#football scenarios

[yerkyokuler]

Just One Job - Kylian Mbappe

Hiiiii! I'm new here and I decided to start writing and make it my hobby. Critiques are highly appreciated and feedback is really important. Requests are open! No smut though)))

Kylian Mbappe x F!reader

Warnings: baby getting hurt

Fluff tad bit of fighting and angst , only if you squint

The quiet hum of a rare day off wrapped around your cozy home like a soft blanket. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your living room, casting golden patches on the wooden floors where Layli sat, babbling to herself as she played with a plush bunny.

You were in your soft cotton robe, hair tied in a lazy bun, sipping on your lukewarm tea. Kylian sat beside Layli, stretched out on the floor, laughing at the way she tried to mimic the sounds he made. She was in that stage of barely-sitting, barely-standing—so small, but with a wild, determined heart that was every bit her father’s.

You looked at them both and smiled, your heart swelling with that warm ache of happiness that made your chest feel full.

“Ky,” you said, gently, putting down your mug, “I need to use the bathroom—can you just keep an eye on her?”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Full bodyguard mode activated.”

You chuckled, ruffling his curls as you passed. “You’ve got one job, babe. Just don’t let her swan dive off the couch.”

“Relax,” he said with a grin. “I’m a professional.”

You shook your head fondly and disappeared down the hall, trusting him, like always.

⸻

Two Minutes Later

The bathroom tap ran as you washed your hands. You could still hear the muffled sound of Layli giggling, Kylian’s voice sweet and playful. And then—quiet.

The kind of quiet that immediately tightens a parent’s chest.

You paused. “Ky?” you called out.

No response.

You dried your hands quickly, stepping out and heading back down the hallway—and then everything seemed to slow down.

You saw Kylian by the window, pacing with his phone to his ear, murmuring about some minor scheduling issue. His back was to the room. Layli—tiny, curious, brave—was trying to pull herself up on the couch cushion.

“Kylian—!”

You shouted his name just as Layli lost her balance, her hand slipping on the edge of the couch. You barely had time to blink before she tumbled forward, the small thud of her mouth hitting the wood floor cutting straight through your heart like a blade.

“LAYLI!”

You rushed forward as she let out a piercing cry, her tiny hands flailing, mouth opened in a scream that sounded more like betrayal than pain. You dropped to your knees, scooping her into your arms.

Her lip was bleeding.

Your baby’s lip was bleeding.

“What the f—” Kylian turned around at the sound of her wailing, phone dropping onto the couch. His face went pale. “What happened?!”

“She fell off the couch!” you snapped, rocking Layli gently, pressing her to your chest. “She fell, Kylian. I told you to watch her!”

“I—” he stumbled forward, hands out, panicked. “I was—just for a second—I thought she was still—”

“She hit her mouth,” you said, voice trembling, trying not to cry in front of her. “She’s bleeding. Oh my God—her teeth. Her gums—”

You were already inspecting her, fingers gently wiping away the blood from her lips with a trembling tissue. She wailed harder at the touch, her tiny fingers clinging to your robe.

Kylian stood frozen, devastated. “I didn’t—she was just sitting there—I swear I was right here.”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t. Your heart was pounding too hard. She was hurt. And she trusted you to protect her.

“Do we go to urgent care?” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

“She’s okay, she’s—let me hold her—”

“No,” you said sharply, pulling her closer. “You were supposed to hold her. Watch her.”

His face crumpled. You didn’t mean to be cruel—but your daughter had blood on her bib and a fat, swelling lip. Your brain couldn’t see reason over the sound of her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I swear, I didn’t think—”

“Well, you didn’t have to think. You had to watch her. One job, Kylian. Just one job.”

He looked like you’d just slapped him.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said softly, sitting down slowly on the couch, eyes wide with guilt. “I’d die before I let her get hurt.”

“She got hurt,” you said, standing now, rocking her in your arms.

Layli had quieted a little, her whimpers soft, her fingers tangled in your shirt. But your heart was still racing.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did he.

⸻

Fifteen Minutes Later

You were in the nursery with Layli, dabbing a cool cloth on her mouth while she drifted to sleep. You finally let out the tears you’d held back earlier, silent ones that rolled down your cheeks as you kissed her soft curls.

From the door, Kylian watched, his face a portrait of guilt. He didn’t speak until you glanced over.

“I swear,” he said, voice cracked, “if I could trade places with her, I would. I keep seeing it over and over in my head. I should’ve been right there.”

You said nothing.

“She was looking right at me,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. “Like she was proud she was standing. And I wasn’t even looking.”

That broke something in you.

You held Layli close, then carefully got up, walked toward him.

“She’s okay,” you murmured finally. “But that could’ve been worse.”

“I know,” he nodded.

“And you—you can’t do that again, Ky. I need you present. Not pacing around like it’s a press day. You had one job.”

He looked down. “I deserved that.”

You sighed. “I know you didn’t mean for it. But she’s just a baby.”

“I messed up.”

“Yeah,” you said, softer now. “But you’re hers. And she needs her papa to be more than just around.”

He exhaled, stepping closer. “I will be.”

You finally let your head rest on his shoulder. “I was just so scared.”

“I know, mon cœur,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “I was too.”

Layli had drifted to sleep in your arms, her tiny body finally relaxing as the pain subsided. You had managed to soothe her with kisses and soft lullabies, her little breaths soft and steady against your chest.

Kylian hadn’t been able to stop himself from checking on her every few minutes, glancing at her as she slept. His eyes had softened when he saw her calm down, but his guilt hadn’t gone away. It still clung to him like a heavy weight.

He looked at you. “Can I hold her? Just for a minute?”

You gave him a soft nod, stepping aside as he came toward the crib.

He gently lifted Layli into his arms, his large hands cradling her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. His eyes softened as he gazed down at her, his lips trembling with the weight of everything he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t ever want to let you down. I can’t... I can’t believe I let this happen.”

You stood in the doorway, watching the man you loved as he held his daughter close. For all the glitz and glamour of the football field, this was the real Kylian. The tender, vulnerable one who couldn’t bear to see his daughter hurt.

As you took a step forward, you noticed the tears glistening in his eyes.

“Ky,” you whispered, voice gentle. “It’s okay. She’s okay. You’re okay.”

He didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on Layli. And then, as if she had heard his words, Layli’s little hand twitched. Slowly, she opened her eyes—just a sliver—and raised her tiny hand, reaching for him.

Kylian froze. His breath hitched.

Layli’s small fingers brushed against his cheek, her tiny hand gently cupping his face. She blinked a few times, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and then, in a small, quiet voice, she murmured, “Papa.”

Kylian’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. It was as if the world had paused just for that moment—his baby, awake and reaching for him, calling him. He leaned forward, his lips brushing her tiny hand as he kissed it gently, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never let you fall again.”

Layli’s eyes fluttered closed again, and she settled back into his arms. Kylian stood there for a long time, cradling her close, his tears falling silently as he held onto her. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there—minutes, maybe hours—just trying to make sense of the weight of everything. The guilt, the love, the forgiveness he didn’t deserve but had somehow found in the eyes of his little girl.

You stepped forward, resting your hand gently on his shoulder.

“I know you’re scared,” you said softly. “But you’re her hero. You always will be.”

Kylian turned to you, his eyes wet, and you saw the relief in them. The understanding that this wasn’t the end, that mistakes could be forgiven and life could move forward.

And in that moment, as the three of you stood together—quiet, broken, but healing—everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

⸻

That Evening

The three of you were curled up in bed. Layli was lying in the middle, her swollen lip a little red but no longer bleeding. You had a soft pink ice pack next to her, and a million pillows protecting her from rolling.

Kylian kissed your temple, again and again.

“I forgive you,” you whispered.

He held your hand. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You will. You’re a good father. You just…” you looked at him. “Can’t forget to be one, even on your day off.”

He nodded.

Then his hand slipped beneath the sheets to your thigh, just slightly, and he whispered, “Let me make it up to you…”

You gave him a look. “Ky.”

“I just want to hold you,” he said, grin sheepish.

You laughed softly. “Okay.”

He leaned over Layli and kissed you. “I won’t take my eyes off you or her.”

[hy6erion]

thoughts of omar dating reader who works as the man city physiotherapist 😇

𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

1. When You First Meet Him

✰ Omar had only just transferred to City, his reputation from Bundesliga and the Egyptian national team preceding him. You didn’t know much about him beyond the basic stats—but the second he walked into the training ground, tall, lean, smiling with that boyish charm and curly hair bouncing with every step, you felt it in your stomach.

✰ Your role as a physio meant professionalism came first. No matter how devastatingly attractive someone looked when they tugged their training shirt over their head, you kept your cool.

✰ Except Omar knew he was charming. He liked to make you laugh during sessions. He’d flirt just enough to test the waters—nothing explicit, nothing that could get either of you in trouble. But he noticed how your ears flushed when he complimented your handwriting on a report. How your eyes widened when he thanked you in Arabic. How you laughed harder when he mispronounced something cheeky in English on purpose.

“Your hands… very soft. Good for pain.”

“You mean good for massage therapy?”

“Yes. That. Or maybe just soft for me.”

2. Early Tension & The Way He Looks At You

✰ The team starts to notice it. Especially Jack Grealish, who teases you mercilessly during warm-ups.

“Ey, doc, you gonna check his groin again or just let Omar flirt his way into another appointment?”

✰ Omar is very respectful of boundaries, but you can tell he adores the small, quiet moments you share. Like when he comes in early just to stretch, and you’re the only one there. Or when he sits quietly post-training with his socks off, flexing his foot, waiting for you to kneel in front of him and press your thumbs into his arch.

✰ He stares at you like he’s watching a sunrise. Not leering. Just soft.

“You always smell like mint,” he says once, catching you off guard. “And every time I smell mint now, I look around for you.”

3. The Moment It Happens

✰ It starts with an injury. A minor hamstring strain after an intense match. You’re the one doing his post-game recovery—cooling gel, gentle massage, stretches. You’re quiet, focused.

✰ He’s watching you again, and for once, you look back.

✰ You both hold eye contact longer than usual. You’re aware of the way your hand is resting on his thigh, just above the knee. You freeze for a second—then he speaks, voice low:

“Do you ever treat players outside of this room?”

“No. That’d be… unprofessional.”

“And if I wasn’t a player anymore?”

“You planning to retire?”

“Maybe. If it means I could take you to dinner.”

4. Sneaking Around in the Beginning

✰ You try to keep it a secret. The staff definitely has rules about dating players, but you argue to yourself that you’re adults, and besides, you waited until you were absolutely sure it was serious.

✰ The first time you kiss is in the back hallway after a match—he’s freshly showered, hair damp, and you’re pinning his bandage properly. He thanks you. You say, “It’s my job.” He replies, “And this is mine,” and kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life.

✰ Late-night visits to your flat. He brings Egyptian takeout. You make him tea. He kisses your temple while you complain about another ankle sprain from Alvarez.

“You work too much.”

“You run too fast.”

“And yet, you keep fixing me.”

“Guess I’m just waiting for you to break properly.”

He pulls you into his chest. “Too late. I’m already broken for you.”

5. He Adores You, Completely

✰ He shows up to training earlier just to spend more time in the physio room. Even when he doesn’t need anything.

“I pulled something.”

“Where?”

“My heart.”

✰ After a win, he kisses your cheek while the others are celebrating and everyone pretends not to notice. Except Grealish again.

“Hey, hey! Get a room! Or just let me be best man already!”

6. Protective Boyfriend Mode

✰ If another player flirts with you, even jokingly, Omar’s there. He doesn’t get loud or angry—he just wraps an arm around your waist and says something calm and possessive in Arabic, then smiles like it’s nothing.

✰ He worries when you’re overworked, makes sure you eat, even keeps a water bottle for you in his locker.

“I don’t like seeing you tired. Come rest with me tonight.”

✰ You fall asleep on his chest, surrounded by warmth and the scent of his cologne. His fingers trace your spine like he’s memorizing every part of you.

7. Cultural Connection

✰ You start learning more about his Egyptian heritage. You ask questions about his hometown, his family, his favorite meals from home. You try to cook something Egyptian for him once, and even though it’s not perfect, he devours it with a grin:

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever brought to Manchester.”

✰ He talks to his mother about you. Sends her pictures. She sends blessings back. He shows you proudly.

“She said you have kind eyes. That means she already loves you.”

8. Long-Term Possibility

✰ He talks about the future like it’s guaranteed. Not in a possessive way, but a hopeful one.

“When I move to a bigger house, I want a room just for your books.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you in every part of my life. Even my shelves.”

✰ You help him stretch post-game, and he can’t help but kiss your knuckles between reps.

✰ Sometimes, you both sit quietly in the treatment room after everyone’s left. His hand in yours. His head resting against your shoulder.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You pulled a hamstring. That’s what.”

[sportswriters]

how they'd react to you not saying "i love you" back

lots of fluff with the players: rúben dias, jude bellingham, joão félix, pablo gavi, trent alexander-arnold, pedri gonzález, heungmin son, mason mount

a/n: hope everybody have fun reading these! we surely did after a few drinks in <33333 - ella and namu

rúben dias

"amor? i'm heading out. i love you."

you quickly appear in the hallway, wearing a sweater that belonged to him.

“ok, have a nice day, darling,” you reply, waving goodbye.

the smile that had begun to appear on rúben's lips immediately fades, his hand resting against the doorknob he had opened earlier. when he hears your reply, he frowns, suspicious.

you get confused by his attitude and lick your lips, coming closer.

“what are you doing? i thought you had training.”

he doesn't answer right away, he just walks over to the sofa and sits down, unpretentiously. your lack of an answer made him a little suspicious, so he wasn't going to leave without something.

“yes, i do. but not until you answer me.”

you try to hold in your laughter, understanding the whole thing, but you still don't want to give in. his reaction wasn't what you'd expected. like, you didn't really expect him to just give up on going out just because you didn't answer his “i love you” like you always did.

you understood that it was really important to him.

“i don't get it, honey. did i answer you in a way that you didn't like?” you hold up your own joke, walking over to the sofa and sitting down right next to him.

as if he couldn't bear to never touch you when you were always close, his hand automatically moves to your thigh, where he squeezes it affectionately, almost unconsciously, because it's something he always does.

his expression closes with pure suspicion. he simply doesn't understand what had happened for you not to answer that you loved him back. until that point, for him, everything was fine. wasn't it?

“you tell me, y/n.”

his expression is so serious that you can't help yourself and start laughing. you quickly jump into his lap, turning him from suspicious to confused by your reaction. you hold his face with both hands.

“do you want me to tell you that I love you?” you ask, this time with a touched smile on your face.

he's so beautiful. so dangerously beautiful for his own good and sometimes you don't really believe he's yours.

he squeezes your thigh a little harder this time, as a warning.

“every day,” he adds, seriously.

you kiss his lips, laughing.

“i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you,” you start repeating several times against his lips. “i was only joking before. i wouldn't let you go without that.”

his smile returns to his lips. it was so easy to make him happy like that, you think, caressing his cheek.

“well,” he complains. “you almost did. now i'm going to be late for training because you're going to try and convince me that it was all a joke.”

you laugh and cling to him.

“wow, i fucking love you.”

jude bellingham

with things finally sorted, jude opens the door and you get out of bed just to follow him and take the opportunity to get a glass of water, since it's your day off and you're going back to your room.

“i'm leaving, baby. i love you, see you later?”

“yes, of course. good practice,” you say and walk into the kitchen.

jude blinks, confused. his eyebrows arch up, frowning as he tries to search for something in his memory that he can't recall. your answer was different from usual.

with that in mind, he opens the door and leaves, but still doesn't move to the elevator. instead, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, unlocks the screen and opens the group immediately.

“guys, did anything weird happen last night?” he sends the text and waits.

last night there was a small party at valverde's house, which you two joined and drank a bit. maybe jude did something he doesn't remember that upset you.

the answer comes almost immediately and he reads it.

“strange, like...?” camavinga asks.

“i don't know,” he types. “something that pissed y/n off?”

“what the fuck are you talking about, bellingham?” he reads the text from vinícius.

“i just said goodbye to y/n and she didn't say she loved me back”

on the other side of the door, you pick up your phone in your room, looking at the notifications. as you read everything, you laugh heartily.

“jude, you know I'm in the group too, right?” you send.

jude opens the door again after reading your message and goes straight to your room. he finds you sitting on the bed, still laughing, and you look up when you notice his presence, staring at him amused.

“so...?” he asks you, expecting an answer to the same question as before.

you laugh again and put your phone away. you get up and walk over to him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“nothing weird happened last night,” you reply, with a playful smile. “i was only joking, darling. of course i love you”

you nearly laugh again at the relieved sigh he lets out and the way he holds you so tightly, kissing your lips.

joão félix

hanging his bag over his shoulder, joão kisses you on the temple in farewell, while you're still finishing your coffee to start getting ready for work, since you don't have to arrive until later today.

“i'm on my way. i love you,” he says, moving from the kitchen worktop to cross the hall to the living room.

“alright, i'll see you later!” you reply, pouring a little more milk into your coffee, without looking at him, appearing a little distracted by your task.

you don't notice that he didn't cross the hall. he just stands there, as if waiting for something, which doesn't come. that's not how you normally say goodbye, so he's instantly alert.

turning around, joão appears at your side again, hugging you from behind, his hands around your waist in a very tight way, giving you the chance to smell his perfume even more closely. you chuckle, not expecting this attitude from him and turn your face to him, frowning.

“is everything all right?” he asks, a little hesitant, and kisses your shoulder affectionately.

the whole time his eyes are on you, as if he's studying your reaction, looking for something he didn't notice before or missed.

“yes... why wouldn't it be?”

you know why he's asking, but you don't say anything. you just carry on. just a little longer. even though you're sorry to see him with that expression of someone who thinks he's done something wrong, but hasn't yet found out what.

“like, there hasn't been any more shit gossip that you've been tagged in, right? anything like that?”

you lick your lips, staring into his eyes. ever since you started your public relationship, some people have been cruel enough to say things about you cheating on him, like his ex, that you wouldn't know how to take care of his heart and other shit. at first, this affected you and also worried joão, but then you dropped all those negative comments, focusing only on the good things with him.

“no, darling, there hasn’t” you reassure him, kissing his lips quickly, turning to face him, his hands never leaving you. “why now?”

he squeezes your waist.

“ah, you didn't say you love me back” he replies. “and you always do, right?”

you finally let out a laugh. he's confused, so you wrap your hands around his neck.

“i was joking, love,” you say, smiling. “i got you used to it, didn't i?”

relief washes over him instantly and he smiles.

“wouldn't that be a bad thing?” he tries to correct.

you widen your smile and shake your head.

“no, i've got you used to it very well,” you reinforce. “because that's the least you deserve: to hear every day that i love you. i love you.”

so he just kisses you, his heart warmer than ever, even though it's cold in chelsea.

pablo gavi

“did you get everything? aren't you forgetting anything?”

gavi checks his bag once more, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything after your question. when he seems sure, he quickly denies it with his head. 

“no, all set. shall we?”

you nod and pick up your own bag. you walk out together and enter the elevator hand in hand. you didn't live together, but sometimes you spent the night and went to work in the morning from his place, since some of your things were there and it made your life easier. it had been his idea and, even though you hesitated a little, you ended up accepting.

the elevator leaves you both in the parking lot, where your car is.

“see you later?” he asks and you nod, remembering that you were getting used to sleeping there more than once. “i love you.”

he kisses your lips and you return it, pulling away soon after.

