks too loudly. you still freeze when your phone buzzes unexpectedly. you still cry without warning—quiet, stuttering sobs that leave you hollow.

but you also eat a full meal for the first time. you let your sister paint your nails in silence. you sit in the sunlight for ten full minutes before going back inside.

tiny victories. microscopic, even. but they matter.

lando never pushes. just sits beside you. sometimes in silence. sometimes with stories. he talks about racing, but only if you ask. he doesn’t try to make you laugh, but smiles when you do.

three months later.

you’re standing in the paddock, sunlight warming your skin, laughter echoing somewhere behind you, and for the first time in a very long time—

you feel okay.

not just functioning. not just surviving. but okay. present. real. alive.

the chaos of race weekend buzzes around you—team radios crackling, mechanics moving like clockwork, fans cheering behind barriers. lando’s somewhere ahead, talking with engineers, that familiar bounce in his step back where it used to be. he glances back just once—like he always does now—to make sure you’re still there.

you are.

and this time, you smile.

he grins, boyish and bright, before turning back to work.

you sip your iced coffee slowly, the kind of drink you never used to finish, but now always do.

“how are you not sweating?” lily asks beside you, pulling her sunglasses down to squint at you dramatically. she’s fanning herself with her pass, golden bracelets clinking with every movement.

you laugh—a real laugh, loud and unguarded.

“i’m a survivor,” you tease. “heat has nothing on me.”

lily grins. “damn right, you are.”

you didn’t expect her to become your best friend.

but it happened fast. effortlessly.

what started as small talk at a driver dinner turned into voice notes at 3 a.m., long walks through unfamiliar cities, secrets spilled over wine and takeout. she never asked you to be okay. never forced you to talk. just held space for you until you were ready to fill it.

now, you’re inseparable.

and it’s not like she replaced anyone. she just arrived like sunlight through a window you didn’t realize you’d left open.

someone passes by and compliments your outfit. you thank them. not shy. not flinching. just… steady.

another little thing.

a moment that would’ve felt impossible a few months ago. now, it just is.

you and lily find a shaded bench near the back of the garage.

she’s texting oscar, and you’re scrolling your camera roll—photos from earlier today.

one makes you pause.

lando, post-qualifying, sweaty and grinning, pulling you into a one-armed hug while still in his suit. his other hand’s in your hair, his forehead pressed to your temple. someone must’ve taken it without either of you noticing.

you save it to your favorites.

then you glance up.

he’s walking toward you now, cap backward, suit unzipped to the waist. he looks tired—but happy. he lights up when he sees you.

“hey, sunshine,” he says, crouching in front of you, brushing his fingers over your knee.

“podium?” you ask with a smirk.

“manifesting,” he grins.

he leans in and kisses your cheek before jogging back toward the garage.

lily raises her brows. “still obsessed with you.”

you shrug. but you’re smiling.

later, after the race, when the champagne’s been sprayed and the interviews are done, lando finds you again.

you’re tucked into a quiet corner of the hospitality area, sipping water, listening to lily and carmen argue gently about dessert options.

lando slides in beside you, still slightly glittering from champagne.

you turn to him.

“you were amazing today,” you say softly, and you mean it. not just for the race. but for all of it.

for staying. for trying. for learning how to love you in the quiet, heavy moments, not just the easy ones.

he rests his hand on your thigh, warm and steady. “you helped me get here,” he says. “all of this feels different with you around again.”

you rest your head on his shoulder. the world around you is loud, electric, buzzing with post-race adrenaline—but inside this small bubble, it’s calm. safe.

and you think:

they stayed.

and new people came. and you stayed, too.

despite everything. despite the silence. despite the nights on the floor and the weight that once nearly swallowed you whole

you’re still here.

and not just here.

but loved. seen. held.

you watch lando laugh with carlos. you watch lily swipe a second cupcake when no one’s looking. you watch the people around you—this chosen family—and you breathe.

the ache is still there. sometimes.

but now, it’s just a part of the story.

not the end.

hours later, the world has quieted.

the sun is long gone, the paddock mostly empty, echoing now with the occasional clink of tools and the soft roll of carts being packed away.

you’re in the back of the team motorhome, curled up on the worn couch in lando’s room. it smells like soap and rubber and him—that warm, familiar scent that still makes something loosen in your chest.

he’s just showered, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped, a little slower in his movements now that the cameras are off.

his medal is still slung loosely around his neck, like he forgot it was there.

you reach for it gently, letting your fingers trace the ribbon.

“you looked good out there,” you murmur.

he leans in and kisses your temple. “you looked better.”

you roll your eyes. “cheesy.”

“honest.”

he flops down beside you, his head finding your lap without hesitation, like his body just knows where it wants to rest. his arm curls around your waist.

you run your fingers through his hair, soft and damp, and for a while, you don’t speak.

the silence is comfortable now.

not something to fear.

just a gentle space between two people who don’t need to fill every second.

after a while, he speaks—low, almost shy.

“you scared me.”

you don’t ask what he means.

you know.

your fingers still in his hair, then resume, slower.

“i scared myself,” you whisper.

he shifts, just enough to look up at you. his eyes are soft. tired. a little glassy.

“i think about it more than i say,” he admits. “about that night. about what would’ve happened if i was one minute later. two.”

you breathe in.

hold it.

then let it go.

“you were on time,” you say. “you came back.”

he sits up slowly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’ll always come back,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod, but he pulls back to make you look at him. “say it,” he murmurs.

“you’ll come back.”

“every time.”

he kisses you then—soft, sure, home.

you fall asleep tangled together, limbs overlapping, breaths syncing, the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

and for the first time in your life, you believe it— not just that he loves you. but that you deserve it.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @freyathehuntress, @dakotapaigelove,@beathreat, @dessashippr, @sparklepiastri, @arosier123 lmk if you want to be added or removed!

#ellie yaps!

609 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 8 days ago

Text

hi my loves!!

i’m so sorry for not posting in a while! school just started back up and i’m still adjusting to the new routine. that does mean i’ll probably be posting a little less often for now, but i’ll still try to write as much as i can when i have time!! love you all tons!!

💋💋

#ellie yaps!

2 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 8 days ago

Text

golden hour

pairing: hector fort x reader

summary: baking with hector <3

warnings: none!

a/n: the second fic from my end of summer event! i hope you like this, gorgeous @evitarubio

you always thought love would come in loud ways. fireworks, movie moments, big confessions under the rain. but now, standing barefoot in your kitchen with soft music playing and the smell of vanilla in the air, you’re starting to think maybe love is quiet. maybe it smells like warm cupcakes. maybe it sounds like héctor humming under his breath next to you while he sifts flour like he’s done it a thousand times before, even though you both know he hasn’t.

he’s wearing your extra pink apron. the one with the little strawberries on it.

and he looks so stupidly good in it that you have to keep your eyes on the batter just so you don’t start smiling like an idiot.

“okay,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to peek into the bowl. “this looks… semi-edible.”

you elbow him gently. “semi-edible? wow. such confidence in my baking.”

he just grins, all sunshine and trouble. “no, no, your baking is always edible. it’s the part where i touched it that makes it questionable.”

and you laugh, soft and a little shy, because that’s what it’s always like with him. teasing and warm and easy. héctor fort, golden boy, football star, and your best friend since you were both awkward twelve-year-olds. now taller, broader, annoyingly charming. and still just… him.

you hand him the whisk and try not to think too hard about the way his fingers brush yours.

“mix gently,” you tell him.

he stares at the whisk like it’s a live grenade. “define ‘gently.’”

you roll your eyes. “like you’re not trying to summon a storm cloud.”

“noted.”

he whisks. aggressively.

“okay, hurricane hector,” you say, grabbing it back before he ruins your perfectly measured batter. “how do you mess up stirring?”

“talent,” he says proudly. “pure, natural-born talent.”

you shake your head and laugh again, and it settles deep in your chest, where things have been feeling oddly fluttery lately. because this feels too much like a date. you invited him over under the excuse of baking, but you’d worn your favorite outfit anyway, and you’d even lit the pretty candle on the windowsill—the one that smells like raspberries and sugar and something else you can’t name.

you like him. you really like him.

and it’s terrifying.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you’ll keep it tucked away. you’ve been doing that for a while now—swallowing it down, pretending those lingering glances don’t mean anything, pretending the way your heart jumps when he touches you is just friendship.

but then there’s a moment.

you’re frosting the cupcakes, and your finger slips, smearing pink frosting across your cheek. you laugh, instinctively turning away, but before you can wipe it, héctor leans in, eyes soft, voice lower than before.

“you’ve got a little…”

he reaches out, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. his hand lingers for a second longer than it needs to. and suddenly the kitchen feels too warm, like all the air’s been replaced with sunlight and sugar and something you can’t name.

you look up.

and he’s already looking at you.

really looking.

and in that second, it’s like something clicks into place. no jokes. no teasing. just this quiet, heavy stillness that feels like standing on the edge of something.

“can i…” he starts, then stops, like he’s searching for the right words.

you nod before he even finishes.

and he kisses you.

it’s not dramatic or perfect. it’s a little awkward—his nose bumps yours, and you both almost laugh—but then it settles. soft, slow, like he’s been waiting for this. like you both have. and it tastes like vanilla and pink frosting and every late-night talk and inside joke and almost-moment you’ve ever shared.

when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, and neither of you speaks for a second.

then he says, barely above a whisper, “i’ve been falling in love with you. for a while now.”

your breath catches. “i thought i was the only one.”

“you really think i bake for just anyone?” he jokes, nudging you with his nose.

you laugh, and it breaks the tension in the best way. suddenly you’re both giggling, and he’s hugging you from behind while you finish frosting the last cupcake, and it’s all so easy. so right.

later, when the sky outside turns that perfect shade of golden-pink, you sit on the kitchen floor together with a plate of slightly wonky cupcakes between you, your legs tangled up under the table.