“see you later, sweetheart.”

you say goodbye once more and walk to your car, ready to be on your way.

gavi stands still for a moment, trying to take in what has just happened. he watches as you get into your own car and drive past him, blowing a kiss into the air, but he can't even smile.

he stands there for a moment, feeling confused and odd, the situation was odd. you said goodbye to him in a strange way. 

now he was going to barcelona training with his head a little distracted. he couldn't keep up with the banter with the boys or do his best in practice. he seriously thought something was wrong with you, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't figure out what. 

his teammates asked him if he was all right or what was going on that had him so distracted, unable to concentrate one hundred percent on training. he would give a vague answer and carry on, even though his mind was wandering towards an answer that wasn't coming.

he thought a lot. about everything. about anything. he thought about texting you, but gave up. you always received a message from him every time he arrived at the training center, but this time he didn't. gavi simply didn't even think about it, his mind wandering back to the moment you said goodbye, trying to find out what had gone so wrong.

he tried to remember if he had missed anything, but he couldn't find it.

hours passed and it was time to go home again. you arrived first, a little tired, but you tried to prepare some homemade dinner to welcome him. gavi always arrived at the same time every day, on time, but on this one, he was ten minutes late.

you waited, sitting on the couch, watching some reality show that you didn't follow much, but that was what was passing your time. ten minutes later, you heard the door click.

when you turn to look at him, gavi goes off first, without even expecting anything beforehand.

“i just can't do it,” he begins, dropping his bag with his training stuff. “i've been thinking about it all day and i still can't reach a conclusion.”

you suppress a smile, but you're still a little confused.

“gavi?”

he looks at you, his shoulders slumped, his puss in boots expression.

“did i do something? are you upset about something? did something happen?” he fired off without taking a breath.

you pause the show and turn completely towards him, still sitting on the couch. you knew exactly what that meant, but you thought it would be fun to take it further.

“what do you mean ‘something?’ what are you talking about?” you play the fool.

gavi takes a deep breath. that had been torturing him all day. not even the smell of home-cooked food calms his nerves.

he approaches the couch.

“you didn't say you loved me back this morning,” he explains.

you try, but you can't suppress your laughter. you put your hand to your mouth, trying to control yourself, and gavi's expression changes.

“what's so funny?”

“baby, i was joking,” you confess.” i love you, gavi.”

you get up, trying to approach him while standing on the couch.

his mood changes. his eyes narrow towards you, trying to take in what you've just said.

“wait a minute, what?”

you laugh again.

“i was only joking. i didn't say i loved you this morning on purpose.”

you try to kiss him, but he pulls away, his expression tight.

“you…” he shakes his head, disbelieving that you had done it on purpose. he can't believe that he was stuck on it all day, while you knew it was a joke.

of course you let him think about it all day.

“that was ridiculous,” he says, still shaking his head and walking away, without giving you a chance to get closer and kiss him. “ridiculous, y/n.”

he walks down the corridor towards his room, totally shocked that it was all a joke, although part of him was relieved that everything was still fine and that he hadn't done anything wrong.

“come back here, it was a joke, baby!”

trent alexander-arnold

after checking his watch and realizing that he'd have to hurry if he wanted to be on time for practice, trent slung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his keys from the bedside table. you were in the kitchen cleaning and rearranging some glasses to make room for the new wine ones you got as gifts. you'd almost forgotten about the prank you'd planned, but you only had to feel trent's kiss on your neck for a mischievous smile to appear on your face.

“i have to go, i love you. don't forget to check our reservation later.”

“ok, i'll let you know when i've confirmed it,” you replied, giving him a kiss.

trent smiled and made his way to the living room, then stopped. his head tilted slightly as if he were experiencing a sudden lightening.

“aren't you going to tell me you love me?!” he asked, still standing in the same spot.

“what? sorry, i'm distracted.”

“last chance!”

the sink tap was turned on, followed by other utensil noises. trent squinted his eyes and came back into the room to look at you – you really looked busy, too busy.

“hi, love. do you need anything else?”

trent arched an eyebrow.

“no, i'm on my way. love you.”

“ok, text me when you get there.”

silence.

“yeah, i'm going to spend a few days at dom's, good luck without me.”

he then dashed to the door, slamming it hard.

“what? trent!”

when you got there, you couldn't move the handle. it clearly wasn't locked, so you laughed in frustration when you realized what was going on.

“trent, i love you! it was a joke!”

you knew your boyfriend was considerably stronger, but you still tried to force the door once more. to no avail.

“oh yeah? now you do? didn't convince me.”

“you're going to be late!”

“this is more important, it's a life lesson.”

“fine! now let me see you and apologize properly,” you asked, resting your forehead on the door.

you stepped back when you felt the doorknob move slowly. there he was with the most unbearable expression of all and with his arms crossed, you soon knew that you would have a lot of work to do to make up for this great and terrible mistake.

you moved closer, uncrossed his arms and put them around your body.

“i love you very much, i just wanted to tease you with a little prank,” you said as you spread kisses along the length of his neck. “but you already knew that, right? you know i wouldn't let it slide.”

trent pouted, pretending to think about it, which shocked you. when you tried to pull away, he brought you back, smiling again – a genuinely cheeky smile.

“i know something would be very wrong if you'd forgotten, it's just that you're a pretty bad liar, so it was easy to figure out your little game.”

trent pressed a lingering kiss to your lips.

“just don't do it again, or i'll have to come up with my own pranks too.”

pedri gonzález

“damn, i'm really late,” you say, picking up the car keys and throwing them to pedri, who always seems to forget them when he goes out.

he picks up his bag and phone, quickly answering a message and looks up to see you putting on your heels, ready to leave together.

“i can drop you off at work,” he offers.

you wave your hand in denial.

“that means you'd be late, since it's the opposite direction. and we both know how coach flick feels about being late.”

he can't disagree and he knows you're right, but even so, his expression drops and you notice.

“it's okay, love. i've already called an uber,” you reassure him and pick up your own bag. “shall we?”

the two of you leave together and he locks the door to the apartment. since you always arrive first, he gives you back the key, because he always forgets to make his own copy, and you take the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

“did gavi confirm dinner?” you ask.

“yes, we're coming together,” pedri replies.

you nod and when you finally reach the parking lot for pedri to take his car, you check on your phone that your uber will arrive in front of the building in two minutes. you tell him so.

“i'll see you later, then.” he leans in to give you a kiss and you reciprocate. “i love you.”

“good training, love,” you say and say goodbye, turning to leave.

you hide a smile, proud that you managed to remember to play a little prank on him before you left. pedri is confused, the gears of his brain turning slowly as he processes the fact that you didn't say you loved him back.

then you feel a hand grab your arm and turn you around – it's him.

“pedri?”

“should i apologize to you for something?” he asks, his voice a little uncertain.

“do you think you need to?”

the panic takes over his face and you can see that he's trying to remember what he did wrong. it was more likely that he wouldn't find out and would send a text to the boys, asking how he could best apologize, even if he didn't know what the mistake was.

“did i leave the wet towel on the bed again?” he asks, first try. “jesus, fer gave out my number again and some girl called and you got it all wrong?”

“fer hasn't done that since the last time i scolded him.”

you try not to laugh when you see how desperate he is.

“pedri, i have to go. the uber's coming.”

“no!” he holds your arm tighter. “you can't leave without telling me what i need to apologize for. you didn't say you loved me back.”

you laugh, giving up. the plan was really to leave without telling him, but his genuine distress made you realize that you couldn't let him torture himself the whole way wondering what he'd done wrong and what he needed to apologize for. you'd rather he concentrated one hundred percent and entirely on training.

“i was only joking, okay? there's nothing for you to apologize for, love.” you approach him, caressing his cheek affectionately. “not even for the towel, which, by the way, yes, you forgot it wet this morning.”

pedri rolls his eyes and pinches your waist lightly.

“no funny business, y/n.” he snorts.

but his unhappy frown doesn't last long when you kiss his lips gently, this time being the one to apologize. 

“i couldn't resist,” you say. “i really have to go now. i'll see you later.”

“and...?” he encourages, still not letting go.

you chuckle and hear the uber notification.

“and i love you.”

it's only when he finally seems satisfied that he lets you go, but still makes you delay a minute longer with a kiss on the lips.

heungmin son

you brought the jacket that heungmin had forgotten on the couch, so he could finally close his suitcase. he was preparing for the season with the Korean national team, so you took the opportunity to spend your days off together. this time you couldn't join heungmin on the trip because your work schedule didn't allow it.

the drive to the airport was smooth, while you hummed along to the songs on the radio, heungmin took the chance to doze off in the passenger seat - his hand resting on your thigh the whole ride. 

you parked at the entrance to the airline gate, as you had to say goodbye to him there.

“send me a picture of the snacks in first class on this plane,” you asked excitedly, even though it wasn't the first time.

heungmin laughed.

“i love you, take care on the way back and let me know when you arrive.”

you pressed his cheeks with your hands and kissed him several times.

“have a good trip.”

heungmin pulled away and stared at you with a broad smile. then he got out of the car and you opened the trunk so he could get his things. in the rearview mirror, you noticed when he closed the door and stared into the distance with a question mark on his face. it took you a great deal of effort to hold back your laughter when he tapped twice on the window right next to you.

“i'm going now, i love you.”

“all right, take care,” you said, and gave him another tender kiss.

however, heungmin didn't move, leaning his elbows on the door.

“honey, i'm going to get fined if i stay here another minute.”

“i'm not worried about that. is everything alright?”

“everything's fine, did we forget something? do you want me to go back and get it?”

“i think i might have missed something, because you haven't said you love me.”

you pressed your lips together, unable to contain yourself in front of his worried expression. although you knew that heungmin would be fully capable of paying any fine, you didn't want to spend money on this kind of nonsense.

“it was a prank, my love. i love you, ok? now get going, because i don't want you to be late, and i don't want to spend money on an airport ticket.”

he stayed there, watching you, analyzing any sign of a lie. analyzing you like someone who has made a mistake and doesn't want to repeat it.

“heungmin!”

“fine, but you're not geting off that easy,” he warned, then walked away.

“come here, give me one more kiss.”

“no, rethink your actions. i'll see you when Ii get back.”

“heungmin, no! i love you!”

you could see his satisfied smile as he walked towards the airport entrance. a honk made you take notice of your surroundings again, but that wasn't what worried you. you honked back.

“i'm leaving, damn it!”

a few hours later, you saw the notification with a text from heungmin.

baby: [photo] i've already written down the names of the things that were served to us on the plane. i'll buy them for us when i think you deserve them again.

y/n: cruel

baby: only fair

mason mount

"have a nice day, sweetheart. i'm heading out. love you."

you were still curled up in bed. the day off came at a good time, because you felt completely exhausted and all you wanted to do was rot in that bed. it was unfair that mason had to leave, but you accepted it, not having much to do, but you thought you'd play with him a bit, before he left.

"have a good game this weekend. text me when you get home, yeah?" you mumbled.

mason nodded and was about to close the bedroom door and let you go back to sleep, when he realized what had just happened. you didn't say it back. you always did, it was something that came out automatically and genuinely from both of you, but not this time.

he put his hand on the doorknob and went back to looking at you in bed, your eyes alight with a mischievous gleam that he didn't notice.

"is everything alright?" he asked, worried.

mason wasn't usually insecure with you, he simply had no reason to be. so when something like this happened, he got worried that something was wrong and he didn't notice.

"yes," you answered, falsely confused by his question, when you knew where it's coming from.

mason shook his head slowly, processing. he dropped his bag on the floor and stepped closer to the bed, stopping right next to you.

"are you sure?" he continued, looking for something in your expression.

"what is it, mase?"

he let out a frustrated sigh. you could tell he was struggling to understand what was going on.

"you know you can tell me anything, right?" he reinforces.

"mase. love."

you got up, pushing the sheets away from your body, sitting up in bed.

"you didn't say you loved me back. is something wrong?"

"love, i don't..."

your heart squeezed when you saw his expression.

"because i say i love you every day in the most sincere way i can. come on, tell me, what happened? i can cancel my flight right now and we'll sort it out."

"mase, what? no!"

he couldn't be serious about canceling his flight and not being at the game this weekend, for goodness sake! it was an important game and he was still earning his place in the team, you would never let him do that, even if there was something wrong.

"baby, i was joking. of course i love you back." you giggled, leaning your forehead against his.

"what?" he let go and you laughed even harder. 

"that's not funny, y/n! you scared me."

"sorry, sorry!" you rushed to say, kissing his lips."it was just a prank. no canceling flights, okay?"

he shook his head, his lips almost forming a pout.

"i'm not convinced it was a prank. are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

him doubting you made you realize that the prank didn't go as planned. however, you also learned that it was important to him, in a way you hadn't imagined.

"there's nothing wrong, i promise."

he arched his eyebrow.

"really?"

this time you rolled your eyes.

"mason. you don't believe me?" you fire back.

"i just...” he tried to say, but you interrupted him.

"i love you. yesterday, today, tomorrow. the rest of my life. i love you."

he finally seemed convinced and held your face with both hands, foreheads still pressed together.

"even if things go wrong?"

"especially if things go wrong."

he smiled. so openly that you found yourself melting for his beauty again - secretly.

"i'll never get tired of hearing that."

[lewisvinga]

como no te voy a querer | jude bellingham x alonso! fem! reader

summary; when the princess of the paddock is dating the golden boy of real madrid but she happens to have a grid full of drivers who are very protective of her

fc; rita mota

warnings; cursing i think, suggestive comment

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3

note; saw fernando at the benrabeu at the semifinals and i had to…. BUT WE’RE GOING INTO THE UCL FINALLLL!!! A POR LA 15😭🤍🤍🤍 pls don’t mind the misspelt bernabéu in one of the tweets lollll

masterlist !

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liked by judebellingham, fernandoalo_official, and others !

yourusername: when in spain….

tagged; judebellingham

fernandoalo_official: siempre tan linda, mija😍 [always so pretty, my daughter]

yourusername: papáaaa🥹🥹

judebellingham: wowwwww

judebellingham: well aren’t you a lovely lady 🥴

yourusername: ur fine too i guess…🙄

yourusername: jk ur very fine 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

maxverstappen1: she’s a child.

yourusername: i’m 20????🤨

charles_leclerc: a child.

username: omg her sign for el clásico 😭what a queen tbh

username: y/n 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

username: jude can u fight? 🤔🤔

carlossainz55: pq estabas en españa sola??🤔 [why were you in spain alone]

yourusername: because i’m spanish and my bf lives here?🤔

fernandoalo_official: you’re with your boyfriend alone???

yourusername: no edu is always there 🙄

camavinga: 🤗🤗

judebellingham: edu😘😘

landonorris: and why are you flirting with someone else when u have a girlfriend ….

yourusername: oh like your bromance w carlos doesn’t exist !

username: nah the drivers comments are always so funny😭😭

yourusername: oh it’s torture, can’t even appreciate my sexy bf in peace 🙄

camavinga: OUR sexy bf😘

username: CAMA OH??😭

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liked by judebellingham, carmenmmundt, and others !

yourusername: i guess you could say i get my cuntiness from my dad xx

tagged; fernandoalo_official, georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, landonorris, judebellingham

location; miami 🌴

username: not her tagging jude on her lips 😭😭

username: me n who ong

fernandoalo_official: i’m cunty or whatever the hell it is you guys say

yourusername: tea 💅

username: THE CHEETAHHH PRINT😍

username: here before simp jude

judebellingham: wow.

judebellingham: just wow.

judebellingham: you are unbelievable 😍😍

yourusername: 💗💗💗💗

landonorris: STAND BACK 🤺🤺🤺

judebellingham: a lot of talking for a man who asked for my jersey🥱🥱🥱

yourusername: he got you there….

landonorris: okay fine… you win this time…

username: the alonsos are so cunty

username: PARTY NANDOOOO

username: i will never get over her n jude sawrry😖😫😖

maxverstappen1: well you better.

username: HUHHH???😀

charles_leclerc: stinky man around y/n, you’ll get over it

yourusername: you guys are sooooo…..

judebellingham: max is just mad abt el clásico score 😬😬

maxverstappen1: damn right.

carlossainz55: only time jude is tolerable 😁

yourusername: not very madridista of u carlos

judebellingham: yeah🙄🙄🙄

carlossainz55: y/n protector first sorry🫡

carmenmmundt: gorgeous gorgeous girl❤️❤️

yourusername: ily🥹

yourusername: also tell george to stop sending jude threats over instagram

georgerussell63: no.

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yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; going back home hungover 😬] [caption 2; morning 💗 judebellingham] [caption 3; date night fit 🤺] [caption 4; mi amor 🤍🤍 judebellingham]

judebellingham wow😍😍😍😍

judebellingham u single ??????

yourusername yeah:/// my bf has another bf:///

judebellingham HES MY BFF!!!!😖😖

yourusername cus why did cama see u in the showers almost naked after signing a new contract…..🤨🤨

judebellingham like you haven’t seen less🙄🙄

yourusername whyd u say that my dad saw and now’s he’s questioning me😭

yourusername he said why aren’t u preparing for the match 🙄

judebellingham ur dad is scary

judebellingham tell him the match is in 7 hours i still have chill time 🙄🙄

judebellingham DONT mention the rolling eyes emoji he is scary enough

yourusername fernando alonso??? scary??? a menace maybe,,,,🤣

yourusername good luck my love 💗 take it easy on the knee though!

judebellingham i’ll try, it’ll be a tough match:/

yourusername papa alonso said good luck too

judebellingham tell him i said tyvm😁😁😁

georgerussell63 why is he shirtless 🤨

yourusername you’re one to talk…

maxverstappen1 🤮🤮

yourusername ahhhh u madddddddd

yourusername la liga champion😛😛

maxverstappen1 i have 3 wdcs🙄🙄

yourusername and yet, real madrid won la liga!

maxverstappen1 tap in merchant 😒😒😒

yourusername ……

yourusername he scored a banger at el clasico i wouldn’t speak if i were u

maxverstappen1 😒😒😒😒

lewishamilton u should’ve been at the met 🙄

yourusername gf duties calls😞

charles_leclerc …..

charles_leclerc why is he around u naked🤔

yourusername bc he’s my bf????🤨

charles_leclerc why

yourusername bc i love him??

charles_leclerc but why

yourusername bye charles 🙄🙄🙄

charles_leclerc WHYYY

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liked by judebellingham, vinijr, and others !

yourusername: como no te voy a querer?🤍🤍 [how am i not going to love you?] congratulations on making it to the final, mi amor, te quiero mucho🤍🤍 [my love, i love you so much] and so so proud of you and the squad 🫶🫶

tagged; judebellingham, vinijr, lukamodric10

judebellingham: my lucky charm

judebellingham: i love you so much

judebellingham: te quiero 😍

yourusername: when he speaks spanish for you🥴🥴🥴

fernandoalo_official: so that’s why i can hear y/n giggling…

username: jude speaking in spanish for y/n, this is so sick

username: ME AND WHO😩😩

username: thank u y/n for blessing us w jude 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

username: can’t believe joselu scored a brace 😭

username: we gonna get a bellingol soon #trust

carlossainz55: A POR LA 15😍😍 hala madrid🤍

yourusername: now u wanna act fine w jude 🙄

carlossainz55: WHO CARES WE’RE IN THE FINAL!!!

maxverstappen1: I CARE!!! heja bvb or however it goes!!🙄🙄

oscarpiastri: you gotta respect max for keeping up the hater act icl

judebellingham: he sure hates a lot for someone who lost his win streak

maxverstappen1: hey watch it…

carlossainz55: can we get back to the fact real madrid is in the ucl final???🤍🎉🎉

judebellingham: yes😁

vinijr: Y/NNNNNNN HALA MADRIDDDDDD

yourusername: HALA MADRID NUESTO MOTM !!! [our motm/man of the match]

fernandoalo_official: good game, jude👍

judebellingham: omg thank you so much, sir! it means a lot!😊

camavinga: who are you and what did you to do my jude

aurelientchm: that’s not jude…🤣

rodrygogoes: ‘😊’

yourusername: well, he’s MY jude and he’s just scared of my dad🙄🙄

charles_leclerc: good.

landonorris: good.

lewishamilton: good.

maxverstappen1: good.

georgerussell63: good.

alex_albon: good.

judebellingham: oh! 😀

yourusername: don’t mind them🙄

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Paddock Princess

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: jude bellingham x fem!black!f1driver!reader

♥ synopsis: your boyfriend jude bellingham is welcomed with open arms by the f1 community and becomes the people’s paddock’s princess

♥ smau - fc: tyla - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive comments !!!

♥ a/n: never let em know your next move WAPOW jude fic.

-Jude Bellingham Replies to Fans on the Internet | Actually Me | GQ Sports-

“We know about your inspiration in football, but which athletes outside of football do you look up to—if any?” he read off a laptop screen.

“Uhm,” he scratched the bridge of his nose. “Probably Y/n L/n,” His face lit up with a smile as the camera crew giggled in the background. “She’s done quite a lot in her sport in such a short amount of time and I really admire her driving style, if i’m being honest. Yeah, I’ve been spending a lot of my time watching F1 recently, so probably her.”

He sent the reply and leaned back on the chair, “This is peak journalism.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, carmenmundt, judebellingham, and 1,494,027 more

yourusername i heard someone say my name?

view comments

realmadrid you heard correctly

user1 exposing him 🙊

user2 @/user1 I'm sure she's seen the video by now

user3 I wish he said my name instead tbh

user4 I wish he would do more than just say my name

user5 @/user4 SO REAL

user6 the someone in question who said her name being the hottest madrid player

yourusername @/user6 that's debatable

judebellingham @/yourusername ???

user7 have you and jude met before? I know you spend a lot of time watching madrid 🤔

yourusername hopefully I'll see him soon !!

user10 @/yourusername that doesn't answer the question...

carlossainz55 @/yourusername I can take you to meet him under one condition

yourusername @/carlossainz55 I already told you I can't give you the Ferrari seat back 😭

carlossainz55 it was worth a shot

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, judebellingham, and 1,409,582 more

yourusername first race with you 💋

view comments

scuderiaferrari we're happy to have you ❤️

user7 @/scuderiaferrari did... you buy her those flowers? 😭

user2 @/scuderiaferrari she wasn't talking to you lil bro

user1 I thought she was talking about a secret partner in this post but maybe I'm crazy

user3 @/user1 now I'm confused because I thought the same thing

user5 f1 core is not knowing if y/n made a romantic post about ferrari or a secret lover

scuderiaferrari who's not in love with us? we're hot, fast, and Italian 😉

yourusername @/scuderiaferrari OH 🫣

user6 😨

user8 RAW NEXT QUESTION

user9 why am I blushing

user10 we're not beating the car fucker allegations with this one 🔥🔥🥶

user11 ugh I hate admin. its like why do you post silly comments? what's your @? are you single?

-jude bellingham’s story-

view replies

user1 those flowers look familiar…

user2 ME WHEN

user3 i actually need him so bad

user4 @/yourusername

user5 yn we all know it’s you

liked by judebellingham, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 2,059,043 more

yourusername I regret to inform you that I am not dating ferrari admin and instead with the lovely @/judebellingham

view comments

judebellingham "regret"? 🤨

yourusername I called you lovely what more do you want

landonorris we all knew you were dating the second he said your name

user1 new lando lore drop he watches jude bellingham videos by himself

landonorris fuck I've been caught

user2 LETS FUCKING GO HARD LAUNCH

user3 oh how I love them

user4 they are the perfect couple

scuderiaferrari I forgive you

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,492,5028 more

judebellingham dw princess has arrived

view comments

yourusername glad you're here 😘

♡ by judebellingham

user1 yes he has 👏

user2 he's so cunty

user5 he wears her jersey hello?? 🥹

yourusername one that still has the tag on it...

judebellingham @/yourusername you didn't see that 😬

user8 wheres the rest of the madrid team?

judebellingham 🤷‍♂️

vinjir @/user8 he didn't invite us

judebellingham @/vinjir wowww snitch 🫵

liked by erling, judbellingham, landonorris, and 502,684 more

yourusername its always great to meet a fan 🫶

view comments

judebellingham I don't really consider myself a "fan" 🫤

yourusername idk you seemed like a pretty big fan of me last night 🫤

user1 oh!

user9 judeyn >>>

user10 god bless these two and all the pr training they ignored

user7 hes so fjdsjkskfj

user6 I need him so bad

yourusername @/user6 same

user8 I'm gonna need full time wag jude from now on

judebellingham quitting my job rn 🏃‍♂️💨

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ the sparks of sunrise; 

           omar marmoush ────── 

what happens when a certain receptionist finds herself drawn to the charm of the club’s newest signing?

⭑  wordcount : three thousand one hundred fifty-seven.

⭑  notes : i was supposed to put this up when he was announced but was sick out of my mind so whoops– enjoy it on his debut day instead ;)

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Morning light filters softly through tall windows, illuminating the polished floors. Outside, the city stirs, slowly waking. Inside, the gentle hum of morning routines unfolds—the shuffle of feet, hushed voices. It’s a rhythm you know well, yet today feels different. 

A stillness hangs in the air, anticipation crackling as you prepare to meet Omar Marmoush, the club's newest signing. The buzz around him has been impossible to ignore—young, incredibly talented, a player with potential that could light up the field. But it’s not just his skill that’s caught everyone’s attention; it’s his reputation for being something of an enigma. Quiet, reserved, almost unreachable. The kind of guy who keeps to himself, preferring to let his play do the talking.

When the glass doors slide open, Omar steps through with a grace that seems almost calculated. The moment he enters, the air shifts. His presence is commanding despite his almost shy demeanor. There’s something about him—something that makes you pause for just a beat, like the sudden change of a breeze on a warm day. It’s not just his height or the way the light catches his sharp features; it’s the quiet confidence that emanates from him, like an unspoken promise of something more. 

His eyes, dark and observant, scan the room before landing on you, and when they do, there's a quiet intensity there, almost as if he's studying you in return.

"Good morning," you greet, offering him a warm, easy smile as you glance up from your desk. Your voice is light, the corners of your lips lifting automatically. "You’re early. Didn’t expect anyone for a while."

Omar’s gaze meets yours, his eyes steady, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips quirk into a small, confident smile. “I prefer to be early,” he says, his voice calm and smooth, like the slow roll of waves lapping against the shore. “Can’t afford to waste time, right?”

The words are confident, but there’s a faint, almost undetectable edge of uncertainty in his eyes. You’ve seen it before, in other athletes, in other people who carry the weight of expectation on their shoulders. 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the way he seems to carry himself. “Agreed.” you reply, leaning back slightly in your chair, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Not many players are here though. I think the only one you’ll find around is the coach.”

His eyes flicker toward the hallway, his gaze momentarily distant, as if imagining the journey ahead. “I’m fine with that,” he says, readjusting his gym bag while stepping away. “I just need to get out on the pitch again.” 

You smile, amused. "Okay, but just so you know, the hall can be a bit of a maze. You’ll want to go straight, past the gym, and then left. It’s easy to get lost your first time."

Omar waves you off with a casual flick of his wrist, his grin still intact, but you notice something in the way his shoulders tense, the slightest hesitation in his movements. “I’ll manage.” he replies, a little too confidently, as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself.

There’s something about the way he says it, though—the way his jaw tightens just a little, the way his hands curl at his sides—that tells you he’s not entirely sure of himself. It’s the instinct of someone who’s used to standing alone, used to figuring things out in his own way. It’s also the instinct of someone who’s afraid of being seen as anything less than perfect.

“Alright,” you say with a knowing smile, unable to resist teasing him just a little. “But if you do get lost, I’ll be right here to help. Can’t promise I won’t make fun of you for it, though.”

Omar chuckles, a quiet self-awareness that lingers beneath the surface. “I won’t need that.” he says, his voice light and teasing, but you see the way his cheeks flush a little, the color creeping up his neck like a telltale sign. He’s not fooling you. 

You watch him carefully, noticing the way his posture straightens, his steps purposeful, yet unsure. And then, instead of turning right, where you’d directed him, he veers left, heading confidently down the middle of the hall towards the trophy room. 

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. 

"Hold on!" you call out, your voice light and teasing. "Didn’t you hear me? You’re supposed to head right. The locker room is the other way.” You push away from the desk and stand up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the floor as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. 

Omar freezes mid-step, his body jerking just slightly, and then he turns slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His cheeks flush, and the awkwardness is palpable, but in that instant, he’s more human than anything else. 

“Oh, I misunderstood.” he admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “My bad.”

"Don’t worry," you say softly, the teasing lilt in your voice making it clear you’re not holding it against him. “It happens to the best of us. The walls here can be tricky.”

He chuckles, a quieter, more genuine sound now, and you notice how the tension seems to melt away from his shoulders. “Guess I was too caught up in my mind” he says with a half-shrug, the easy arrogance of earlier replaced with something more sincere.

“Yeah, that happens,” you reply, matching his pace. "But you’re going to want to pay attention to the signs, especially if you’re trying to avoid making a fool of yourself in front of the team. Good luck!”

Omar laughs and for the first time, you sense a little vulnerability behind that seemingly impenetrable exterior. "I’m sure they’ll forgive me. First day and all."

“First impressions are everything,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder as you walk. Your eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, there’s a spark there—a connection that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers between you, quiet and unspoken. “But lucky for you, I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”

As you approach the locker room, Omar’s steps slow, and he looks over at you with a smile. "Thanks. I guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.” he admits, his voice quieter now, the weight of his earlier bravado replaced by a touch of humility.

You give him slight shrug. "It’s no problem. The first day’s always the hardest. Besides, it's good to have someone show you around—no matter how much you think you’ve got it under control."

He looks at you one last time, and the expression on his face is a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more fleeting and harder to pinpoint. "I owe you one, I guess."

“No worries,” you reply, stepping aside to let him pass. “But you better keep that ego in check—next time, I won’t be here to bail you out.”

As the door swings closed behind him, you smile to yourself, the quiet satisfaction settling in your chest. He’ll fit right in here—he just doesn’t know it yet.

Guess first impressions do matter.

-       

Outside, the world was still drowsy, waiting for the sun to summon it into action. But inside the building, it had already begun. The soft rustle of movement—slightly muffled footsteps down the hall or the faint hum of the HVAC system sputtering to life.

You sat behind the reception desk, bathed in the amber glow of the early morning sunlight. The air was cool, with just enough crispness to make you feel awake but not rushed. The soft buzz of your computer, the shuffle of papers between your fingers—everything felt familiar, grounding. As if this quiet moment could stretch on forever, and you could lose yourself in it without fear. 

The door opened, a soft sigh of movement that cut through the stillness taking you from your thoughts. And there he was. Omar Marmoush. Just as he had been for the last few mornings—before anyone else, sometimes even before the coach. The space bent to his presence, the stillness rippling around him as if acknowledging that this was his moment, his time.

He donned his City kit, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, and the way it fit him—neat and purposeful—wasn’t just athletic, it was almost sculptural. His dark eyes caught yours instantly, as if your presence had always been part of the plan. 

"Good morning, Mr. Marmoush," you said, the words slipping out almost automatically. Your voice chirped the greeting that had become familiar over the last few days. 

"Good morning," He replied, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as always. He lingered at the counter, his eyes studying you for a beat longer than usual, as if he were contemplating something.

You tilted your head, a small smile playing at your lips, the sparkle in your eyes sharp and knowing. "You’re up early like usual," you remarked, the words slightly mocking him. "Not many players are awake at this hour."

"I like the quiet," Omar said, his voice lowering, a touch of something more honest there. "Helps me focus. No distractions before the chaos begins."

You allowed yourself a soft smile, the corner of your mouth lifting in quiet acknowledgment. "I thought you liked the spotlight," you teased, your voice light, playful. "Doesn’t the chaos suit you?"

His smile returned, but it was more guarded now, a shield back in place. "I do," he said with a shrug, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But sometimes, it’s good to step away from all that. Makes the work feel... more real, you know?"

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the leather adding a sound to the stillness around you. "I get it," you said, your voice a touch softer now. "Still, not sure many people would show up before their boss just for a little peace and quiet."

His gaze held yours a moment longer, that familiar intensity flickering again, and you couldn’t help but feel the subtle challenge in it. "Some of us like to be ahead of the game," he said, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken, something that suggested this wasn’t just about arriving early—it was about owning the moment.

You laughed. "Ahead of the game, huh? You sure you’re not just trying to make your teammates look bad?"

The challenge in his eyes deepened, and he leaned a little closer to the counter, the air between you suddenly feeling charged. "Someone’s got to set the standard," he said mischievously, yet the presence of sinceirty lingered in his words.

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Careful, Mr. Marmoush," you teased, your voice light but the words carrying more weight now. "If you keep showing up this early, soon you’ll be the one unlocking the building instead of me."

His lips quirked upward into a half-smirk, and he paused for a moment, letting the playful tension build between you. Then, his voice dropped just slightly, almost a whisper. "You know," he began, his gaze steady, locking with yours, "if you keep calling me that I’m going to start thinking I’m older than I am."

The warmth in your eyes sparked with a glint of mischief. "Well, I wasn’t sure how formal we should be," you said honestly. "You keep showing up so early, I wasn’t sure if you were going for the 'boss' vibe."

A rich chuckle escaped his lips, deep and amused, as if the idea of it pleased him more than it should. "A boss vibe, huh?" he repeated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter as if the idea were something to be considered. "I don’t need a title to make an impression.” 

You chuckled as you shook your head in response.

"But, fine. If you want to keep calling me ‘Mr. Marmoush,’ I guess I can’t stop you." Then, his gaze held yours, intense and unyielding. "But I’m not going to stop asking you to drop the formalities," he added, a subtle challenge hidden beneath the smoothness of his words. "Plus, you can’t keep calling me that forever, eventually you will have to refer to me as 'Omar'."

Your heart skipped a beat, the air between you both charged with something more than just playful banter. "We’ll see, Mr. Marmoush," your tone playful.

-

The morning air outside had a crisp bite, carrying the first whispers of autumn through the open window. Soft beams filtered through the tall windows, stretching lazily across the floor and illuminating the dust particles that seemed to float like tiny stars suspended in time. It was a moment frozen in peace, a stillness that only the early mornings seemed to hold.

You were wrapped in the hum of the building, the rhythmic ticking of the clock like a heartbeat in the silence. The steady click of the pen in your hand created a symphony of concentration until the door opened. A gust of cool air slipped in, catching the edges of the papers on your desk. The familiar scent of his cologne—earthy with a hint of citrus, like rain on stone—suddenly filled the room, grounding you in the moment.

Omar stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the glow of dawn. He wore a hoodie, the dark fabric a stark contrast against the warmth of the room. His eyes found yours almost instantly, and in that gaze, there was a quiet intensity, something that made the room feel smaller, more intimate.

"Early as usual, Mr. Marmoush," you said, your voice light but warm, a playful edge to your words. You couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of his mouth tugged upward in that half-smile that always made your heart race just a little faster.

"Of course, Good morning." Omar replied, his voice raspy due to the timing of the hour. 

You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, the way his fingers slid into the pockets of his hoodie, his thumb tapping absently against the fabric. His eyes never left yours, and it made your pulse quicken, a little unexpected warmth formed in your stomach. For a split second, everything around you faded—the ticking clock, the soft creak of the building settling, the hums of your laptop—and all that remained was him.

Omar leaned casually against the counter in front of you, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze lingered, sharp and steady, and yet there was a playful glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You tore your eyes away from him, focusing instead on the day’s schedule. Your fingers moved across the papers, steady and deliberate, though you were aware of every movement in the room. His presence filled the space like a slow-burning fire.

"Alright," you began, your speech was monotone despite the fluttering in your chest. "Mr. Guardiola wants the players to check their recovery schedules before heading to the locker room. He has something special planned for later in training, but health comes first."

Omar nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to the clipboard on the counter, the edges of the paper catching the light in a way that made the whole moment feel sharper, more defined. He seemed to be listening intently, but there was a glimmer in his eyes—something knowing, something that made you feel like he saw right through you.

"Got it," he said finally, his voice low. But then, as if he couldn’t resist, his lips curved into that maddening smirk. "Thanks, Qamari."

You froze, the word hanging in the air between you like a spark. Your fingers stilled mid-motion, and suddenly, it felt as though the room had grown smaller, quieter, like time itself was holding its breath.

"Qamari?" you echoed, your voice soft, hesitant. The way it sounded on your tongue felt foreign but… intimate, like something you shouldn’t want but did anyway.

He leaned a little closer, his grin never wavering. "It’s the nickname I decided to give you," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "It fits, doesn’t it?"

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. "Oh really?" you asked, raising a skeptical brow. 

Omar’s expression softened, his teasing smile giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. "Yeah," he said simply. "It means ‘moon’ in Arabic. It’s common in Egypt, you know. A compliment for women with beauty so striking."

His words settled in the air between you like a gentle breeze, and you could feel them taking root in your chest, in your thoughts. The phrase lingered, and you found yourself feeling an odd sense of peace in it, as though the nickname fit in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why don’t we just stick to the name on my badge?" you managed, trying to inject some playfulness into your tone to cover up the fact that your heart was practically racing out of your chest.

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin theatrically, his expression exaggerated as though he were deep in thought. "Nope. I’ll call you what I want since you refuse to call me Omar."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "But—"

"Nah," he interrupted smoothly, shaking his head with a teasing lilt in his voice. "Fair’s fair, right? You stick with 'Mr. Marmoush,' so I get to choose a name for you."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing in mock defiance, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to suppress. "That’s not how this works," you said, a faint chuckle betraying your stern expression.

He shrugged, the movement easy and unbothered. "I think it is," he said, his grin softening just enough to make it even more maddening, like he knew exactly how to press all the right buttons without ever trying.

Then, with a casualness that was almost infuriating, he reached for the schedule you’d so neatly laid out, his fingers brushing the paper followed by his shoes scuffing against the floor. 

"See you later, Qamari," he said, his voice orotund, the nickname sliding off his tongue with maddening ease. He started toward the lockers, his brows furrowed as he glanced down at his schedule.

"You can’t keep calling me that forever!" You called after him, your voice rising above the hum of the building, echoing down the corridor as if it were chasing him.

He paused for a brief moment, just enough to glance back over his shoulder. The grin he wore widened into something brighter, effortlessly charming and completely infuriating all at once. Then came the laugh—rich and full of mischief, the kind that made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

Damn him.

You stared after him, your cheeks still flushed and your pulse betraying you. You already knew you’d lost this round. And worse—you weren’t entirely sure if you minded.

© gul4bjamoons 

[ennkis]

Hii, i would like to request for Jude Bellingham 🫶🏻 The match between England and Slovakia just ended sooo i was thinking maybe some little angst with reader from Slovakia (because i'm from there🫶🏻) like he would be sad if she wouldn't wear his jersey or her little mad after the match because her country lost, Thank you, have a great day 💗💗

PATRIOTIC (jude bellingham x reader)

summary : in which y/n is a true patriot to her country

face claim : no-one exact

notes : I LOVE THIS IDEA!!!! given the fact im also slovak (jedine vsž !!!). this match was a traumatic experience tbh and i was on the edge of my seat (literally) while watching.. i feel like jude is doing everything to go against my silly ahh.. first joining the rival (madrid) and now knocking out my country from the euros man.. since slovakia is gone, time to cheer for spain and netherlands #vamosandstuff

pairings : jude bellingham x slovak!reader

y/n, long time girlfriend of jude bellingham, could be considered a patriot when it came to sports. on an average day, you could say she hated slovakia. the politicians were horrid, inflation was growing by the week, dumb decisions made by the parliament. but when there was an international tournament, like the hockey world championship or the euros, her national pride was next level. she would proudly wear her jersey with the double cross and the red, white and blue colors and cheer for slovakia like her life depended on it.

this year, the euros were particularly exciting. slovakia had managed to advance to the round of sixteen after a tense tie with romania. the whole country was buzzing with anticipation. y/n, however, had a unique point of view on all of this. she was dating jude bellingham, the english youngster, and their teams were about to face off.

the atmosphere in the stadium was wild. y/n sat in her seat, heart pounding, wearing her slovakia jersey with her name on the back. jude knew she was here, but he didn’t know she’d be wearing that jersey. until now, hes only seen her wear an england jersey with a big number 10 on the back while he was playing. the round of sixteen had brought slovakia against england, and the tension was kinda scary.

the game started off intensely. slovakia's forward, ivan schranz, scored a goal in the 25th minute, sending the slovak fans into a frenzy. you could hear that "SLOVENSKOOOO" in your bones. y/n couldn't help but join in on the celebrations, her heart filling with pride. she glanced at jude on the field, knowing how badly he wanted to advance, but in that moment, all she wanted was for slovakia to beat england.

as the minutes ticked by, the match felt like it was dragging. england pressed hard, but slovakia's defense held strong. y/n's anxiety grew with each passing second. she knew jude was frustrated, but she also knew he was a relentless player.

then, in the 95th minute, jude did the unthinkable. he scored a stunning bicycle kick, tying the game. y/n’s heart sank. she wanted to jump up and celebrate his incredible goal, but the reality of what it meant for slovakia hit her hard. the game was now tied, and the prospect of overtime sneaked ominously.

another thing that kind of pissed y/n off was the way jude celebrated. i mean, come on. you scored against your girlfriend's national team, and that's how you celebrate? of course, it's a very passionate game, but it still hurt, obviously.

overtime began, and y/n's fear became reality. just 50 seconds in, harry kane scored, putting england ahead. slovakia struggled to find an equalizer, and as the final whistle blew, y/n felt a mix of anger, disappointment, and sadness. slovakia's journey in the euros was over, and it was mainly because of the man she loved.

after the match, jude came looking for y/n, a smile on his face. "did you see my goal?" he asked, clearly excited.

y/n, still wearing her slovakia jersey, felt a surge of annoyance. "yeah, i saw it," she replied curtly. jude's smile faded as he noticed her tone.