“this is the best one,” you say, holding up the lopsided one with way too much frosting.

he grins. “it’s literally collapsing.”

“exactly. it’s got personality.”

he leans in, nudging your shoulder. “kind of like you.”

you pretend to be offended, but your face is glowing. you know it.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that this—him, here, now—this is your golden hour. not fireworks. not rain-soaked confessions.

just a boy you’ve loved for a long time, in a kitchen that smells like sugar, telling you the truth with frosting on his hands and light in his eyes.

and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby,, @vicolette, @bernalswifeyy lmk if you want to be added/removed!

#fc barcelona #football #footballer x reader #football imagine #hector fort #hector fort x reader #hector fort fanfic #hector fort imagine #hector fort x y/n #hector fort fluff #hector fort x you #Spotify

95 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 8 days ago

Text

enchanted

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which you have a summer romance with pau

warnings: none!

a/n: first fic from my end of summer event! i hope you like this, my love @mxryxmfooty <33

the first time you saw him, the sky was dipped in that syrupy kind of orange only august knows how to make.

you were sitting on the edge of a quiet beach in girona, toes buried in warm sand, watching the waves flirt with the shoreline. the air smelled like salt and sun-drenched pine. a breeze lifted your hair just as he walked past — tall, quiet, sun-kissed — like he was part of the scenery, like the day had summoned him just for you.

he looked over his shoulder once. just once. smiled. and in that one second, something in your chest twisted.

later, you’d tell yourself it was just the light. the way it caught in his eyes like fireflies. the way his mouth curved like a secret. but no — it was him. it was all him.

his name was pau.

he told you that two nights later, when you ran into him again — this time at a little town square, where strings of golden lights hung like stars that had gotten too lazy to climb the sky.

“you again,” you said, teasing.

he laughed. it was soft, low — like the hush of the sea just after dusk. “maybe it’s fate.”

you smiled. “or maybe you’re following me.”

“maybe i’m hoping you’ll let me.”

the days slipped by like honey — slow and sticky and golden.

you learned his rhythm first. the way he always walked a little too close. the way he let his fingers linger when he handed you something. the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t watching — like you were something he didn’t quite believe was real.

you drove down coastal roads with the windows down and the music loud. he let you play taylor swift on repeat, claiming he didn’t know the lyrics — but he did. by the third time enchanted came on, he was humming along under his breath, a faint flush on his cheeks.

“you’re enchanted by me, admit it,” you teased.

his hand found yours, rested there like it belonged.

“completely,” he said.

the nights belonged to you.

he would meet you by the edge of the cliffs, where the sky melted into the sea and the world felt smaller, closer, just the two of you. you’d lie on the roof of his car, stars above, your leg draped over his, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.

he told you things then. soft things. things he hadn’t said out loud before.

about football. the pressure. the noise. how sometimes, when the stadium roared his name, he still felt like the quiet boy from bescanó.

“but with you,” he whispered, “i can just be pau.”

you turned your head toward him, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“you’ll always be pau to me.”

one evening, he took you to a little cove he said no one else knew about. the sun was setting slow, casting everything in molten gold. you swam out, water warm like a secret, while he stayed on the shore, watching you like you were magic.

when you came back, he wrapped you in a towel, held you close, his forehead resting against yours.

“this summer doesn’t feel real,” he murmured.

you touched his jaw, traced the line of his cheekbone with your thumb.

“it’s real,” you said. “we are.”

he kissed you then — soft, sure, slow.

like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

but time doesn’t listen to love.

august began to fold in on itself. the nights cooled. the waves grew restless. and so did you.

your flight was booked. your suitcase half-packed. your heart, already aching.

on your last night, he found you on the roof of his house, knees pulled to your chest, the sunset painting you in lavender and tangerine.

he sat beside you, silent at first. just breathing. just being.

finally, he said, “i wish we had more time.”

you turned to him, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

“i wish we didn’t need it.”

he looked at you like he wanted to memorize every line of your face.

“i don’t want this to end,” he said, voice raw.

“then let’s not let it,” you whispered. “let’s remember it like it never did.”

he kissed you again, and it felt like forever and goodbye wrapped in one breath.

the next morning, he walked you to the train station. the sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon glowed faintly — like even the sky was mourning.

you hugged him for too long. he let you.

“this night is sparkling,” you said against his chest, the lyric falling from your lips like prayer.

he pulled back, cupped your face gently, reverently.

“don’t you dare forget me,” he whispered.

you smiled through your tears. “how could i?”

months later, on a rainy tuesday, enchanted comes on in a cafe. and just for a moment, the scent of pine and sea salt wraps around you. you feel the sun on your skin. the softness of his hands. the way he said your name like it was something sacred.

and you realize — some loves aren’t meant to last forever.

they're meant to burn.

they’re meant to leave a mark.

they're meant to become a song.

i’ll spend forever wondering if you knew i was enchanted to meet you

#ellie's end of summer event!#fc barcelona #footballer x reader #football #football imagine #pau cubarsi #pau cubarsí #pau cubarsi x reader #pau cubarsi imagine #pau cubarsi fluff #pau cubarsi x y/n #pau cubarsí imagine #pau cubarsí x reader #pau cubarsí x y/n #pau cubarsí x you #pau cubarsi fic #pau cubarsi x you #pau cubarsí oneshot #Spotify

99 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 8 days ago

Text

silent echoes pt.2

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which you heal and move on

warnings: suicide attempt, tiny bit of angst, cussing?

a/n: i had so many requests for part 2, so here it is!!

part 1

you lie on the floor of your apartment.

still.

breathing, but barely.

you think maybe this will finally make them see. maybe this will make them feel something. maybe this will make you feel something different.

your fingers shake as they grip the bottle tighter.

and then—

there’s a knock.

soft at first.

then harder.

you don’t move.

the knocking becomes pounding.

“y/n?” the voice is frantic, desperate. it’s lando’s voice. your heart stutters. a long pause.

“y/n, please. open the door.”

your breath catches.

but you don’t answer.

the door bursts open.

your body tenses as he steps in, eyes wild and searching.

he drops to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reach for yours.

“no. no. no.” his voice breaks.

“please, don’t do this.”

you want to look away, to hide, to disappear again.

but his tears are wet on your cheek before you even realize.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking like it might shatter. “i didn’t see. i should’ve seen. i was so stupid.”

his hands are shaking as he holds yours, as if afraid you might slip through his fingers forever.

“you weren’t heavy,” he says, choking on the words. “you were light. the light i didn’t deserve.”

you blink slowly, the tears you thought were gone now pricking at your eyes.

“i thought… i thought you didn’t want me anymore. that i was just too much. but i was the one who walked away.”

his forehead falls against your temple. his breath is shaky, ragged.

“please don’t leave me. please don’t do this.”

you feel his arms wrap around you then, holding you tight, as if trying to hold back the silence that’s been creeping between you both.

“you’re not alone,” he says, over and over, like a prayer.

minutes pass and the world feels unbearably still.

then he pulls out his phone with a shaking hand, dialing emergency.

he stays with you.

doesn’t let go.

the ambulance lights flood the room in cold blue and red when they arrive.

he’s with you through the rush of questions, the cold metal of the hospital, the sterile smell that makes your skin crawl.

he holds your hand.

doesn’t speak much.

just stays.

days pass.

recovery is slow, uneven, painful.

some days the silence is louder than ever.

some days you think about giving up again.

but every time, he’s there.

with small gestures. soft words.

quiet presence.

he doesn’t try to fix you, because he knows it’s not that simple.

but he listens.

really listens.

and slowly, maybe, you start to feel seen again.

like maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason to keep going.

lando doesn’t erase the past.

he can’t.

but he stays.

and that’s enough.

for now.

the hospital room feels small, almost too small to hold all the weight pressing down on you.

lando hasn’t left your side.

he’s a quiet anchor, but outside this room, the storm is just beginning.

after a few hours, your phone buzzes—a message from your mom.

“y/n? is everything okay? we heard...”

lando reads it aloud before you see it.

“they know now,” he says, voice heavy.

you don’t answer.

minutes later, the door opens and a woman walks in hesitantly—your mom.

her eyes are swollen from crying, cheeks pale, hands trembling as she clutches a small bag.

she looks at you like you’re both a stranger and her whole world.

“baby,” she whispers, voice cracking. “why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you say anything?”

you want to speak, to explain.

but the words stick in your throat.

your mom sits beside you, reaching for your hand.

“we should have been here,” she says, voice barely audible.

before long, your sister arrives.

she doesn’t say anything at first.

just stands in the doorway, eyes wide and red.

then she kneels beside your bed, taking your other hand.

“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t know. i thought you didn’t want us.”

the silence between you is thick.

the months of distance, the blocked messages, the missed birthdays—it all crashes down now.

your mom looks at your sister, then back at you.

“we’re here,” she says firmly. “we want to be here. please let us.”

lando watches from the corner, quiet, letting you all have this moment.

you look at your mom’s face, the mix of guilt and love.

you see your sister’s hesitation, but also her hope.

something shifts.

it doesn’t fix everything.

it doesn’t erase the pain.

but it’s a start.

a fragile, trembling start.

your mom squeezes your hand, your sister does the same. lando stays quiet in the corner, watching you like you’re a miracle he’s still afraid might disappear.

and you?

you’re still not sure how to breathe.

the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. but it’s shifted—redistributed, somehow. like it’s being shared now. like for the first time in months, maybe you’re not the only one holding it.

you want to say i wasn’t quiet. you just stopped listening.

but the words don’t come.

you just nod. barely. but it’s enough.

your sister sits back in the chair, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “i thought you pulled away,” she says, voice trembling. “i didn’t realize we were the ones walking away first.”