"what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"jude, read the damn room," y/n muttered, turning away. she didn't want to start an argument here, not now.

jude sighed, sensing her mood. "i’m sorry, baby. i know you wanted slovakia to win."

"of course i did? but it's not just that," she said, her voice softening slightly. "let's just drop it for now."

"alright then.." jude reluctantly agreed and went out to dinner with his teammates to celebrate. y/n stayed behind in their hotel room, her mind racing. she knew she was being irrational, but the mix of emotions was overwhelming. how could she be happy for jude when her own team had been eliminated?

hours passed, and when jude returned, the tension in the room was thick. y/n's frustration had only grown. jude, sensing the impending argument, he tried to lighten the mood. "you know, you looked cute in that slovakia jersey," he teased.

y/n glared at him. "really, jude? that's what you want to talk about right now?"

jude's expression hardened. "what's your problem, y/n? i played my heart out there."

"my problem?" y/n snapped. "my problem is that you ruined our chance. you ghosted the whole match and then suddenly scored a stinker in added time."

jude's eyes narrowed. "i was doing my job, y/n. i’m supposed to score goals, remember? and why the hell were you wearing that jersey anyway? do you have any idea how that made me feel?"

"oh, so now it's about your feelings?" y/n shot back. "you think it’s easy for me? watching you celebrate while my team gets eliminated?"

"and you think it was easy for me?" jude retorted. "seeing you cheer for the other team? i thought you’d at least be supportive of me, no matter what."

"other team?? you mean my team??? also, what do you mean by supportive?" y/n scoffed. "how can i support you when you’re one of the main reasons we lost? i know it’s just a game, jude, but it still hurts."

"you’re being ridiculous," jude said, his voice rising. "this isn’t just about the game, is it?"

"of course it is! what are you on about?" y/n replied, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes.

jude ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "you’re mad at me for doing my job? for helping my team? you knew what this was from the start."

"it's not just about that! it's the way you celebrated, like you didn’t care about what it meant to me!" y/n shot back, her voice breaking. "you scored a goal and acted like you won the fucking world cup. did you even think about how i felt?"

jude’s face softened slightly, but he was still visibly upset. "i’m a footballer, y/n. scoring goals is what i do. it’s my passion, my career. i can’t just switch that off because of you."

"i’m not asking you to switch it off," she said, wiping her eyes. "i’m asking you to be considerate. to think about what it means for me and my country."

jude sighed deeply, frustration giving way to a partial understanding. "i get that, but you need to understand my side too. i can’t not play my best because of our relationship. it’s unfair to my teammates, to the fans."

"i didn’t mean to hurt you," jude said quietly. "i was caught up in the moment. i’m sorry if it came off wrong."

jude stared at her, his anger slowly giving way to realization. "y/n, i never wanted you to feel like that," he said, his tone softening. "i love you, and i cannot imagine you not supporting me from the sidelines."

y/n looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. "okay. but next time, maybe don’t celebrate like you just scored in the finals when you score against us."

jude chuckled softly, pulling her into a hug. "deal. and maybe next time, wear my jersey instead of yours?"

she laughed, the tension finally breaking. "we’ll see about that."

as they held each other, y/n felt the weight of the argument lifting, replaced by a renewed sense of understanding and love. they might come from different worlds, but they were determined to make it work, no matter the challenges.

if anyone was interested in my dads entire match commentary 😊

"a mame po turnaji" means were fucked (basically)😭🙏🏽

[xndrexcruz]

Reactions | FC BARCELONA

✮- introduction: Come step into the work of Camp Nou, where you will get the chance to connect with the Barça boys.

✮- author’s note: i am aware that joão félix and marc guiu aren’t part of fc barcelona anymore (sadly 😭) but in my heart they will always be apart of barça, so they will also be included!

Requests are open 💙❤️

When They Find You Wearing Their Jersey

When You Kiss His Neck

When You Get Shipped With Another Player

When The Two Of You Drop Hints That You’re Dating

[wiinttrr]

▫️she said it’s her first time..i think she might’ve lied

A/N:ngl i just got high yesterday and wrote this

⁀➷ warnings: very smutty but no actual intercourse

⁀➷ if you a minor theres no reason why you should be reading this <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

It’s exactly 8:40PM when you’re resting your head on pedri’s chest,his hand playing with your hair daintily,your attention drifting from the movie he had invited you over to watch as you fix your vision on the view displayed from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse.

Your eyes get drowsy and you start to zone out,you were bored out of anticipation,impatiently waiting for him to initiate what has been simmering in your mind for days,dirty filthy and sinful imaginations of pedri manhandling you into various positions while pounding into you was all you could ponder over,you were suffering a brainrot.

You soon exit your imagination immediately as you feel his arm envelope your smaller frame,stirring you gingerly while lowering his head to meet you at face level,"you okay there?"he says in a humorous tone while raising an eyebrow,you grin faintly as a retort to his words although in your innermost thoughts it was at his complete cluelessness to your wildly lewd infiltrated mind.

This is how you were summed up by people throughout your life,they always saw you as wholesome and untainted by immorality, especially that of a sexual nature..it confused you quite a bit and had you thinking for a span attempting to apprehend what about you gave them that impression because it surely wasn’t a facade you were upholding or a make-believe,and even though their view was far off the mark it didn’t trouble you at all,not even a little bit in fact you loved it,and soon started utilising it to your own benefit.

The innocent aura granted you quotidian advantages,and the greatest one by a mile is the sneakiness,people rarely doubted you even when you were lying straight to their faces,the pure spirit made you trustworthy and had people lowering their guards around you.

Additionally,the sole thought of having a guy entirely fooled and unaware of your true essence turned you on immensely,deceiving them into thinking that you’re just so chaste and untouched when you weren’t had you feeling so sly and it aroused you to the fullest.

Ultimately and to your desire,what you were yearning full finally started to come into being,the cuddling soon escalated into a make-out sesh,his arms are locked behind your back,pulling your chests flush together,minimizing any space between,giving you the contact that you were craving oh so bad..he slips his tongue into your mouth,tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further,your own greeted his pleasantly,tangling and pushing against it in content.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, pedri slowly pulls back,though not releasing his hold on you,hazy eyes gazing intently into each other,"so pretty.."he murmurs against your lips,a slight smirk adorning his face before hoisting you up on his lap,situating the both of you into an even more intimate position,just to trail one hand up by your side till it cupped the back of your neck,pulling your lips together once more.

This time,his kisses were slow and rhythmic..they were brief,sweet short kisses,ones that made you part after each one,ones that made you so eager for the next,they felt so satisfying and fulfilling yet had you on pins and needles yearning for more.

The atmosphere was getting promptly more sexual,pedri was placing mellow pecks just beneath your jaw,his hand moving to grab the back of your thigh,urging it upwards,while the other massaged and kneaded at your ass,your clothed core occasionally brushing against his hard on.

“tell me baby..what was the farthest you ever went”,he abruptly stoped his movements to ask you,winding down..he too thinks you’ve never fucked before,you love it.

“what we did right now”you reply shortly after,with a coy laced voice,batting your pretty lashes at him so sweetly evoking a low hum from him,pedri looked at you trough lidded lust infatuated eyes,everything about you had him so pent up.

“so nothing..not even fingered?“another question followed up,he sounded so alluring,his eyes fixated on you while one of his hands caressed your thigh delicately,”only with my own..”

[swayziiwriter]

Tension | Jude Bellingham

summary: clubbing with friends turns into a sex session with your longtime crush Jude when the sexual tension bubbles over on the dance floor.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

Jude's eyes burned holes into your back as you continued to search for your house key lost somewhere in your purse.

You didn't know exactly how you got yourself in this situation, it was all so innocent. Jude's small comments towards your look of the night. Your feelings for him evident to everyone but him, the tension he created in your stomach with every accidental touch of your hand. He was driving you close to insanity, what you didn't know was that you were doing the exact same.

It only took a few more rounds of drinks until your confidence was suddenly boosted. Taking Jude onto the dance floor after much convincing was only the beginning.

The songs that played all around the club had you pressed against him, eager to feel the touch of a man who wasn't even yours.

The air felt thick with sexual tension, as Jude's hands slid up your body placed securely around your waist as your hips moved against his. Grinding into him as your head laid back against his chest, the last thing you can remember clearly was the faint kiss Jude left on your neck.

That pushed you over the edge, sending you and Jude both running from the group of your friends back to your apartment.

You finally unlocked the door, taking about 3 steps inside before you were harshly pushed up against the door as Jude slammed it shut.

You let a breath you didn't know you were holding as Jude inched closer to your face, lips inches apart before you closed the gap between your mouths. The kiss was heated and needy, months deprived of each other as you were both in denial about your feelings for one another.

"Bedroom" you managed to breathe out in between your sloppy kisses to Jude's neck. He simply nodded in return, taking his hand into yours as you guided him into your bedroom.

Jude walked into the room first making sure to rid himself of his shirt as soon as he entered. He let you walk to the end of your bed before he walked in front of you.

Towering over your figure as he looked into your eyes, his eyes dark with lust as you raised your cold hands up and down his toned chest.

Tracing his V line before he stopped the movement of your hands to make you look up at him.

"I think it's time to get you out of these clothes" Jude said lowly, bring his hands to the back of your tight black dress, tracing his hands across the zipper. You nodded leaving a long kiss against his soft lips.

His hands reached behind your back, unzipping your dress as you helped him guide it off your body. It felt as if your body had erupted into flames as he let his hands roam all over your now exposed back as you stepped out of your dress. Exposed almost fully to him as your panties and bra remained. Letting Jude's mind run wild at the thought of being able to touch you where you wanted him most.

"My turn" you spoke out reaching your hands to his belt, toying with the leather before pulling it apart helping Jude step out his pants.

Jude wasted no time, connecting his lips to yours once again in a fiery kiss. He walked you back into your bed as you fell slowly against it, laid down on the silky white sheets as Jude stood tall above you. Jude quickly followed your actions, climbing into the bed hovering over your body.

Your body shuddered as Jude moved his hands across your breasts, taking them in as you leaned forward taking in his lips, missing the feeling already. "I want to take you now" Jude said pulling away from your heated kiss, you raised your hand behind his neck attaching your lips to his neck, biting softly at the flesh. Marking him as yours.

"Take me Jude, all of me" you breathed out needing to feel him closer, as if what you had wasn't enough.

Jude reached his hands behind your back, unclasping the strap of your bra. You sighed as Jude's hands ghosted against your breasts as he slid your bra off your body, tossing it somewhere in the room. Jude leaned down towards your core, bringing his face to your panties leaving you breathless.

Your breathing continued to increase as Jude left kisses over your clothed core. "Stop teasing please" you begged out, Jude let out a light laugh at your eagerness.

Jude brought his teeth up to the top of your panties, ripping them down with his teeth in a swift motion.

Leaving kisses down your thighs as he continued to rid you of your panties as you brought your hands to his hair, pulling at his locks lightly.

Jude reached down to his boxers, pulling them down in a quick motion his hard cock finally being released from the tight tent in his underwear. You didn't miss the wet patch on his underwear as he did the same with it as your bra.

His cock sprung up tall against his abdomen, your mouth opened slightly at the sight of his excitement. Your thoughts

wandering to how it would feel to be wrapped around his large erection.

You reached your hand down to his cock, spreading the pre cum around his tip. Prompting small moans escape Jude's mouth, as he mumbled a light string of curse words. You reached your hand across your bed to your night stand, pulling open the drawer to get a condom.

You opened the wrapper with your teeth letting Jude watch your every move as you did, blood rushing to his cock that was now itching to be inside of you. Jude then took the condom into his hands rolling it onto his dick as he lined up with your aching core.

Jude ran his cock up and down your entrance teasing you beyond belief as your insides burned with anticipation. "Jude please" you whined out, "please what y/n" he mocked clearly enjoying how needy you were becoming. "Say it" he continued, "please fuck me Jude" you replied back leaning your head into the soft pillows behind you.

"Good girl" Jude said before harshly thrusting into your right core, leaving no time for you to adjust as he started to build up his pace right away. Leaving you a moaning mess under him.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped marks across his body. Pleasure caroused through your body as Jude continued to thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping and your loud moans filled the space of your apartment. Your hands then made their way to his toned chest, tracing his abs as he fucked you harder into the sheets.

Jude then grabbed your leg putting it up slightly to give a new angle for him to hit at. The new angle allowed Jude to touch places inside of you, you hadn't known were there. You were moaning louder under him, swart dripping off both your bodies as Jude increased his pace never missing a beat.

"oh yes Jude, Jude please don't stop" you practically shouted out, as Jude let out moans of his own louder then he expected them to be.

Both of your bodies were engulfed in a heated passion, the feeling of your bodies connected closer then ever was astonishing.

Jude brought his body down towards yours, leaning down to bring his face to your breasts, burying his face into them. Sucking and biting into them as you inched closer to a release.

"Jude i'm close" you moaned out as Jude kept working on your chest, his tongue working swiftly against your body. "Not yet, i'm almost there" he responded, "don't cum until I say so" he looked up at you. Your face was unconvincing to his request, in response Jude brought a hand up to your neck lightly chocking it, bringing you even closer to your climax.

"Almost" he grunted out, removing his hand from your neck, down to your clit as he circled his fingers around it.

"Now, cum now" he moaned out spilling his hot cum into the condom still inside of you. You released at his command, his hand motions bringing you over the edge. Cumming hard and slow all over Jude's lengthy cock.

"So good" Jude moaned out as he slid out of your tight pussy. "All for you" you replied bringing your face up to his, connecting your lips to his as round 2 of your sex session was soon to follow.

[mywrittengartgallery]

PEDRI -Elle a brisé son coeur sur moi

Words : 18,5k+

Warning : heavy angst, mention of depressed states, drug/alcohol use, mention of addictions

Summary : Pedro is losing himself, accepting the bone crushing feeling you would inflect on him because you had broken your heart, and he was on the receiving end of it. 

☁️ 

“Fuck, Pedri!” shouted Pablo as he threw his hands in the air, an annoyed expression stuck on his face. It wasn’t his first complaint of the day towards the midfielder and he was beginning to get fed up with the older’s lack of involvement in today’s training. Pedro nodded and went back to his former spot, tugging at his yellow bib as if the fabric was uncomfortable. He had lost the ball, offered an easy point to the other team, but he hadn’t seemed fazed by it one bit, which was unusual. Even if Pedro wasn’t the most demonstrative person and was actually from a calm nature, he would still let his frustration sip out with a grimace or a groan. None of it had happened today, not even the rise of a brow. And this indifference, that the islander was showing, just added to Pablo’s irritation, while the older was calm, the Sevillian was everything but that. He lived football through passion, even during practices, and someone not giving their whole was unbelievable to him. Especially if this person was Pedro. It was unusual and he probably should have questioned it, but he was young and he favored his bold angriness over some psychological reflection.

Robert passed the ball to Gavi, starting the game again. Pablo dribbled past Jules and he was finally near the goal, eyeing Marc-André with a quirk in his brow. Alejandro was coming onto him, he knew a tackle was also coming. He couldn’t keep the ball so he looked around, as fast as he could and caught a glimpse of Pedri who had miraculously gotten the memo. He passed him the ball, avoiding Balde’s tackled in a same movement. he sighed, happy with his strategy. However, it quickly faded when Jules tackled Pedro and stole the ball, now sending it to one of his team’s players. Pablo didn’t really care at this point, he was seeing red. It would be the third goal conceded to the other team thanks to Pedri. He huffed, and stomped towards the older who was still lying on the ground, grass staining his kit.

“What the fuck?” he attacked, looking down without an ounce of pity in his eyes. He hated losing, even though he knew it was only some practice and it wouldn’t mean anything at the end of the day, he hated the feeling of not being enough. And his team was an extension of himself, therefore he hated his team losing. He normally wouldn’t actually be this pressed but Pedri had gotten way too much on his nerves since this morning, and the cold weather wasn’t helping at all.

“Try to focus, you are playing like a fucking toddler!” he added, crossing his arms on his chest. Pedri had finally gotten up, his fists hidden under his sleeves.

“Stop screaming, you psycho...” he said, low tone and empty eyes looking right at Pablo. Pedro was ready to leave him right here and finally do something productive, or at least more productive than being screamed at by a boy two years younger than him. But the strong grip on his wrist prevented him from doing so.

“I’m the psycho?” Gavi asked, offended. “You are the one who’s not taking it seriously while it’s your damn job, Pedro! You are the one who put zero effort in this fucking training and acts like it’s fucking normal while it should be your fucking passion!” he was really working himself up on this, but Pedri’s behavior had been too much and Pablo couldn’t recognize him. “You are the fucking psycho!”

Pedro huffed and also crossed his arms over his chest, creating a barrier between himself and the younger. His brows had furrowed a long time ago and the blush he would normally sport thanks to the effort he would put in football was replaced by an angry red that was the telltale of the fuming rage he was feeling.

“You don’t even know what psycho means, Pablo! I did nothing that would make me a psycho, you on the other hand... You have been screaming hysterically for hours now, acting like a damn child throwing a tantrum. For what? For just some football! There are other things in life than football, maybe you should get your head out of your ass and take in your surroundings. And maybe buy a fucking dictionary?” alright he had mixed things up in his rant but god, he hated being on the receiving hand of harsh criticism. Pablo had been poking at him since they had arrived at training, telling him he did this or that wrong, that he wasn’t pushing himself like he should and it had just piled up. Pedro was suffocating under all of that. Of course, he knew he had been doing everything wrong from the moment he woke up to this moment right now, he knew he was somehow lethargic and it seemed like he couldn’t care less. But hearing it from the younger, he didn’t know why, he couldn’t take it. And if Pablo wanted to be childish, then Pedro would be.

“If you have to buy a dictionary for you to be relevant, then it means your football is not enough for the team. You are not doing enough!” the younger’s anger wasn’t dissolving anytime soon, everyone could see it. That’s probably why Robert tried to pull Pablo away, asking him to calm down with a firm voice. Pablo didn’t seem to care, too agitated to actually understand what the Pole was telling him. He wasn’t used to be this angry, especially against Pedri. The other had always made sure to deflate the situation, to keep Pablo calm even when they were fighting. Pedro hadn’t today. He had pushed Gavi further, and Pablo wasn’t sure where he was standing now, how to regulate his emotions.

‘You are not doing enough’ that’s the words Pedro had whispered back, feeling his world crumble because how could it not? His best friend had thrown the words that were the main insecurity in Pedri’s mind: not being enough, not doing enough, not meeting people’s expectations. His breath was caught in his throat and every voice around him were muffled by his own train of thoughts. He was not enough, he was doing everything wrong and hearing it only confirmed what he had been thinking for a few days now.

Pedro wasn’t reacting anymore, he hadn’t responded to Gavi, neither had he flinched when Sergio had put his hand on his shoulder. On the outside, he looked as stoic as one could, eyes completely void of emotions, everything perfectly concealed inside him. His fists had even loosened just like his frown. Maybe they should be worried at how well the Canarian was able to hold everything together, but no one noticed, no one cared about that. The fight was the only thought around the pitch.

“Pablo, watch your mouth! And please, learn how to manage your anger, we cannot have problems like that again!” said Xavi, who had finally taken things in hands. His gaze was strong as he looked deeply angry at Gavi. It looked like he wanted to add something, but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. The coach nodded at Robert so the Pole could take Pablo somewhere else, probably at another practice spot. As he let out a sigh, the legendary midfielder turned around while pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and looked at Pedro.

“He is right about one thing... You haven’t been great today. I usually expect more of you, Pedro. I will let it slide because a bad day can happen, but tomorrow you are at your top form.” Disappointment was sipping out of Xavi, rolling down his figure to come crashing against Pedri like hard waves, hitting him right where it hurt. He hadn’t found his words back, everything stuck in his pharynx. The only thing he was able to do was looking down, hands clasped behind his back as he took in every word, repeating them in his mind like a sermon he would have heard at church.

And that’s how Pedro went through the rest of training: on shaky legs and short breath. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, scared that his voice would break, and he would only look at his shoes because he knew that if he met anyone’s eyes, especially the caring ones, salty water would escape from them. So, he had closed himself off, shutting the world out and focused on football, counting the minutes until this hell would end.

---

Then he was home. His home dipped in silence. No lights could be seen, just the streetlights trespassing inside to create shadows on the floor. He felt cold like that, not recognizing his own place, so he quickly switched the lights on. He noticed that no shoes other than his littered the entry, no coat thrown on the couch, no food or drinks discarded on the kitchen island. That could mean two things and he wasn’t sure which one he favored. With these thoughts running a hundred miles an hour in his mind, he went up, making sure his stairs wouldn’t crack and waited in front of a closed door, in silence. Always. He had to calm himself down because he was working himself up and nothing good could come out of it. He took a shuddery breath and finally found the courage to open the seemingly heavier door than the day before.

What he saw was exactly what he had imagined. How could he still be disappointed when every time it was the same thing?

He sighed and slowly came closer, delicately placing one of your stray strands behind your ear to have a look at your face. Your mascara had been smudged, staining your normally rosy cheeks with its dark umbra. The deep frown you were sporting had seemed like a permanent thing for a while now and, even in your alcohol induced sleep, it wouldn’t leave. His insides churned at the thought, because nothing seemed to erase it, not even all his efforts. It wasn’t enough.

After another shaky breath, the midfielder tore his gaze away from your sight, the sight that would bring an unwanted feeling of anxiety, squeezing his stomach until bile could be felt at the back of his throat. He, instead, focused on your shoes that were still tightly tied on your feet, and with practiced fingers, he undid the knots and took the pair of sneakers off, quietly deposing them next to him. Then, he tried to shake you awake, eyes fixed on your shoulder, he wanted you to catch a sliver of consciousness so he could take off your coat and put you under the thick covers of his bed. But you wouldn't budge, it must have been an especially hard night, he thought. So, he did it all without your help, moving you around like a rag doll, blinking tears away when he would see your head loll a little. When he was done, he left for the bathroom to bring a blue basin that had whitened because of the bleach it would often meet. The corrosive substance used to disinfect the plastic material but mostly to get rid of the putrid smell that would float around. He had set the blue recipient on the floor, on your side of the bed and made sure that you were lying on your side, facing it. That’s how he left you, making sure to not fully close the door so he could hear if anything was going on, and stepped in the living room.

Everything seemed so cold and even with the TV on, Pedro felt as if a thick darkness was surrounding him. The sound was off, figures moving around the screen in total silence as lights changed from cold to warm to electric then back to cold. It reflected on the youngster’s face, highlighting the deep hollows under his dark eyes. It took just enough of Pedro’s attention to soften the edge that was poking at him. Just enough for him to not be entirely consumed by his intrusive thoughts that seemed to linger longer and longer every time. A kiss was shown under an orange sunset, them on the rooftop of some city: the girl had the most loving smile he had seen in a while and the man looked shy, blush high on his cheeks. He wanted to hate this scene, to resent it even, but he couldn’t even muster that.

Then he heard it, the wrenching sounds coming out of your throat followed by gags. He wasn’t even sure of how long it had lasted, time notion slipping right through his fingers, him unable to grasp at it. He just knew that when your session had been done, long seconds of silence had plagued the room before your sobs had resonated. It hadn’t been near as loud as the noises you had let out before, but it was harder for Pedri to hear. He unconsciously bit his lower lip as he stood up, turning off the TV and going up the stairs. He wasn’t even aware of his movements, too used to this charade. He could have predicted your curled up figure on the bed, your head tucked against the crook of your arm and tear tracks crackling on the skin of your cheeks. A bit of drool mixed with the acidic vomit caked the corner of your mouth because you hadn’t cared enough to wipe it. You hadn’t even registered his presence, even though he had slid under the covers, spooning you as he whispered words of affection. He had only one goal, it was soothing you. He would try until he would fall asleep of exhaustion.

---

The door on the passenger’s side slammed, making the small Mini Cooper tremble with the force of it. Pedro only rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics and sighed, before starting the car while Gavi fiddled with his seatbelt. It was raining hard, offering an easy way out for the two Barca’s midfielders as practically no fans were waiting for them. And even though he felt awful to think that, Pedro was glad to be left alone today, no touching, no screeching and no cameras in his face, catching his deep dark circles.

“So Fifa, is it?” asked the Sevillian. His tone was light, clashing with the mess of feelings spreading through Pedro’s chest. He was also glad for that, for Gavi. He wasn’t even aware of how much his cheerfulness meant to the older, how much he needed it to stay grounded. But Pedro wouldn’t tell him, not when it meant telling more to him. It was not his place, he thought. So, as he had been doing a lot recently, he kept his mouth shut and nodded, flashing a small smile in his direction. Gavi accepted it and toyed with Pedro’s playlist, trying to find anything that would suit his taste.

That’s how they found themselves on the road, stopping at red lights and starting again when the lights turned green, under the heavy droplets of water that fell with an incredible speed. Pedri wanted nothing more than to get to his house and make himself comfortable on his couch, Gavi next to him, screaming about his loss. A faint grin appeared on his lips when he thought about the moment, it felt so familiar, he was used to it and he couldn’t wait to live it once more. To beat the shit out of Pablo on the screen and annoy him while the other would whine and pout like a child. The lightheartedness of the situation made him dizzy, because he felt like it had been decades since he had spent a night with his friends, doing things without caring of tomorrow. His insides were trembling with impatience.

“I practiced, so don’t be too surprised if you lose Pedri!” Pablo was bathing in cheekiness, throwing it at the older without a care. But deep inside, he knew he would lose, because it really wasn’t Gavi’s thing, however, he felt the need to put a show on. Whatever work he would put in, the results would remain the same. It was all it took for Pedro’s former grin to widen and squint his eyes.

“Stay humble, it will soften the blow when I’m going to destroy you...” he retorted, avoiding a quick jab from the younger. He stifled a laugh because of how easy it was to rile up the other.

However, his smile faded as fast as the rain washed chalk drawings off on concrete, when an incoming call appeared on his Bluetooth station. The name, all too familiar, glaring at him, daring him to pick up. He really didn’t have another choice, so with a wide intake of air, he pressed the green emoticon and answered the phone, getting ready for whatever was to come, whatever Pablo would hear.

“Pedro?” Isabela’s voice was unsure, like saying his name was already the hardest thing to do. He knew she knew. He knew that she was aware of how much she had been asking of him lately, he knew that she knew she was putting another stone on the already shaky pile.

“Yeah?” he responded, with fake assurance. It was just an image to maintain for the moment.

“Could you come? It’s like last time...” and the strength in her words diminished after every words. He understood with ease what she was talking about. Without any further information, he turned left on the next intersection, avoiding the confused gaze of Pablo on him.

“She would probably feel better with you...” and he hated those words, the ones she felt obligated to add. Because he knew there was a deep truth to them, but he also knew that wasn’t all. He knew that it would be easier on everyone to come and get you. Easier on everyone but him. He gulped, nodding slightly but she couldn’t see him, and he wasn’t trusting his voice to not break so he kept his mouth tightly shut and hung up, not adding anything to what had already been said.

In the eyes of Pablo, the older had shut off, harboring a cold demeanor that hadn’t been there minutes ago. His eyes had become darker, steelier, as if he had built a wall around himself, so high he wasn’t sure how someone could see past it. And it worried the Sevillian. Pedri wasn’t the type to be this closed off, especially with him, even when they fought. There would be screams, harsh words and sarcasm to top it all, but silent treatment wasn’t one of their things. And when one of them was upset with something, they would talk it out. Pablo wasn’t sure how he should act with this Pedro, this Pedro that he didn’t know and had never met.

“What’s going on?” he dared to ask when he had not recognized the road they were taking. His voice had been soft, trying to not set off the older.

“Y/N doesn’t feel well, so I’m picking her up.” and that’s all the Canarian said. Not elaborating on the true reason he had to pick you up. Many questions were bursting into Gavi’s brain, but he couldn’t ask. He knew it wasn’t the moment, and he wouldn’t get answers anyway. In the end, he would see by himself what was going on when they would arrive.

That’s how a tense silence filled the car, putting Pablo on edge and making Pedro slightly panic. The sky was becoming darker, minutes passing, buildings changing colors under the downpour, people rushing to keep themselves dry, streetlights turning on. Then the car had stopped. In total silence, Pedro had unfastened his belt and put his hood up, opening the door. Pablo wasn’t sure what he should do, not even knowing where Pedro had brought him. He wasn’t familiar with his actual surrounding, no buildings looked like ones he had seen before and it was nowhere near where you lived. So, he had stayed inside, watching as Pedro took quick steps towards the entrance, getting drenched. Something wasn’t adding up.

And things felt even weirder when he saw Pedro exiting the building with you under his arm, trying to hold you up in a straight position. You were laughing under the rain, tripping over your own feet while making him lose his trajectory. The window was blurred with water, so Pablo couldn’t quite grasp Pedro’s expression, but the older didn’t seem as enthusiast as you. When the both of you got close enough, Pedro reached out to open the backseats door, while you leant against the green car. If the Canarian hadn’t had the fastest reflexes, you would have fallen in a dirty puddle: water mixed with fuel and dead leaves. He had slid his arm around your waist, bringing you against his side. You giggled, throwing your head back as if this had been the funniest thing you had lived. And that placed a smile on Pablo’s lips, your happiness contagious. Pedro had settled you in the back seat, fastening your belt and throwing your bag next to you. No words had been uttered.

You would spurt nonsenses at the back, gaining laughs from the youngest midfielder. The drunk-you was the funniest thing he had been blessed to see, thought Pablo as you explained another dumb thing that your mind had created. However, entranced by your idiocy, he hadn’t seen the way your boyfriend hadn’t reacted to anything that had left your mouth, not even a rise of a brow.

A light suddenly turned red, forcing Pedro to brake forcefully. Everyone in the car was slightly projected towards the front. This had you wheezing, and Pablo following. His nerves were getting eaten bits by bits by the sharp sounds and the puffs of air.

“That was rough babe!” you had exclaimed in a funny tone. You stretched your arms towards the back of his seat, sneaking your hands around until they met his tense shoulders. Your head had followed, making your voice loud and clear to him and Pablo.

“If you could get that rough in bed I wouldn’t say no, the opposite actually!” and if your words were slurred, they still cut right through him, like a blade meeting skin. Bile rose up his throat and if it wasn’t for Pablo’s laugh, he was sure you would have heard his sharp intake of air. “I mean, can you believe it, Pablo? He thinks he is going to hurt me, if anything I just ask for more spices! Like, vanilla is fucking boring...” and his knuckles turned white, gripping the wheel like his last lifeline resort. But no words would come out. Sometimes, Pedro thought he had used up all of the words in the world to say what he felt, there was nothing else out there he could mean. And anger was all that stayed, raging under his skin when he had nothing to express it. It was fueled by every sentence that left your mouth, every giggle and snicker, the outright mocking laugh of Pablo that was there to tease Pedro and his said vanilla habits in bed. And if he knew, if he knew that he was far from the vanilla portray you had depicted. He could be rough, shove you around when you asked, shock you with brutal waves and deprive you from a sense or two when he knew you needed it. It had been spicy, he could explore new things. But he couldn't hurt you, that was a limit he wouldn’t ever be able to cross. You asked for a lot, always more, you wanted to bruise in a nasty way, to bleed and soak the sheets red. You wanted tear tracks and gasps to find the air back. You wanted a monster that wasn’t Pedro, he wouldn’t give you that. So, he would deny it every time, shaking his head and leaving the room if you were too upset to do anything else with him. There were limits he wouldn’t cross, but you would always push for him to do so.

And if Pablo had known all of that, maybe he wouldn’t laugh but he would cry next to Pedro. Maybe he wouldn’t be trying to stabilize his breathing right now while Pedro was patiently trying to keep his calm, biting the inside of his cheek. Only a frown was visible on his impeccably neutral face, the deaf role played perfectly. That’s only when Pablo had caught on that, that his laugh vanished and a confused expression painted his features. Why was he annoyed?

You continued to throw harsh words hidden behind jokes and light tones, giggling and requesting the follow of Pablo. But the younger was now hesitant, politely grinning at you but softening when his eyes would dart to the Canarian. He was more than worried now.

When he parked the car, Pablo asked if Pedro wanted his help to get you up the stairs, until you reached his apartment. He had refused, with only a shake of his head, before gently grabbing your arm and firmly holding your waist, giving everything to make you walk straight, even if it had costed him to bump his arm or hip on walls. Pablo didn’t understand why his friend was so obstinate to do this on his own. It only added to this weird uneasiness blooming inside him. But he hadn’t dared commenting on it, sensing the abrupt refusal he would face. Now he just looked at Pedro, hosting you up the stairs of his apartment once you had finally gotten inside. You would use your hand to hold yourself up against the wall, letting your nails graze the white surface. No movements of Pedro were harsh or rough, only gentleness filled his motion. But his face was still closed off, none of his features had softened since the call. Pablo feared that the deep frown creeping in the middle of the width between his brows would stay permanently like this. He didn’t like the idea, because it would make his joyful expressions less sparkling, they would be faded. He hated it, actually. But he hadn’t said anything as he had watched, standing in the middle of his living room.

He tried to analyze the room, wanting to know if something had changed. something had definitely changed in his best friend’s demeanor. He just couldn’t quite grasp it and it was starting to freak him out. Maybe answers would be there? His apartment was still spotless, nothing out of place. The same pictures were hung on the wall, with his family, with his brother, with his friends, with his teammates, with you. You... He tripped on the thought. Maybe your relationship wasn’t as thriving as he thought? He knew it was healthy to fight for two lovers, it helped to express hidden feelings and to actually improve the relationship. But were you fighting too much? Or Pedro just hadn’t liked you getting drunk at your friend’s place. You were old enough to make your decisions and to enjoy a night with your friends. But the older was a fan of control. He hated losing it and not be able to understand his surrounding or be out of his depth, it would make him anxious the next morning when he would remember things he wouldn’t have normally done sober. He wouldn’t say anything to his friends when they would let go, had never lectured Pablo for getting shit faced at a party. Yet again, you weren’t Pablo. The youngest was sure you were the love of Pedro’s life, you were one of his source of happiness and maybe he just wasn’t used to see you like that. He could understand where his best friend was coming from: it’s hard to let your lover make potentially dangerous decisions, especially if it meant not recognizing them.

However, his thoughts were soon interrupted when he heard a door being softly closed and feet hitting the floor. Pedro was going down the stairs, avoiding any eye contacts with Pablo. He was holding a plaid and his pillow, his lips still sealed. He had gotten used to silence at this point, again, not daring asking questions. The older of the two threw the poor bedding on his couch, not caring arranging it nicely and then, finally, looked up to meet Pablo’s eyes. He had never seen these brown orbs this void of emotions, or drained. Maybe this word was more appropriate, Pablo thought, as he saw nothing inside. There had been something there before, it had been taken away.

“It’s a little bit complicated tonight, I’m sorry... Is it okay if I bring you back at your place?”

Pablo could only nod, he wouldn’t impose his presence to him. He wouldn’t put something else on Pedro’s already heavy shoulders.

“Are you going to sleep there?” and that’s the only thing he dared asking, the only thing that scratched enough the surface to give an idea of the depth of it all to Pablo.

“Yes.” and that was it. The only word that had left the midfielder’s mouth, in a hushed tone, before he grabbed back his keys and went to the door. Wanting to get as fast as he could to his car. Pablo followed, a feeling of urgency overwhelming his senses. Why all of it felt so abnormal. Why did it feel like he was discovering something that had been rotting away for some time already?

He had scratched the surface, now he wanted to dig. In a swift motion, he grabbed the other’s forearm and tugged on it, making hum turn around, just enough for their eyes to meet again.

“If you need anything, I’m here Pedro.”

---

“You okay alone ?”

Pedro had asked that with a concerned tone, worry sipping out of him. Pablo couldn’t hear what you had answered, but your words had slightly calmed his friend down. A sigh had escaped his chapped lips and his hand that had been gripping a handful of the blanket fabric had loosened.

Gavi frowned at those words, looking up at Pedro who was face timing you. He had his hood up while lying under the sheets of his bed. Xavi had made them room together for this clàsico, maybe the coach had sensed the weird thing going on with Pedro. Maybe he had thought that Gavi would be the solution, but clearly the younger wasn’t even aware of how he could help.

“We will talk tomorrow ?”

Another thing you had said that Pablo couldn’t hear. But Pedro had ended the face time not moving, weirdly focused on a spot on the wall. The shadows under his eyes had never been darker, and Pablo did try to find possible reasons that wouldn’t directly mean that his friend had a hard time sleeping. Pedro had been used to the Canary’s sun, the hot weather in winter and so had been his skin. He had probably lost his glow because he hadn’t been getting enough vitamin D, so on his now pale skin, the dark circles were darker, bluer. Or maybe it was the beard accentuating it. But Pablo was aware that it was just thoughts to comfort himself, because he had seen Pedro last year, and the year before and he hadn’t ever looked this tired, this grey. He sighed, and stood up wanting to meet the older boy on his bed. To talk? He wasn’t sure, but the nerves under his skin were pushing him to do something, anything. As he was about to move, asynchronous knocks were heard on their door with what he assumed was Ferran’s voice booming behind it. Bad timing, he thought.

With another sigh, he deviated his former trajectory to go and open the door. Pedro hadn’t reacted one bit at the ruckus. It had made his insides churn, it wasn’t normal. However, he quickly put the thought away, he would have time to dissect it later. Now, he had to manage his older friends who had five years old mindsets. He swung the door open, frowning at Ansu and Ferran who were standing outside in Nike slippers and barça’s tracksuits. The tallest of the two had a wide smile, proudly shaking his Playstation’s controller while Ansu was behind, a smile just as big and hands in his pockets.

“Hello hello, lover boys. We’re here to kick your ass on Fifa!” said Ferran, nudging Pablo so he would move aside, allowing them to enter. They did so, throwing themselves on Gavi’s bed and already fiddling with the TV.

“Eric and Ale should come down in half an hour, they were going to take showers when we asked them.” Added Ansu before turning his attention on Pedro. The said boy had barely acknowledged them, too focused on his phone for that. This had Ansu frowning.

Pablo nodded, dejected. He loved his friends, but he had wanted to talk and get things straight with Pedro, to finally know what is eating his friend away. They couldn’t read a room and he should’ve said something but that meant admitting to other people that something was clearly wrong with their midfielder. He wasn’t sur how much aware they were of the situation, or if they had noticed anything at all. He hadn’t wanted to explain it, in a rush, while Pedro was on his bed not even ten meters away. But now, he wished he had because they were being their hyperactive selves and it seemed like they couldn’t feel the tension in the room.