lando shifts closer now. not touching you, not pushing. just there. solid and quiet and trying.

there’s no dramatic reconciliation. no speeches. no cinematic music rising behind the moment.

just silence. but a different kind this time. not empty. not alone. just… still.

and that’s something.

later that night, when the room is dim and the hospital hums with machines and midnight, you lie awake.

you stare at him for a long time.

you want to hate him. you really do.

but grief doesn’t always make room for anger. sometimes it just settles in your bones like cold.

and love? love doesn’t leave just because someone did.

you close your eyes. not to sleep. just to rest. just to float for a moment in the liminal space between pain and peace.

the days that follow are uneven.

your mom brings fresh clothes. your sister brings books you probably won’t read. lando brings you a small stuffed animal from the gift shop—some ridiculous little bear with oversized ears.

you laugh for the first time in weeks when you see it. a breathy, broken thing. but it counts.

lando’s smile when you laugh looks like a crack in his own armor. like maybe he’d been holding his breath, too.

one afternoon, you ask lando quietly, “why did you come?”

the words land somewhere between your ribs. not sharp. not soft. just… real.

you don’t say it back. not yet. maybe not ever.

but you don’t look away.

and that’s a beginning.

you’re not healed.

you still flinch when the nurse knocks too loudly. you still freeze when your phone buzzes unexpectedly. you still cry without warning—quiet, stuttering sobs that leave you hollow.

but you also eat a full meal for the first time. you let your sister paint your nails in silence. you sit in the sunlight for ten full minutes before going back inside.

tiny victories. microscopic, even. but they matter.

lando never pushes. just sits beside you. sometimes in silence. sometimes with stories. he talks about racing, but only if you ask. he doesn’t try to make you laugh, but smiles when you do.

three months later.

you’re standing in the paddock, sunlight warming your skin, laughter echoing somewhere behind you, and for the first time in a very long time—

you feel okay.

not just functioning. not just surviving. but okay. present. real. alive.

you are.

and this time, you smile.

he grins, boyish and bright, before turning back to work.

you sip your iced coffee slowly, the kind of drink you never used to finish, but now always do.

“how are you not sweating?” lily asks beside you, pulling her sunglasses down to squint at you dramatically. she’s fanning herself with her pass, golden bracelets clinking with every movement.

you laugh—a real laugh, loud and unguarded.

“i’m a survivor,” you tease. “heat has nothing on me.”

lily grins. “damn right, you are.”

you didn’t expect her to become your best friend.

but it happened fast. effortlessly.

now, you’re inseparable.

and it’s not like she replaced anyone. she just arrived like sunlight through a window you didn’t realize you’d left open.

someone passes by and compliments your outfit. you thank them. not shy. not flinching. just… steady.

another little thing.

a moment that would’ve felt impossible a few months ago. now, it just is.

you and lily find a shaded bench near the back of the garage.

she’s texting oscar, and you’re scrolling your camera roll—photos from earlier today.

one makes you pause.

you save it to your favorites.

then you glance up.

he’s walking toward you now, cap backward, suit unzipped to the waist. he looks tired—but happy. he lights up when he sees you.

“hey, sunshine,” he says, crouching in front of you, brushing his fingers over your knee.

“podium?” you ask with a smirk.

“manifesting,” he grins.

he leans in and kisses your cheek before jogging back toward the garage.

lily raises her brows. “still obsessed with you.”

you shrug. but you’re smiling.

later, after the race, when the champagne’s been sprayed and the interviews are done, lando finds you again.

you’re tucked into a quiet corner of the hospitality area, sipping water, listening to lily and carmen argue gently about dessert options.

lando slides in beside you, still slightly glittering from champagne.

you turn to him.

“you were amazing today,” you say softly, and you mean it. not just for the race. but for all of it.

for staying. for trying. for learning how to love you in the quiet, heavy moments, not just the easy ones.

he rests his hand on your thigh, warm and steady. “you helped me get here,” he says. “all of this feels different with you around again.”

you rest your head on his shoulder. the world around you is loud, electric, buzzing with post-race adrenaline—but inside this small bubble, it’s calm. safe.

and you think:

they stayed.

and new people came. and you stayed, too.

despite everything. despite the silence. despite the nights on the floor and the weight that once nearly swallowed you whole

you’re still here.

and not just here.

but loved. seen. held.

you watch lando laugh with carlos. you watch lily swipe a second cupcake when no one’s looking. you watch the people around you—this chosen family—and you breathe.

the ache is still there. sometimes.

but now, it’s just a part of the story.

not the end.

hours later, the world has quieted.

the sun is long gone, the paddock mostly empty, echoing now with the occasional clink of tools and the soft roll of carts being packed away.

he’s just showered, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped, a little slower in his movements now that the cameras are off.

his medal is still slung loosely around his neck, like he forgot it was there.

you reach for it gently, letting your fingers trace the ribbon.

“you looked good out there,” you murmur.

he leans in and kisses your temple. “you looked better.”

you roll your eyes. “cheesy.”