“Pedri! You playing?” asked Ansu, desperately wanting some sort of reaction from the younger. His frown hadn’t budged but his smile was still there, forming an unusual expression on his youthful face.

“Ask Pablo…” if the other 2002’s smile had slightly faltered, he had tried to hide it as fast as possible. He shrugged, feigning indifference and turning around so he could face the TV. Ferran had finally plugged his controller in and chosen his team. In the end, Pablo and Ferran played together for a while, the older winning easily. Ansu had excused himself, saying they were already making themselves at home in the two midfielders’ room, so he should let the youngest enjoy some videogames. Pablo was far from thankful for this, the older had just turned him away from his frenetic watch over Pedro. He had been so close to prod at Pedri’s bruises, so, so close, and now he was sure he would be back to square one once they would leave. Because that’s how it would always work with the islander: him letting one of his many defenses fall, allowing a glimpse of what would trouble his mind, just so he could rebuild his wall higher, thicker. And every second used to delay the feared conversation, was a step away from the issue.

What Gavi didn’t know, was that Ansu had taken over. He had settled himself across Pablo’s bed, facing Pedro’s, head propped up on his forearms as he analyzed him. The uneasiness he had felt regarding Pedro only deepened the more he took him in. He saw what Pablo saw, the dark circles, the exhausted look in his dark eyes, the mussed hair that would normally fall in small curls bathed in sea water across his forehead, his unusual paleness. But most of all, the constant frown that had settled between his dark brows, how it had created a small crease there, only adding to the pure weariness the younger was displaying. He wasn’t a frowner, nor a pouter, he was so open with his face, giving out shy smiles and sparkling gaze to everyone. Even when he had arrived in Barcelona, two or three years ago, Ansu wasn’t sure, he had never looked so worn out. It had been hard though, he had had to get used to the life in the mainland, especially in Barcelona where everything was stressful, always setting higher expectations. He only had his brother with him, leaving his family and his childhood friends on his small Island, hours away. Homesickness had been the main theme in the first months of his life there and Ansu had watched all of it happen right in front of his caring eyes, the way his smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes, the way he would linger on his phone when everyone would celebrate with their families. He knew how hard it could get, had went through La Masia and had given up on a big part of his childhood for his dream, but he thought that separating from what you had always known was harder the older you got. It must have been harder for Pedri, in that sense. Still, hope found a way to sip out of his irises, reassuring everyone who worried over him. They knew he was strong and was only falling under the long process of adjusting.

Ansu had also been there during the hellish year 2021 had been, for him and for Pedro. The amount of time the younger had spent on the field was astronomical, a little too much for the lack of reward it had brought. All of this for nothing. Obviously, it had taken a toll on the midfielder, how could it not when you give so much but receive so little? Yet, soft smiles and promises for a better future had slipped from his lips, again, reassuring everyone around him.

But what Ansu had in front of him was nothing he had known or seen yet, and he wasn’t sure how he should go about it. Sure, he had been there during these tough times before, had offered a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, and had found ways to comfort the younger. But he had never really been his first confident, Pedro reserving this role to Ferran principally, maybe Gavi now. But with the lack of concern the Valencian was showing, he wasn’t even sure Pedro was actually confiding in someone. This thought formed a knot in his stomach.

Pedri’s phone lit up again, deepening the frown already there and this caught the forward’s attention. This also was a new habit, being an awful lot on his phone. This was some type of addiction usually attributed to Pablo, who could never leave his phone even to go to the toilets, but Pedro had always been more laidback, able to separate from it easily. The artificial hit his tired features, weirdly showing off the storm of emotions dancing in his eyes, normally so well concealed. He was typing fast, chewing on his bottom lip while he waited for something, a text maybe? Ansu noted how he seemed to get even more closed off. He hated this feeling of being too far to reach him all the while being so close. When did their Pedro build this high wall between him and them? Somehow, this had to stop and Ansu knew what he had to do. He copied the midfielder by swiftly taking out his phone, texting Alejandro to wait for them in their room, changing the place of their Fifa tournament. Then, he proceeded to nudge Pablo with his covered foot, showing him the text. He knew that Pablo was more aware about the issue than all of them combined. Despite the credit people gave him, the youngest was observant and had set his eyes on Pedro practically as soon as all of that began. Pablo was aware and wanted to make things right again, so Ansu decided to help. A flash of understanding passed by his pupils before he nodded, conveying his gratefulness with a tight squeeze on his thigh.

“What are you both gossiping about?” chimed in Ferran, seeing how Pablo had turned his attention somewhere else, letting him score a goal without a complaint. He squinted at the duo, trying to pry the electronic device from Ansu’s hands.

“Nothing, Ale asked if we could meet up in our room, his lazy ass doesn’t want to come down.” Lying was bad, not in phase with his religion, but he believed God would forgive him for this white lie if it meant allowing some peace to their friend. Well, at least he hoped so.

“Really? But we’re all set there!”

“Yeah, but Ale doesn’t want to play if he has to move around, plus Eric is siding with him… It won’t be fun if it’s just the three of us.” Ferran had to stop there because Ansu was a bad liar and he was not sure he could keep up if another question was asked.

“I’m on this with Ansu, and Eric is the only one I’m sure I can beat, so…”

With the help of Pablo, Ferran gave up and agreed, turning off the TV and retrieving his things scattered around the room. A wave of relief hit the two youngsters.

When both intruders were finally out of the room, Pablo turned around, eyeing Pedro. He hadn’t moved one bit, still huddled under the heavy blankets of his bed, hood on and eyes fixated on his phone. The Sevillian sighed and came closer, quickly snatching it from his hands. This caused the other midfielder to look up, anger showing on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You need to sleep, you look like a zombie. This means you have to let go of that one.” He said, shaking it in front of the other’s eyes. “I’m taking this up with me just to be sure you sleep. You will get it back when you wake up.” He added, tone firm. Pedro knew he wouldn’t be able to negotiate and he hadn’t enough energy to try to fight Pablo on this. So, he sighed, pissed off, and slid further down his bed, turning around so only his back was visible. Pablo hated doing this, but he knew he was doing the right thing. Even if it meant being slightly hated by his best friend.

When he came back, three hours later, Pedro was waking up. He had tried to be as quiet as possible, but the heavy hotel door was anything but that. Pedro was a light sleeper, Pablo had anticipated that. Still, he didn’t turn the lights on, didn’t talk until he heard Pedro’s voice. Small. Unsure.

“Thank you.” That’s all he had said when the younger had finally sat down on his bed. Pablo looked up confused, not sure what this was about since he couldn’t decipher the older’s expression through the penumbra. Sensing that Pablo wouldn’t answer, Pedro continued. “For making me rest.”

“It’s alright”

Then, silence covered the room. The two were facing each other, not knowing what to say, if there was anything more to say to begin with. Anxiousness could be felt, tensed movements and breath held in. This was uncomfortable and unusual for the both of them. But Pedro was sitting there, head hanging, toying with his fingers, probably hurting the inside of his cheeks with his teeth, and Pablo understood that this had nothing to do with him. That’s probably why he stood up and went to the other bed, sitting next to him. He slid under the covers, four feet bumping together. Everything was easier when you didn’t have to face the difficulties frontally.

“Isabela sent many texts…” he hadn’t brought up the phone yet, but he had to talk about it at some point. Perhaps, beginning with this was the best way to get something out of Pedro.

“Hmm?”

“You both seem close”

“We are not.” Pedro had defended himself directly, slamming the idea down as fast as possible.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Like that silence returned, sitting there like a king on its throne. Pablo hated silence. They waited and waited. Someone had to break first and the Sevillian was impressed by the way Pedro was holding on, like used to this.

“I believe this has something to do with Y/N… That’s what I meant.”

“Hmm”

And God, did he hate it when he didn’t receive straight answers. But this lack of direct response was the hint he needed to know that he had hit the nail. That’s why Pablo pushed, and pushed and pushed, prodding and toying with words just to put his fingertips on the guarded truth inside of his best friend’s heart. He kept going until the other would break, until the questions would be too much for him. And it had seemed like an eternity before the older let out a faint trace of reality. He had said it with all the calmness he had, concealing his emotions like a professional, explaining all sort of things. Allowing Pablo to meet his deepest insecurities, fears even.

He wasn’t enough, didn’t feel like enough. He felt like his shoes were too big for him, the world too wide and like everyone around him saw it. He wasn’t enough for you, hadn’t been for a while and whether it’s his fault or not didn’t change a thing, he couldn’t do more and you had distanced yourself from him for that. He felt alone, had been left alone in his apartment, dotted with traces of you. And he wasn’t even enough for himself now, unsure of what to do, there by himself. He also knew he was vanishing little by little from his friends’ backgrounds, not being present enough, hiding away. He wasn’t enough for his friends. And even in football, he wasn’t enough, for the team, for his fans, for his teammates. All of that was weighing him down and he was waiting for the breakpoint.

Pablo understood, knew he had had a part to play in that. He knew words could affect someone and he knew, while angry, he could throw them without a care, slicing through the other’s skin. He felt incredibly guilty right at this moment. He remembered what he had said weeks ago, using these exact words to describe Pedro, wanting to hurt as much as possible to vent his frustration. He hadn’t known, never would he have said that if he had an idea of what was going on inside his friend’s head. But these words had left his mouth and had hit right where he had aimed at. They hadn’t talked for days after that, yet it had still been Pedro who had come back, asking for a truce, always the mature one. It made something churn in his stomach, so ugly and uneasy. Pedro had gone to him, put aside his overwhelming worries, just to get his Gavi back. The more he thought about it, the worse it was. He had pushed his friend further down the dark alley the young man had already been pried in.

An apology was on the tip of his tongue, screaming to be said. But he kept his mouth shut, not sure if he had to make this about this fight, about himself. Pedro was next to him, putting all his energy into keeping his tears at bay, forbidding them to fall.

Now, Pablo wasn’t even sure if he could touch him to relieve him from this burden, even a little bit. Touches were his love language, using it to sooth people around him and to show them how much he cared. But that wasn’t Pedri’s.

Pablo didn’t know what it was now.

---

“Y/N...” the way he had dragged your name had you looking up from the couch, brows furrowed. You tried a smile, making it as natural as possible, wanting to ease the closed off expression on your boyfriend’s face. It hadn’t worked. He had sat down on the floor, in front of the couch, but had let quite the distance between the two of you. His knees were up in way that allowed him to circle them with his arms. You copied him, feeling as if it was the right thing to do. One of the right things you could do, for him? Maybe.

“I saw Isabela’s story.”

How much you had hoped that he hadn’t.

Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes when you connected the dots, when you understood what it meant. You wouldn’t let them fall though, it wasn’t your right to do so. Maybe, that could be the thing you owed him. Strength and honesty.

“Why?” the way he had croaked out this small word told you how much strength it had taken from him, he felt drained. He hadn’t ever known how much a word could represent and hold, before.

You were looking at him without moving, trying to swallow a sob that was coming up your throat, ready to erupt and break the silence that enveloped the room. You had no answers, or maybe you had but you refused to force them on Pedro. His ears should never meet your rotten words. It would be unfair. He was such an important part of your life, the healthiest one. He was your anchor, the one that kept you afloat when the waves hit you so harshly that it felt like you were drowning. But every time, he would hold on tightly, for the both of you because, of course, you couldn’t help but drag him with you, down in the Abyss that was the nauseous path of your life. He had never complained, always mediating things and reassuring you. How much longer before you would be the one drowning him?

“Please, YN...”

You hadn’t known your heart could break again. You had pushed him so far, he had to let out pleas. You were a monster, how could you put him through that? Why did he stay? The heartbreaking sound that had passed his mouth was enough to finally let the tears flow, running down your pale cheeks. Your eyes hadn’t dared leaving his, but you wished you had. Because, right at this moment, you were seeing how much you had taken from him. His beautiful, hazel eyes, were supposed to hold the world, shine under the soft sun rays and sparkle at everything. They weren’t supposed to look this somber, like nothing could bring back the amused glint that made you fall in love. They weren’t supposed to look like they had been drained from everything they held, and now only two dots remained on a fatigued face. You took a deep breath, wanting to calm down so you could explain. He at least deserved that. He deserved so much more. Through the tears, you had opened your mouth, working around your abused vocal cords and the lump that felt all too suffocating.

“I wasn’t myself, I was stoned and drunk and he was there.” another intake of air filled your lungs. You could feel a sharp sting on your thumb where you had torn a dead skin, blood circling your nail by trailing down its curve. “I was so lost, Pedro. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I needed to feel something and I don’t know why my brain didn’t scream at me when I agreed. I regret it!”

He had turned his head, preferring the sight of the foot of the couch rather than your curled up form. You were able to see his knuckles, white from the force he was gripping his elbows with. Now, unable to see his eyes, you understood you had lost the right to delve into his soul. It had been only a question of time, he should have taken that right from you a long time ago.

“You have to believe me when I say that! I regret it, I don’t know why I did it! But you have to believe me, Pedro!” and sobs were racking your body, making your voice tremble. You had never been this desperate. You wanted him to know that you were beating yourself up over that. That he was irreplaceable, the most important constant in your life, and nothing that had happened last night meant a thing next to him. You hated yourself for it, for everything you had done. “Please, believe me.”

“How far did you two go ?”

His voice was uneven and if his hands were shaking, you tried to erase it from your memories. Because you couldn’t be the one to bring him to this state. He couldn’t be your relief in life while you were his poison. That’s why you had diverted your eyes, instead focusing them on the fabric of your jeans. It was uneven, or maybe it was the thick droplets your eyelashes had collected that made it hard to see. Silence was filling the room and you knew you had to explain yourself, he deserved it. But you were such a coward, he should have known by now.

“Ok...” and the sigh he had let out, murmured and shaky, made you look up. He couldn’t stay with false information. He couldn’t believe what his mind had created, even though your truth wasn’t much better.

“We... It wasn’t all the way” God, why was it impossible for your voice to be stable ? You hated yourself for looking this weak when you should be the figure of force, you had inflected such pain on him. You should be rotting in hell, not sitting here, in front of him while you knew he was only waiting to understand. You knew he was too good for you, too good to be in your life. He hadn’t moved one bit. “It was just some teasing, with our hands...” you had whispered the last part, feeling incredibly ashamed by the person you were. You were describing the foreplay you had done with a random guy to your boyfriend, the boy you were supposed to love. You had to hide most details, you couldn’t hurt him more. He should never know how much you had enjoyed it, easily chanting a name that wasn’t his, easily adapting to another body. What was so wrong with you, that you couldn’t deny having taken pleasure with someone else while perfectly knowing you were inflicting torture on Pedro.

He had snorted. Had shaken his head.

“Just some teasing...”

"That’s not what I wanted to say!” you exclaimed, seeing how awful your phrasing had made it look like. It hadn’t been nothing. “We didn’t make love, Pedro.”

“I hope so. Making love is normally reserved to the people you actually love. I do hope I’m still that to you.”

His voice had been so cold. You had never heard his voice be this flat, not letting out any emotions. Your Pedro was supposed to be an open book, venting his frustration when he needed to and always having this mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, his voice a testimony of his usual happiness. Your tears had stopped when you had heard his tone, so shocked that you didn’t know how to respond.

“Am I, though?”

The question hurt so much more than everything else because you were slowly becoming aware that your betrayal hadn’t only been a physical one, but you had pushed him so far that he wasn’t even sure that you loved him. However, your lack of answer told him the opposite of what you were feeling. His guard came up, so high, higher than you had ever seen. You quickly stood up, wobbly on your legs and breath short. One step, a second one, and a final third before you finally squatted down so you could be eye to eye. Your shaky hand took a hold of his but you knew he wasn’t responsive. Usually, his fingers would caress the back of your hand in slow and small circles. It was just a dead weight now, one you were desperately holding on.

“I do! I love you so much, Pedro!” and sobs were being inserted between your words. “You are the love of my life.”

The way he had retracted his hand when you had said the intimate sentence, the one usually whispered in between your bedsheets, secured in the dark of the night and only your two breaths present, was all you needed to understand how fucked up all of it was. His frown had deepened but you knew that it was to make the tears pass, so he could go back to being the strong young man, stable and healthy, Pedri everyone knew. He pushed himself up so he could stand, taking steps back away from you. He had never felt farer.

“Forgive me, please” sobs wracked your body. Your hands were twisting the fabric of the dark hoodie you were wearing, crinkling it. “I will do anything, literally anything! I can’t live without you.”

Pedro shook his head, thinking, racking his brain with confusing thoughts. He passed a hand on his face, letting a shaky sigh out before ruffling his hair. Those were his anxious tics, you knew it. His curls were a mess, his fringe sticking to his forehead and with the way some strands seemed to stick out, it was evident he had tugged on them. And that broke you, completely, unforgivingly, shattered your heart and all the butterflies that Pedro had introduced to your stomach. They had all died with his trust and faith. Now you were a shell that had sheltered his love, your heart a Roman pit displaying the remnants of your relationship, buried under months of hurt and distance. You had done this, just like Pompei had shrouded Napoli with its thick cover of ashes, suffocating every ounce of life there was. Maybe, in the years to come, you would find perfectly conserved pieces of what you had had with Pedro, but now you could only see devastations, what you had selfishly destroyed.

“I can’t do it if you’re not there” you had whispered it and you knew, that you were again putting it on his shoulders. Asking for more, taking more than you should ever have in the first place. But how could you help it? He was your anchor, one of the rare things that still linked you to life. He knew it too. You hated holding him with that, using culpability and fear, but you had to. You weren’t sure you would survive if not.

“We never talk about that again, ever. Tomorrow, we will pick up where we were, and this has never happened.”

As his words had left his mouth, he left, not looking at you, never. He hadn’t slammed the door, just shutting it softly so only the faint click could be heard. He had bent, and weirdly, this made you feel even guiltier. There hadn’t been shouts, nor violent movements, just pure sadness in sideration.

That night, you went to bed, sliding under the thick blanket but still feeling cold and you had inhaled his scent on his designated pillow, not messing his side of the bed so when he would come back, he would make himself comfortable. You didn’t want to refuse him his pleasures. That night, you fell asleep looking at your window, trying to see if you could see his shadow reflecting on the road’s concrete, if he ever passed under the streetlight right under your room. That night, you fell asleep without ever knowing that he had come back, hours later, getting next to you but not daring touching you. That night, you were sleeping while he was awake.

---

“Is your brother in town ?” the physiotherapist asked Pedro. The midfielder looked away, his gaze fixed on the space the door wasn’t hiding. he could see the corridor and the staff moving around, his teammates still on the pitch.

“No, he’s coming back in a week I think... He had to help my parents at the restaurant.” he shrugged as he let himself be prodded at, poked around and stretched. He hated this part of his job, even though he knew his body needed it, especially now, with an injury straining his muscles, burning under his skin. The physio sighed as an apologetic expression appeared on her face.

“Do you have anyone who could stay with you? I believe that you can’t really put pressure on your thigh for now and I would be reassured if I knew you would be staying with someone who could keep you still.” she continued, pressing at the front of his thigh with cold fingers. It had stung, so hard, but in a fucked-up way, he relished in that. The way every press of fingers felt like needles piercing his skin.

“I will find someone.” he said, not meeting her eyes, still focused on the corridor. If he had watched her face, he would have seen the deep frown, the worried feeling emanating from her green orbs, everything that transpired concern. But he hadn’t. She knew injuries weren’t that greatly accepted by players, especially the younger ones, but Pedro was usually calm and mostly collected. It was rare to see him so out of touch with his own emotions. She didn’t like it, and she wanted to know that he wouldn’t withdraw himself from the rest of the team during his healing time. She knew how the new generation, Gavi, Baldé, Ansu, him, felt like no mistakes were allowed and wanted to give their best. She knew that an injury meant time off, she wanted them to relativize. It was easier said than done.

She let him off the hook so he could go change, and maybe process everything that had happened and would most likely happen. He had limped towards the changing room, accepting in silence the half hugs of the staff and the encouraging words, only nodding and trying to smile. Once inside the large room, alone, he sighed and began to take off his kit, wanting a warm shower.

The hot droplets of water hit his skin, sliding down every bump and crease, some would trail at the tip of his fingers, holding on before letting themselves fall and crashing against the white tiles. His brown curls were flattening against his forehead, long enough to peak in front of his eyes. He knew the physio was right, he shouldn’t stay alone. He was already mobilizing his thigh by standing there when he should stay sat. But he couldn’t call you, ask you that. You were already a mess, Pedro was the one who was supposed to take care of you. He couldn’t demand that of you when you were struggling so much. So, he would keep you free, and not put something else on you. He hoped that Ferran would be alone this week, until his brother came back, so he could at least dare to ask him if he could stay at his place to keep an eye on him. How was he going to make sure you were safe ? Another worry settled under his skin, it all felt too much.

When the skin of his fingers had wrinkled and the hotness of the water hadn’t seemed to be enough to warm him up, he decided to get dressed. His movements were slow, careful to not abuse his thigh. Socks on, shoes tied, hood up. He was now sitting on the bench, inside the changing room, waiting for his teammates to come back. He hadn’t checked his phone once, not wanting to see worried messages from his parents or pity comments on social medias. His ears perked up when he heard the happy chatter of his team in the corridor. There were shouts of “vamos” and laughters. He would have lied if he had ever said that right at this moment, his insides weren’t painted green with jealousy. He wanted to be out there, with them, celebrating and chanting Barça. He wanted the carefree spirit that seemed to surround them and bath in the same light as they were. He wanted so much, had dared to take it at some point, but now he seemed content with the sour taste of envy and didn’t care enough to try to grab it too. So, he stayed there, waiting for them to burst in the room, all sweaty. And they did, seconds later, with wide smiles and jerseys already off.

“Sorry for your injury bro, hope it’s not too serious!” Ansu said, genuine worry visible in his eyes as he patted Pedri’s shoulder. He had been the first one to come closer, and break Pedro’s bubble by touching him.

“It should be okay... They want to run more tests though.” He tried to show confidence, wanting to keep all of them collected when he was falling apart himself. That was enough to satisfy the foreword who had let out a “thank god” with an appeased smile. He had left to change not long after. And a chorus of the same questions and remarks followed, each by a different player, even Xavi. He answered the same way, for each of them. He knew the coach would have his medical file anyway, they would discuss it later.

Ferran finally entered, a wide smile playing on his lips and eyes shining. His facial expression had softened once his eyes had settled on Pedro’s form, but the glint was still there. he came closer, his jersey hanging on his shoulder. “You good?” he had asked, squatting down so he could entirely face the midfielder. Pedro couldn’t really lie to him, Ferran had been such a constant in his life that he felt like he owed him the truth. However, the words of truth wouldn’t live his mouth, so he shrugged, sighing heavily. The older nodded, trying to put himself in his friend’s shoes, squeezing the other’s knee. He wasn’t sure what else he could add to that other than offering a needed silence to his best friend.

“What’s gotten you so happy?” Pedro decided to ask, wanting to switch topics and divert the attention to Ferran. He wanted to know why he was happier than ever, surely his joy could be felt miles away.

“Sira came to the game and I saw her just before... You know, it had been some time since we last saw each other, so you know... Got me feeling all mushy inside!” he had laughed while saying the last part of his sentence, a faint blush painting his cheeks. Pedro didn’t know. It had been a while since he had felt all ‘mushy inside’ because of you.

“Oh...” he frowned, avoiding the other’s eyes. “I thought she had to be away for a competition ?”

“Oh, yeah! Well, it had been delayed because the weather is way too harsh out there right now.” Ferran had said that while throwing his sweaty jersey on the floor, right where the others were. It had created a pile of smelly, red and blue fabrics, all wet and scrunched up. “I’m so happy man, you have no idea!”

And Pedro had tried to give him one of his bright smiles, he really had. But it had seemed all too hard to do, too close to fake. He had only been able to muster a faint grin. He was relieved to know that Ferran was so absorbed in his own bubble of love that he hadn’t detected the deflect on Pedro’s shoulders. neither the trembling sigh that had left his lips once he had decided to leave him alone in order to get changed.

He surely couldn’t ask Ferran to stay at his. Not now. He had madly missed Sira, always complaining about the remaining days that kept them apart. And Pedro wouldn’t ever steal this moment from him, the moment where he could finally reunite with the girl he loved so much that he had completely changed for her. Pedro wouldn’t dare take that away. It’s okay, really. He would just do it on his own, a week wasn’t that long. He could easily spare his thigh during this short amount of time. He had to plan it all, but he could do it. And a white lie wouldn’t hurt the physio, he hated not being honest, especially with people who were there to care for his health but he didn’t really have any other choice anyway.

He had stood up, readjusting his hood. He was ready to leave, wanting to be as quick as possible back at home to crash in his bed and sleep it all away, until next morning. However, the firm hand on his forearm had prevented him to do so. With furrowed brows, he looked up, finding Pablo standing in front of him, wet hair from his shower and practically fully dressed.

“Wait for me...” he said, eyes boring into his, as if trying to make his point across.

“Wasn’t Aurora supposed to bring you home ?” he was sure he had seen the oldest Gavira before the game had begun, he was also sure that Pablo had told him not to wait for him once the game was done. The younger shook his head while sitting down in order to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, but we need to grab your things at yours, so I’m going with you.”

“What are you talking about, Pablo ?” Pedro’s brain was slow, slower than it should be and he couldn’t quite grasp what his best friend was saying. He had an idea nagging at the back of his brain, but he certainly didn’t want to entertain it. Not when he had resigned himself just minutes ago.

“Well for your stay, obviously. I love you bro, but I don’t really feel like offering you my closet, especially my boxers, that’s crazy disgusting.” and Pedro had still a confused frown etched on his face, eyeing Pablo as if he was spouting nonsense. Gavi sighed, eyes softening at the lost sight of the Canarian. “The physio asked Xavi with whom you were staying. Sira is here, and I know you, I know you would hate it, putting yourself between them and since you aren’t one to ask for help, I’m doing it for you.” he rented while messily tying his shoes, knots weirdly formed but apparently it worked for him. “You’re staying at mine, and I won’t take ‘no’ as an answer.” he finally declared, standing up again to face Pedro.

Silence was what got Pablo after his long speech. The older hadn’t moved an inch, but his face showed how much he was absorbing all of these words. Pedro had thought about asking Pablo, when he had understood that Ferran’s place wasn’t going to be possible. But he couldn’t rely on the younger too much. He was young, so young, and having Pedro staying at his place seemed like a burden. Pedro felt like a burden and he would hate it to be Gavi’s ankle ball. He was younger, by two years, and if anything, it was Pedro who should take care of him. Pedro had to take care of a lot of people, he knew it, and Pablo was one of them. The other way around was barely acceptable in his mind. So, he had resigned himself and decided to not ask, avoid the topic overall with the Sevillian. But he hadn’t thought of how relieving it would be, to not have to ask and to have someone do it for him. Pablo had taken care of him without asking, without demanding of him to make the effort and ask for help. It was such a weird feeling that a thin shin of water had gathered at the corner of his eyes. If Pablo had seen it, he wouldn’t be one to comment on it.

Just like he wouldn’t comment on the whispered ‘thank you’ he had received in the car, when they had collected a bag full of Pedro’s things, on their way to Pablo’s. Just like he wouldn’t comment on why staying at yours wasn’t a possibility. Just like he wouldn’t comment on why Pedro hadn’t even mentioned you.

Pablo had a heart made of gold, he proudly wore it on his sleeve and prided himself on understanding other’s feelings thanks to it. Pedro thought that nothing in the world could be truer than that.

His murmured ‘thank you’ wasn’t just for the coming week. It was for everything the younger was and had done. These two words couldn’t even come close to what Pedro had really wanted to say.

---

“Oh my god, Pablo! How many times do I have to tell you to not leave your shoes in the middle of the entrance!” Aurora yelled as fumbling could be heard. “I almost tripped, you idiot!”

Then she finally appeared in the living room, one of her hands holding onto a steaming coffee cup while the other was gripping her phone and a not so tidy binder. She had her hair down with golden hair clips to keep the locks at the front to get in her eyes. So dressed up, so put together and it was still so early in the morning, well not that early but for his overworked mind, nine A.M was too early, he wasn’t sure how she was able to be this hyped.

“Oh, hi Pedro! Sorry, I thought you were still asleep…” she laughed as she finally settled everything down on the coffee table. He shrugged, straightening a little bit to make some sort of good impression. He had known Aurora for as long as he had known Pablo. She had been such a strong presence for her little brother, always babying him, making sure everything is going well. Pedro would see her at every game at home, screaming and clapping with a giant smile on, probably flaunting her brother’s talent to her friends. Then she would be here every morning, when he would be pick up the youngest of the team, dragging him outside, excusing him to Pedro for his tardiness. She cared so much, and he knew his own brother cared as much, and in his biased mind, he was even sure that Fer cared more than Aurora. But their love language wasn’t as soft as the Gavira’s one. Because a punch in the arm and a teasing remark was the equivalent of a forehead kiss and a hand running through brownish locks for them. And sometimes, he would love to have it too, having these genuine and feminine marks of affection that are characteristic of a mother or a sister. He missed his mom. And he wasn’t sure how, nor since when had he started craving the softness of love, the gentle touches and the soothing words. He had never needed it much before, plenty aware of the love that was surrounding him, but now it felt suffocating to be without it. Like the world was too cold, too hard, too violent to continue without healing touches.

“No, it’s okay, I couldn’t sleep much anyway.” She nodded and moved around, getting her blazer off, tying her hair up. She then slumped on the couch, right next to him, a sigh of contentment leaving her lips.

“Where is Pablo?” she remarked after minutes of being here and not having had a glimpse of her younger brother. Which was weird since she had nagged, the exact attitude that would get him riled up and ready to fight back, smart responses on his lips. She frowned, turning around to see if his jacket was hung on the coat hanger, but the beige clothe wasn’t.

“He said something about seeing Ana before training.”

“Ah, right! She’s in Barcelona for two days, I think?” she said, unsure of what Pablo had told her. “Be ready to not get a glimpse of Pablo the entire time she’s here, this boy acts like they haven’t seen each other for years, when she had been there last week.” she added, rolling her eyes. But Pedro could easily decipher the fondness in her tone. He knew Aurora loved Ana for Gavi, she loved the fact that her brother was secure, feeling complete and loved and even though the relationship was long distance, nothing compared in her heart to the beaming smile Pablo would wear every time Ana was mentioned. She knew they had something solid and beautiful. Aurora knew how to share and she would gladly give up a little bit of Pablo for that.

“I would know…” she had said, after seconds of silence. This had Pedro facing her, confused about what she had meant by that. The girl rose a brow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed, a weird blush creeping up his neck when realization hit him. The airy laugh of Aurora met his and it only added to the giggling mess they formed, his hands covering his face when he felt like he was dying. Dying of laughter. She was also losing herself, wanting to talk through her hysterical fit but the lack of air made her voice go higher and higher, impossible to form coherent words. There it was, another wave of laughter thanks to her. She grabbed his forearm, tugging at it so she could see his face. He tried to escape, wriggling and catching his breath at the same time.

“Thank you but I really didn’t want to know that!” he said, still giggling. She opened her mouth to respond but she laughed again, slapping his knee.

“You think I wanted to ? It was so weird to hear it!” he snorted at that, making a disgusted face which had her laughing again. They had let this joyful tide nip at their skin, trying to get through it and inject serotonin in their veins, making them euphoric. They were finally regaining their breath when the comic situation had settled, allowing them to stay sat, a content smile on their faces.

“And ? What exactly did you hear?” she rolled her eyes, slapping his knee again. He was sure he would gain a bruise or two by the end of the day if she persisted on hitting him. “No, really! Did it sound fake?”

“Do you think I tried to analyze it? We are talking about my little brother, Pedri! This shit, he already disgusts me on a daily basis, knowing he indulges in these kind of activities makes it worst!”

“You do know that she is not his first, right? He has been dipping his wick for a long time, nothing new.” He teased, eyeing her, noticing the scarlet color on her cheeks.  Oh, what a great audience she was, so receptive and ready to pounce. A Gavira, he would say. If he hadn’t known the two were related, he was sure he still would have been able to make the connections.

“Do you want me to puke?”

He snorted, nudging her. Such a dramatic woman. She exhaled with a faint grin on her face, relaxing and looking at him fondly. She was now completely facing him since she had turned around on the couch, bringing her legs up so she could sit cross-legged.

“And you?”

“What? Want to know since when I’ve lost my V-card?” she rolled her eyes, slapping his knee, again. Did she want to injure his other leg? That crazy woman… He really had to stop hanging out with Pablo, he was beginning to speak like him, about his sister. Yes, the younger was definitely rubbing off on him.

“Gross!”

“As if it didn’t cross your mind…” he teased, poking her cheek.

“I was asking about you and Y/N” her voice was above a whisper, soft yet still prying. Never in his life had he felt his emotions change this fast. It was like a switch had been flipped, passing from day to night in a matter of seconds. He knew that she had been suspecting some things, but he couldn’t fathom the idea that she would bring it up.

“We can talk about it” she added, her eyes softening so much that it was overwhelming to Pedro. He felt so much compassion from her and he couldn’t understand why. Why was she looking at him as if he were bound to break any moments? He hated it, he hated bringing attention especially this way.

“There is not much to say, really” he responded, trying to ease his answer with a smile. It fell flat, her serious expression telling him she wasn’t believing him one bit.

“I’m not dumb, Pedro” she frowned but she hadn’t moved other than that. “Why aren’t you at hers?”

He sighed, turning his head to look at the kitchen and the wide window there. He could see trees that hid the rest of the buildings surrounding Pablo’s, big and luxurious. “We are just going through a rough patch. It will get better soon.”

“I believe it’s more than a rough patch… How come it’s been months since I’ve seen you laugh this genuinely?” and he had no answers to that statement. Aurora was correct and a gnawing feeling was invading his stomach, letting the sour taste of bile climbing his throat. If she had remarked, everyone else probably had because sure they were close, but he was far from spending all of his time with her. The idea made his head spin with worry and he absolutely had to find a way to get out of this conversation.

“Look, Gavi actually told me some things…”

“What?” he turned his head quickly, finally meeting her concerned gaze. If he hadn’t felt this betrayed, he might have caught on the frown that had settled on her lips and the nervous habit of hers of playing with a dead skin around her finger. “Are you both talking about me behind my back?”

“It’s not like that!”

“Am I your good deed? So you can feel at ease with yourself, so God can be proud of you?”

He was becoming hysterical, irrational, standing up, so he was way taller than Aurora, so he could grasp a little bit of the control she had egoistically taken away from him. She also stood up, fury evident on her face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We just want to take care of you! We care for you, Pedro!”

And, magically, those words slightly appeased the wild storm that had formed in his brain. He knew he had made no sense, and the two siblings wouldn’t ever see him like that. But it was soon replaced by guilt and the nauseous feeling of being caught. He was trapped and she wouldn’t let go.

“Well, I don’t need it. I appreciate the effort, but it’s not your role.” His tone was harsh, wanting to scare her away. Hurt her? Aurora was strong and impossibly stubborn. She wasn’t the type to give up because Pedro had used condescending words.

“And why wouldn’t it be? As a friend, it is in fact my role.”

“No! Your role isn’t to be burdened with my problems.”

“So when I told you about being homesick, missing Sevilla and all of the other things that were wrong in my life, I was burdening you?”  and if it had been a game, she would have scored, hitting the right corner, deforming the net while the goalkeeper wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“It’s not the same!”

“Stop that! With the ‘I’m older, I have to shoulder everything and bottle things up because I don’t want to burden my friends who happen to be younger’ trope. Pablo is strong, he is clever even if he doesn’t look like it. He can understand things and be there for you, actually I believe he is more loyal than some of your older friends. You have to give us credits, we are younger, not dumb or too sensitive for life, Pedro. We can help you: you can confide in us and rely on us. You are only punishing yourself by keeping to yourself.”

She was panting by the end of her rant, worry mixing with anger. The sight was so unusual that swallowing was hard, feeling so small under her passionate eyes. She was intending to make her point come across, breaking through his skull.

“Yes, I’m younger than you. But I still see you as a little brother. Is that weird? Is it because you are like glued to my brother or is it because you remind me so much of him? I’m not sure, but I do have this sentiment that pushes me to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. It’s the same one I have every time I see Pablo frown. But Pablo vents, he runs his mouth and can’t keep shit to himself, so I know what’s going on and it’s easy to help him. On the other hand, you are so closed off, Pedro. And I don’t know how to be here for you, because I have to be there. I have to look out for you because how can I not? We are a family, the moment you chose to take my brother as your passenger princess you were a part of our family. Not to mention you prevent him from getting his head chopped off every games. And as a part of my family, I have to protect you at all cost, younger or not!”

He was pathetic. He must be a sight, right? The Barça golden midfielder standing in the middle of a living room, tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to fall, hands trembling with the sick need of running away from a small woman who only wanted to give him the help he desperately needed.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not. And that’s okay! I’m prodding right where it hurts. But it’s beginning to take a toll on you, you have to let people in. Pedro, please.”

She had slid a firm hand down his arm, grabbing his hand so gently that his shakiness seemed to transfer to her. She tugged at it, trying to coax him on the couch and he obliged because she had poured so much for him. Ranted and exposed her own feelings and opinions so he could find comfort in them. He owed her that. So, he had sat down, not letting go of her hand and sniffing, trying to keep the salty water at bay. After a deep breath, words and sentences he had buried deep inside him slipped out, meeting Aurora’s full attention. The months of hurt were finally known along with feeling of not being enough, never being enough. His insecurities, yours too, the no man’s land your relationship was now. It all spilled. And with a little push, Aurora had made him say what he thought deep in the night, scared and sick of his own need, but never acting on it. He didn’t want to be selfish, especially not with you because at some point he had been sure he would give up on his life for you, and he had believed you would do the same. Before, you would have. But it all had went to hell five months ago, and Pedro knew the reasons, he understood. He knew you had given up on yourself, not directly on your relationship, but it still hurt and he wanted so much to hold onto it. He sincerely believed it had only been a rough patch and you would go back to being yourself, but one month had passed and you were more outside than in your own place, less with Pedro, your home. The second month held hope because you had tried so, so hard to heal, for him, and you were filled with proudness when you saw him at the World Cup, he was shining and your heart had been beating for him. But they had lost and when Pedro had come back home, the person you were was far gone. He had buried his own doubts and hurt to try to keep you afloat, bottling everything up so he could be available. He had had no time to reflect on their loss, on what it had meant and not processing it made the sting come back, sometimes. He hadn’t had a healing touch from you, you hadn’t reassured him or told him it was alright and things would be fine after a while, you hadn’t and he had felt like something was missing. Then December came, family time, right? You had refused to spend Christmas with his family, even if he had told you that it was alright, that last year you had spent it with them and it had been great. And when Eric had asked him if he wanted to come to the new year’s party him and Ferran were throwing, he had denied, preferring staying with you. They didn’t have to know that you had went at Isabela’s and came back around four in the morning, completely drunk and a giggling mess. You had forgotten about him, but he hadn’t said anything. It had been alright, maybe you had needed the time out. But then it had been the same the next Saturday, and the next, and the next and you wouldn’t show up at any of his games and as time passed, you were more drunk and partying than sober and with him. He had tried, he had cleared his schedule as well as he could to go back to your place rather than at his, he had asked his manager to just focus on his principal sponsors and his club, so he could have time. But it had been no use. He couldn’t count how many times he had opened your door to nothing but emptiness. You had said sorry, but it sounded blend in his ears.  Maybe he should have shaken you before, making it clear that you also had to take care of him at some point, that you couldn’t take him for granted. But he hadn’t and it was his fault, really. Plus, he was far from being the one who suffered the most, if anything, all of that was because of how much pain you were in. He had no rights to want to let go and give up on what you had.