“honest.”

he flops down beside you, his head finding your lap without hesitation, like his body just knows where it wants to rest. his arm curls around your waist.

you run your fingers through his hair, soft and damp, and for a while, you don’t speak.

the silence is comfortable now.

not something to fear.

just a gentle space between two people who don’t need to fill every second.

after a while, he speaks—low, almost shy.

“you scared me.”

you don’t ask what he means.

you know.

your fingers still in his hair, then resume, slower.

“i scared myself,” you whisper.

he shifts, just enough to look up at you. his eyes are soft. tired. a little glassy.

“i think about it more than i say,” he admits. “about that night. about what would’ve happened if i was one minute later. two.”

you breathe in.

hold it.

then let it go.

“you were on time,” you say. “you came back.”

he sits up slowly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’ll always come back,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod, but he pulls back to make you look at him. “say it,” he murmurs.

“you’ll come back.”

“every time.”

he kisses you then—soft, sure, home.

you fall asleep tangled together, limbs overlapping, breaths syncing, the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

and for the first time in your life, you believe it— not just that he loves you. but that you deserve it.

609 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 9 days ago

Text

PEDRIIIIIII

#fc barcelona #pedri #our hero

7 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 9 days ago

Text

jokes over iñigo, please come back the kids need you 🙏🙏

#fc barcelona #iñigo martinez #pau cubarsí #pablo gavi #lamine yamal #not funny anymore

12 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 11 days ago

Text

happy birthday king!!

#ellie yaps!#fc barcelona #robert lewandowski #goat #give him his ballon d’or please 😭🙏#also what is that photo with tek 😭😭

18 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 12 days ago

Note

heyyy could you write anything about dean huijsen x sisters best friend where he teases her about her height

cookies & chemistry

pairing: dean huijsen x reader

summary: in which dean falls for his brother's best friend

warnings: none!

a/n: i couldn't find anything about his sister (idk if he has one tbh) so i made it his brother instead!

you barely knock once before the front door swings open.

"hi," dean says, already leaning against the frame like he’s been waiting for you. his mouth is curled into that usual lopsided grin, the one that somehow manages to look both smug and harmless.

"where’s your brother?" you ask, pushing past him without waiting for an invitation. not that you need one — you’ve been best friends with damien since middle school. you practically live here.

"not home," he says, trailing after you into the kitchen. "but i’m here. lucky you."

you glance over your shoulder. "tragic."

"you say that, but you still show up."

"i came to see liam."

"liam’s boring."

"you’re annoying."

"and yet," he says, opening the fridge just to look inside and grab nothing, "you keep showing up."

you ignore him, already reaching for the snack cupboard. your hand is halfway to the top shelf when you realize the cookies — your cookies — are placed stupidly high. like, out-of-your-reach high.

"really?" you mutter, standing on your tiptoes.

"need a ladder?" dean says from behind you, voice way too casual. "or maybe a forklift?"

you glance back at him, unamused. "this is cruel."

he walks over and easily grabs the box, holding it just out of reach when you try to snatch it.

"give it."

"say please."

"dean."

"you’re so angry for someone who’s the size of a garden gnome."

"i swear to god—"

he laughs, and it’s that low, warm sound that fills the kitchen in a way you wish it didn’t. you jump again, almost catching the box, but he raises it higher.

"this is bullying," you mutter.

"this is justice," he counters.

eventually, he hands it over with a little smirk, like he’s doing you the biggest favor in the world. you grab it, muttering a sarcastic thank you, and settle onto one of the kitchen stools.

he leans on the opposite counter, arms crossed, still watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel like he’s got an inside joke running in his head at all times.

"you know," he says, "i actually came home early. figured you’d be here."

you pause. "and?"

"and i wanted to make sure the cookie shelf was high enough."

you narrow your eyes at him. "i hate you."

"i know. it’s adorable."

you look away, but you can feel his eyes on you, lingering in that way that always leaves your stomach a little weird. dean’s not a stranger — he’s been damien’s little brother since forever. but he’s also... not that kid anymore.

somewhere between last year and now, he shot up in height, filled out in muscle, and started looking less like a teenage nuisance and more like a problem.

a tall, smug, annoyingly attractive problem.

"so, what, you’ve got nothing better to do than harass your brother’s best friend?" you ask, taking a bite of a cookie.

he shrugs. "i could be out training, sure. or i could be here, making your life slightly more difficult."

"so selfless of you."

"i try."

for a moment, it’s quiet — not awkward, but the kind of quiet that feels like it’s waiting for something. like the next joke won’t land because it’ll mean something else. like if you look at him too long, he’ll notice that your heart’s doing something weird.

and maybe he already knows.

you glance up, and he’s still watching you. less teasing now. more... something else.

"you’re not as annoying as you pretend to be," you say, softer.

he tilts his head. "you say that like it’s a compliment."

"maybe it is."

a beat.

he straightens a little, like the air shifted.

but before either of you can say anything else, the front door opens.

"yo!" damien calls out. "is she here?"

"unfortunately," dean calls back, already pushing off the counter. he turns to you with a grin. "he’s here to rescue you. your tiny legs can relax."

you roll your eyes and throw a cookie at him, which he dodges way too easily.

"i hope you trip over your own ego," you mutter.

"hard when i'm this balanced and beautiful."

he disappears down the hallway, laughing.

you stay behind in the kitchen for a second, heart annoyingly light.

dean huijsen is trouble.

and maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind.

you’re on the couch, feet tucked under you, half-watching a movie and half-scrolling your phone when damien finally walks into the living room.

"hey," he says, tossing his keys in the bowl by the door. "dean said you were here."

"yep," you reply, barely glancing up. "he was very welcoming. nearly weaponized a cookie box against me."

damien snorts, dropping into the armchair across from you. "classic."

you smile, but it’s distracted. your eyes keep flicking to the hallway — the one dean disappeared down ten minutes ago to “grab something.” he still hasn’t come back.

you hate that you notice.

you especially hate that damien might notice too, because the second your gaze drifts that way again, he raises an eyebrow.

"you two fight like you’re in some high school romcom," he says casually.

you stiffen. "what?"

"you and dean. all the bickering. the dramatics. it’s giving unresolved sexual tension."

you choke on your own spit. "oh my god—"

"i’m just saying," damien shrugs, like it’s not the most insane thing to casually drop on a tuesday. "you act like you hate each other but he literally rearranged the entire kitchen shelf layout because you couldn’t reach the cereal."

"that’s not—" you start, but then the footsteps return.

dean walks in, hair a little messy and sleeves pushed up. he looks too comfortable, which is annoying. worse, he flops down next to you on the couch like he’s always had a claim there.

"what are we watching?" he asks, pretending not to notice the sudden silence.

damien smirks. you shoot him a glare.

"nothing," you mutter. "you’re late."

"i’m never late," dean says, stretching like a cat. "the party starts when i walk in."

"so humble."

"i do try."

you keep your eyes on the screen, but he’s close. closer than necessary. his knee brushes yours and stays there, casual like it means nothing. it absolutely means something.

at least to you.

"you’re quiet," dean says after a beat, nudging your shoulder. "you okay, tiny?"

"fine," you say, trying not to melt at the nickname — one he’s used a million times, always with that smug little smile. but now it hits different. now, it’s layered with something heavier. something you’re trying not to name.

damien clears his throat loudly, standing. "i’m gonna take a shower. don’t burn the house down."

you shoot him another glare, but he just gives you a knowing look and disappears.

the door clicks shut behind him.

silence stretches.

dean turns slightly to face you. "what was that about?"

"nothing."

"did you say something about me being humble? because i disagree. i’m probably the most humble person you’ve ever met."

you roll your eyes, grateful for the shift. "you are the literal opposite of humble."

he smiles, but it fades a little as he looks at you. not in a sad way — just... quieter. like he’s studying you again. like he’s trying to figure out what’s shifted.

"you really don’t hate me, do you?" he asks, softly this time.

you blink. "what?"

"you always say it. that you hate me. but you don’t."

you swallow. "do you want me to?"

"no."

your heart does something strange.

you look at him then, really look at him. there’s something in his face — a flicker of something not smug, not cocky. something honest.

"do you hate me?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he scoffs, but it's not mean. "you drive me insane," he says. "you steal my snacks, roast me in front of my own family, and make fun of my music taste."

you raise an eyebrow. "but?"

"but i don’t hate you." he leans in slightly. "not even close."

your breath catches.

the tension is thick now — like a rubber band stretched too tight. and you both know it. it’s in the way neither of you moves away. in the way his gaze flicks to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.

he clears his throat and leans back, breaking it.

"anyway," he says, trying to sound casual, "if you want the rest of the cookies, you’ll have to fight me."

you blink, caught off guard. "what?"

"just leveling the mood again. thought you were about to cry or kiss me."

"you wish."

"yeah," he says, and it's too quiet to pretend it was a joke, "i do."

your stomach flips.

you pretend not to hear him, because if you acknowledge that, everything changes.

and maybe… you’re not ready for that yet.

damien corners dean in the hallway after you leave the living room for a minute. his voice is low but serious, no teasing.

“dean,” he says, “i know what’s going on between you two.”

dean blinks, trying to play it cool, but damien’s tone shuts that down instantly.

“look, you better not hurt her. she’s important. more than you probably realize.”

dean’s jaw tightens. “i’m not planning to.”

“good. because if you do, i’ll make your life a living hell.”

dean smirks, but there’s something different in his eyes now — something quieter, more determined.

“i got this, damien.”

damien nods once, then walks away.

dean exhales deeply and makes his way down the hall to damien’s room.

you’re lying on the bed, scrolling on your phone, when he steps in, shutting the door behind him without a word.

he’s close before you even realize it — tall, imposing, and all at once completely vulnerable.

“dean,” you start, but he silences you with his hand on your mouth.

no words, just his lips pressing to yours. soft at first, then firmer, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

your heart races, breath hitching against him.

when he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark and a little wild.

“shh,” he murmurs. “don’t say anything. just... this.”

you nod, still catching your breath.

sometimes the best words are the ones you don’t say at all.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @bernalswifeyy lmk if you want to be added/removed!

#dean huijsen x reader #dean huijsen imagine #dean huijsen fluff #dean huijsen fic #dean huijsen x you #dean huijsen x y/n #dean huijsen #football #football fanfic #football imagine #football fluff #football fic #footballer x reader

87 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 15 days ago

Note

hey do you write for Lewis?

i saw your master list and didn’t see him. if not that’s fine ml! if you do could u make a fic where reader is rlly scared of dogs like her biggest fear and obv roscoe and Lewis helps her xx

tysm ml if u cant could u do this with Charles and Leo? tysm again!

slow steps & soft paws

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

summary: in which lewis helps you overcome your fear of dogs

warnings: none!

a/n: tysm for requesting, ml <3

you didn’t mean to flinch.

roscoe was just waddling toward you, tongue hanging out, eyes squinting like he was grinning. honestly, he looked like a big fluffy teddy bear. but your body had other ideas, stepping back before your brain even caught up.

lewis noticed immediately.

“hey,” he said softly, putting a warm hand on your back. “you okay?”

you swallowed and tried to laugh it off. “yeah, sorry. just a reflex.”

roscoe flopped on the floor, rolling onto his side like a little loaf of bread. he looked… harmless. happy, even.

but your chest felt tight.

you looked up at lewis. “i should’ve told you — i’m scared of dogs.”

his eyebrows shot up, but he just gave you a soft smile. “like… scared scared?”

“yeah,” you said, cheeks burning. “always have been. it’s stupid.”

lewis crouched down next to roscoe, who was busy trying to chew his own foot, and scratched behind his ears. “roscoe’s more teddy bear than dog. but hey, no pressure. you don’t have to explain.”

you bit your lip. “i don’t want this to be a thing. i really like you. but… maybe i need time.”

lewis smiled, standing up again. “time? i’ve got loads.”

over the next few weeks, lewis never pushed. you’d come over, and roscoe would be around — sometimes snoozing on the couch, sometimes sprawling in a sunbeam. lewis always made sure you had space, letting you set the pace.

he’d sit on the floor with roscoe while you watched from across the room. roscoe didn’t try to rush you. like he just knew.

“is he always this chill?” you asked one day, watching roscoe snore on his back.

lewis laughed. “most of the time. he’s got better manners than me.”

“that’s debatable,” you teased.

he grinned. “wanna try giving him a treat?”

you hesitated, then nodded. lewis pulled a small biscuit from a jar and handed it to you, palm up. “he’ll take it gently, promise. i’ll be right here.”

your heart was pounding, but you reached out slowly, holding the treat between your fingers. roscoe sniffed once, then carefully licked the treat from your hand.

and just like that — no barking, no jumping, nothing scary.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

lewis smiled wide. “see? natural.”

“don’t push your luck,” you said, standing up but smiling. “that was actually kinda cute.”

little by little, your fear started to fade.

lewis made it easy. he talked about roscoe like he was just a normal guy — “roscoe had a lazy morning,” or “roscoe hates that song.” you’d watch him gently wipe roscoe’s wrinkles, sing in a silly voice while cooking dinner. it was impossible not to soften.

one night, you were curled up on lewis’s couch, legs tucked under you, when you felt a soft thump against your side.

you looked down.

roscoe had rested his head on your thigh, eyes half closed, like he’d done it forever.

you froze.

lewis noticed right away. “you okay?”

“he’s… resting on me.”

lewis smiled like he was proud. “he likes you.”

your hand hovered, then cautiously scratched behind roscoe’s ear.

he sighed.

you looked at him, stunned. “i think i like him too.”

lewis wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “you’re doing amazing.”

“didn’t think i’d ever be okay around a dog,” you whispered. “but roscoe’s just… roscoe.”

lewis kissed your temple. “he’s good at winning people over. guess we have that in common.”

you laughed. “yeah, i guess.”

the next morning, you woke up on the couch, wrapped in lewis’s hoodie, with roscoe snoring at your feet.

you smiled and rubbed his belly. he stretched, tongue lolling, and gave a happy grunt.

lewis came out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “you two look cozy.”

“me and my new best friend,” you said, grinning.

he sat beside you. “think you’re ready to take him for a walk with me sometime?”

you paused, then nodded. “yeah. i think so.”

he grinned. “heads up — he walks like a tank and refuses to turn corners.”

you raised an eyebrow. “perfect. i walk like i’m avoiding commitment, so we balance each other out.”

lewis laughed. “you’re the best.”

you nudged him playfully. “lucky you like me and your dog.”

he kissed you softly. “i really am.”

464 notes · View notes