“She has no one, Aurora. No one.” His tears were falling freely on his skin, but slowly, the kind of tears that bore witness of relief. It was so appeasing to let go of the eternal pressure that had been squeezing his insides that he hadn’t moved to dry them. He let it be. “And I’m here, crying while thinking about myself. I have so many people who care for me, I have my family, I have Pablo, I have Ferran, I have you. She has no one. I’m horrible.”

“No.” Aurora seemed so confident here with her hands cradling his face, trying to let her sleeves soaking the dampness of his skin. “Listen to me, it’s okay to let go. You are also a victim of her condition, and it’s okay to not know how to manage it. You can let go, it doesn’t mean you are a bad person. It’s not selfish to put yourself first.”

And he hadn’t even brought up the idea of leaving to the young Sevillian, hadn’t mentioned it. But she had and maybe hearing that he wasn’t guilty, that it wasn’t his fault and he had the right to choose for himself, maybe hearing it, was soothing. Because someone knew and understood. He was legitimate.

“If she loves you, she will understand.”

---

The sun had set a long time ago, leaving the city in a heavy penumbra, perfectly matching with the coldness of winter. Only the fog was missing, thought the young midfielder as he looked around, searching for your figure in the street. He would be reassured if only he would be graced by a shadow of you, just the sound of your voice would suffice. But he had been there for half an hour, sitting on the steps of your building, under the yellowish glow of the streetlights. He had his hood up, hiding his face, hands in his pockets, clutching his phone in case you called. You never did.

God, did he seem pathetic.

By now, even the stars were hidden behind the thick clouds, only offering a black patch in the sky.

He sighed, leaning his head on the cold wall behind him. He couldn’t even feel his fingers now, his muscles numb. Numb. Everything was numb, his muscles, his limbs, his mind, his heart. It was like he had been put under anesthetic and the world around him was asking for him to move, to interact with it. He couldn’t, didn’t feel like doing this extra effort. So, he had decided to stay there, limply sitting against the building where his lover should be right now, safe and sound. You weren’t and he had been done worrying, even frustration wasn’t a part of the equation now. He was done feeling, he thought. He knew that it wasn’t true, that he could feel things, but right now he wished to stay in this unmoving side, where the sea was calm and still, where the wind stopped blowing and the Earth stopped spinning. He craved for the emptiness his mind could offer sometimes, the void, even if it meant being entirely disconnected from his surroundings. He wasn’t sure how it was possible for him to dissociate so much, every time he heard or saw something that should ignite infinite anger and wrench, he would put a wall between them and just stand there, reacting with his mind. Doing what he should do, in a logical way. That wasn’t healthy, he had heard many people talk about that. He wasn’t down to a bad habit anyway.

Another sigh left his chapped lips, leaving his mouth in a white steam. And his absent mind was brought back when he felt something bump on his foot. A pair of Stan smith, matching with his own.

“Need some money?”

Your voice had been light, a slight lull at the end of your question which hinted that you were in a euphoric state. He looked up, a frown marking his brows. Your coat was zipped up, showing how cold you were, cheeks flushed and nose running. But something in your eyes wasn’t adding up. They were unfocused and dilated, in a way he had never quite seen. That was probably why he hadn’t responded to your jokes, hadn’t laughed.

“Did you smoke?” he finally asked, standing up as he said it. He was hovering over you, his frame wide next to yours. You were facing each other, gazes fighting for the truth. You shrugged, rolling your eyes. That wasn’t a big deal in your mind.

“Shit? Weed?” venom was dripping from his voice and maybe if you were more yourself, you would have heard worry meeting disgust.

“Weed” a giggle had left your lips. You wanted to rile him up, to make him so angry so he could rough you up. You stepped on the side, pressing your key’s magnet on the door of your building to open it, ignoring Pedro at the same time.

“Oh, at least it’s natural, huh?” how much more sarcastic could he get? You nodded, proudly.

Why were you doing this to him? So harsh in your reactions, that all the worry and the relief from seeing you safe had vanished, replaced by white anger.

He had to calm down, he couldn’t let you eat his nerves like that. He couldn’t let you push him on edge every time, unsure if he would fall or not. He had to stay stable and collected. He had to keep on being himself. So, he followed you, silence filling the space you were sharing as you climbed up the stairs, reaching your front door. You opened it, not caring if he was coming in or not, not even taking off your shoes. You took off your coat, letting it fall at your feet and slumped on the couch. Dirty clothes were pushed on its side, creating a small pile of dark shades, replacing the giant velvet heart pillow you had bought in your favorite indie store. Cups of what he had imagined being tea were collected on your coffee table, the former hot liquid now cold inside the white porcelains. Your bed, visible behind your couch, was unmade, the blanket rolled on the side he usually used and his pillow on your floor with your spoilt blankie. All of the pictures that had been adorning your walls had been taken off, taking residency in your bin, some torn. A weird relief washed through him when the ones with him were intact, under the trashed one. The roses he had offered you last month were still in the vase on your kitchen table, completely dead. The red had turned brown, petals nibbled, thorns robbed from their defenses.

He hadn’t set a foot here in two weeks.

While he had been focusing on your small apartment, you had stood up, opening the window to let the steely air enter. You were searching for something, rummaging in a drawer under your TV. He rolled his eyes, now used to your frantic mimics. Redirecting his gaze next to your bed, where was your desk, left untouched since Christmas. University was a sore subject, one he had never dared bringing up. But he knew, he had guessed you were done with it. You had dropped out.

“Another one? You’re still high from your previous one!”

You had lit another blunt, the acidic odor perfuming the room. A grimace had settled on his face at the sight, the heavy smoke filling his own lungs and squeezing his heart. You brought it to your lips, breathing in the euphoriant plant. “Why?” and for the first time this night, you dared really looking at him, deposing your eyes on his dejecting form, matching his tone. Guilt appeared in your stomach, closing it around its ugly shape. You took another hit, blowing it out towards the window, stealing all the courage the synthetic happiness had to offer before looking at him.

“My mom called…” he frowned, getting closer. “Same old, Pedro, that’s it.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Getting high won’t help”

You turned around again, now definitely facing the window. You weren’t the most rational right now, but the need to hurt him, as much as you were hurting, seemed primitive. You wanted your words to cut as deep as the ones you had heard hours prior, making him bend over, asking for a break. But you knew he had nothing to do with it, that it was so unfair to him. Instead, you focused on the street outside, plunged in the dark and settled for something you deemed less hurtful.

“Oh, because you can help?” and your flat voice couldn’t sooth what you had implied.

His breath caught in his throat, the weight of the situation finally crushing him. It had pushed him down, applying an incredibly heavy pressure on his sore shoulders. Another blow, another hit that made him stumble. And in this mix of pure pain, his anger, contained for months, asked for release.

“What do you think?” his tone had lowered, calm anger was the worst and hurt you the most. He wasn’t aiming at that, but it had reached a point where the spikes were too sharp for him to raise his voice. Flat anger was the calm before the storm.

“Nobody can help me. Certainly not you.” you stumped out the tip of your blunt on the hard surface of your window frame, turning around, letting your ugly side win. Tonight, you would shred him, making him bleed on your pale carpet. His confused eyes, darker than you had ever seen, met yours and you scoffed. “You and your perfect little life, with your perfect little family, your perfect loving parents and loving brother and your perfect little friends, huh? How could you help?” a giggle, accompanied by a pointed index, pinned him. “You cannot understand and your stupid attempts are futile, they won’t ever help me. You’re just making it worse by always nagging. There is nothing to do anyway, so leave me alone!”

“Nagging? I’m taking care of you every fucking day! I’m the one who has to pick you up every night, when you decide to get trashed, I’m the one cleaning after you. No, I’m not nagging, I’m making sure you’re safe, can’t you see that?”

He was losing his calm, you were close to making him fall, so you pushed, again. You wanted to see him wobble on the edge, catching the moment where he would lose balance and succumb to the ugliest things in his heart. So, you opened your mouth, delivering the fatal blow. “Oh please, I’ve never asked for your help. Don’t blame me for what you wanted to do!” a roll of eyes, the perfect picture of indifference. “Your life is so bland that you cling to me so you can taste a little bit of adrenaline. I cheated on you, Pedro! But you’re still here, fussing over me. I humiliated you, screamed someone else’s name and you did not leave. Don’t you have self-respect?” you saw his eyes darkening, glistening under the artificial lights. But you couldn’t stop, not now. You were close to get what you so desperately wanted. “No, you don’t. You’re twenty, fucking rich, and here you are, crying over me. You could do anything you want, getting shit faced at parties in villas with your little footballer friends, travelling the world and cheat on me with any chicks around Barcelona. But no, no, you religiously follow your diet, you call your parents every two days and you fuss over me. That’s your life. Pretty sad, no? You live like you’re in your forties with kids. You can’t even get angry! You’re a coward.”

“Shut up!” his voice had resonated in your apartment. You both were looking at each other as you were completely shocked by his outburst, yet it had been what you had wanted. He was panting, fists tightly clenched at his sides. “Just shut up!” he got closer, red high on his cheeks and his hot breath fanning your skin. “You don’t want my help? I’m a coward? Without me, you would be dead, Y/N. Be realistic, if I were not here, you would probably have sliced your wrists open already. Not being able to face life without getting high or being drunk isn’t living in my books. That’s pitiful. Don’t lecture me on how I live my life when all you do is destroying yours.”

“You’re the coward, you’re such a coward. You cheated on me, because you cannot love correctly. I don’t cheat because I’m not some freak who can’t deal with my emotions. Be honest with yourself, for once. Admit it, Y/N! You’re fucking unstable, and I’m not like you. I’m not interested in throwing everything away and hurt the ones I love.”

You had never thought that he would go this far, spilling all his swirling thoughts to you, everything he had kept hidden at the back of his head, desperately trying to not prod at it. You had pushed him too far and now that you had obtained what you had asked for, you regretted it. Hearing these words coming out of his mouth, it had hurt, because you knew there was some truth to it. “You really think that?”

After your question, a tense silence had enveloped the room, every corners. Both of you were staring at each other, eyes full of sorrow, unshed tears trapped in your lower lash lines. Even the street had kept quiet, not wanting to disturb the time you needed to process things. It felt like hours, it could just have been seconds, but your breath was short and you were suffocating. A dull ache behind your heart was pushing, and pushing, making a clawing feeling course your body. Was it guilt? You knew you had to add something to this, it screamed for it to come out.

He wouldn’t answer. You knew.

“I wouldn’t kill myself”

Pedro sighed, his shoulders slumping while he let go of one of his dozens of worries. Still hidden behind his shell, the one he used to protect himself with from the prying eyes, the scary ones that would search for his depth, everything he wanted to keep to himself, he had sighed. Had accompanied it with a firm hand running over his tensed face. Then, he had let his limb fall at its side, hanging there without any moving attempt.

“Y/N, I think we should stop this…” he had whispered it. Yet, the words had cut deep enough. However, you would lie if you ever said it was a shock to you. It hadn’t been. You had been wondering for months when would it be coming, when he would finally allow himself some peace. Even if these words were the blade across your skin, you couldn’t even fathom the idea of resenting him for that. You would let it slash, make your scarlet blood dribble at the tips of your fingers while leaving angry red streaks on their track. He could even add salt if he wanted to, you would let him, leave your wound in open air being washed down by the rain. You would let his words hurt you, but you weren’t sure if you could let him act on it.

“Yes, let’s stop fighting. We can discuss about it tomorrow, when we are calmer.” You played dumb. It was always the easiest way to get away of something in your mind, contouring the problem and continuing as if it had never happened.

“No…” His eyes had locked with yours, shining under the artificial light of your rusty chandelier. “Let’s stop us.”

You saw how much these words had also affected him, his voice had wavered by the end of his sentence. You weren’t capable of letting any sounds out, looking at him with a crushed expression because your world was crumbling around you. You were finally losing him.

A honk was heard outside, then an airy ‘bye’ mixed with a feminine giggle. A car door had slammed for your building’s to open, hinted by the faint sound of the digits combination. And here you were, holding yourself up against the frame of your window as the boy who had given up so much of himself for you was two feet away.

“We should break up, Y/N.”

You had nothing to answer to that. He was right, the toxicity that had seeped between you was taking more place each day and even for you, you knew it was the best thing to do. You had to heal, to try to love yourself and go on without leaning on someone. You had to fight for peace and it was not fair to bring him into this, not when it meant stealing his light. You had to learn and he couldn’t do that for you. But it hurt so much, even if it was what should be done, your heart still felt like it had been ripped out of your chest. Your quietness only comforted him in his decision, proving his point. You weren’t fighting for it.

In a haze, he left your apartment. He hadn’t uttered another word, scared to break the brittle agreement you had come up with in silence. He didn’t quite remember how he had moved, if he had looked at you one last time or if he had heard anything, even a simple sob that would let him know you were as broken as him. He didn’t remember, everything was a blur mixed with unshed tears, blocked out to protect his soul. He was pretty sure he had skipped a step in your stairs, wasn’t aware how he had caught himself, had he closed your door while leaving? He had no more control, he hated it. He hated himself.

Now, he was standing in the middle of the street, under the same streetlights that casted a yellowish glow over him, wind numbing his skin. It felt as if the world was falling on his shoulders, crushing him. Everything he had tried to repress while talking to you came back full force, clutching his lungs and making his head spin. He had put an end to your relationship, he had thrown away what you had. It all felt too much, coming up his throat and strangling him. The tears he hadn’t shed finally ran down his face, dampening his cheeks, drained of colors. He was sobbing, not able to keep every ounce of emotion inside. With a trembling hand, he took his phone and called the first person he thought of, the only person who would comfort him without asking too much questions. The sound of the call, right before he picked up, resonated in his mind with all the hurtful things he could think of. Then, the soothing voice could finally be heard.

“Fer, can you pick me up?” he was sobbing, his voice slurred, barely intelligible, cut by hiccups. Fernando could hear him working himself up and he was scared that his little brother was going to pass out. After every cry, his heart pace picked up.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” he tried to keep himself composed, couldn’t risk to bring Pedro to the edge he was already dangerously dancing with. He had already put his shoes on, skipping steps towards his car.

“I’m at Y/N’s”

“Stay there, I’ll be here soon.”

But he could still hear the agitated breathing, the sniffling, the chocked-up whines. He knew that Pedro was heartbroken, had never really seen him in this state. He didn’t need to answers to his questions to understand.

Once his feet touched the car’s pedals, he whispered in the most comforting tone he could muster the words he knew his brother craved. “I’m coming, Pedro. I’m here.”

☁️

I need to say it there, because it is really important to know that. You deserve help, you deserve people surrounding you and holding your hand while you go through the hardships life throws at you. You are not less deserving, less lovable. And you are certainly not a problem. But sometimes, the help you intimately need, is the one coming from a professional and nobody can replace that.

That’s why, if you are the helper, you also have to know that it’s okay to leave. You deserve to leave and put your health first, it’s okay to give up, not on the person but on the role you play in their life. You deserve appeasement and healing as well, you deserve to say stop when it’s too much. You are not guilty, nor a bad person. You cannot be the sole support of someone’s life, and if you can’t handle that, leaving is okay. You can change your role, step out but still be there. Of course, you can. Nobody has the right to blame you, because you did your best and you tried.

Both of these cases deserve love, appeasement, healing, care. Both of these cases are strong, deserving of the best. Every feeling of yours are legitimate and putting yourself first isn’t you being egoistic.

All the love to everyone ♡

[hy6erion]

Can you write something about taking care of Omar Marmoush's curls? Like he isn't happy with it and his girl is buying everything to make him pop

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬 & 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭- 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone while Omar paced back and forth in front of you, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. His dark curls were slightly frizzy, flattened in some areas, and puffed up in others. It wasn’t that they looked bad—he never looked bad—but you could tell he wasn’t happy with them.

“I swear, my hair just hates me,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Some days it looks alright, and then others… this.” He gestured vaguely at his head.

You tilted your head, reaching out to run your fingers through the strands. “It’s not that bad, baby.”

He huffed. “It’s bad. I look like a damn broccoli.”

You giggled, but when you saw the way he slumped back, rubbing his face tiredly, your amusement softened into something more affectionate. He’d been complaining about his hair for weeks now, always fussing with it before games, after showers, every time he passed a mirror.

“Okay,” you said, locking your phone and setting it aside. “Enough complaining. I’m fixing this.”

His brows pulled together. “Fixing?”

You stood up and stretched. “Yes. Clearly, whatever you’re doing isn’t working. So I’m stepping in.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “You know how to take care of curls?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I’ve been doing research.”

His lips twitched. “Research?”

“Yes, Omar,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’ve been reading about curl types, porosity, hydration, protein-moisture balance—all of it.” You gestured toward the hallway. “And I may or may not have bought a few things.”

He groaned. “How much?”

You bit your lip. “…A reasonable amount.”

“Which means you went crazy.”

You grinned. “Just trust me, okay? I promise I’ll make your curls pop.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Fine. Go ahead, hair doctor.”

You clapped your hands together. “Great! First, we’re washing your hair properly.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You say that like I don’t already wash it properly.”

“You don’t.” You patted his cheek. “Come on, to the bathroom.”

—

Ten minutes later, Omar sat on a stool in the bathroom, his hair soaked and his legs spread lazily apart. You stood behind him, rolling up your sleeves as you grabbed the sulfate-free shampoo you’d bought.

“Okay, head down,” you instructed.

He leaned over the sink, and you worked the shampoo into his scalp, using your fingertips to massage in slow, firm circles. He let out a deep sigh, muscles loosening under your touch.

“Damn,” he murmured. “That actually feels good.”

“See?” You smiled, continuing the massage. “Your scalp needs love too.”

Once you rinsed out the shampoo, you moved on to conditioner, coating his curls generously. You grabbed the wide-tooth comb and began detangling from the ends up.

“Ow.” He flinched.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, raking your fingers through his hair after the comb. “You just need patience.”

He made a face but didn’t protest further, letting you work through the tangles. Once his curls were detangled and soaking in the conditioner, you let it sit while you explained your plan.

“So, I bought a curl cream, leave-in conditioner, and an oil to seal in moisture. Oh, and a microfiber towel because regular towels make your hair frizzy.”

He glanced up at you with a smirk. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am. I want my man to have healthy curls.”

He reached up, curling his wet fingers around your wrist and pulling you down slightly so your faces were closer. “You’re cute when you get all serious about me.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you kept your composure. “I’m always serious about you.”

He grinned. “I know.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before rinsing out the conditioner. Once his hair was damp but not dripping, you raked your fingers through his curls with the leave-in conditioner and curl cream, scrunching them gently. You noticed the way his curls were already forming better, the frizz reducing as the product absorbed.

Finally, you took the oil, rubbing it between your palms before applying it to the ends of his curls. Once everything was set, you handed him the microfiber towel.

“No rubbing,” you warned. “Just scrunch gently.”

He did as you said, then sat up, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He touched his curls experimentally, his fingers trailing through them before looking at you.

“Damn. This actually looks good.”

You smirked. “Told you. Just wait until it air-dries fully.”

He turned on the stool, gripping your waist and pulling you between his legs. “Thank you”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Always.”

He kissed your stomach through your shirt before leaning back with a grin. “So, do I have to do all this every time now?”

You laughed. “Yes, unless you want me doing it for you forever.”

His hands slid down to your hips. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Omar, you’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

You kissed the top of his head. “I do.”

And as his curls dried into perfect, defined coils, he decided that maybe—just maybe—this whole hair care thing wasn’t so bad after all.

[sportswriters]

christmas surprise - p. gavi

pairing: pablo gavi x female!reader | fluff | established relationship | wc: 1.3k | warnings: none | a/n: hey, merry belated christmas! this scenario wasn't planned, but gavi did the miracle of posting a story and i got triggered to write it. hope you like it! - ella

you told gavi that you wouldn't be able to spend christmas with him or his family. things were tight at work and you hadn't been able to get a last-minute flight — that's all you told him, who believed you, letting his withered expression show on the video call, but he understood your reasons.

he promised you that he would call you on christmas night, because you would be alone in your cold apartment, even if he wanted to take the first flight from spain to germany, but you wouldn't let him. you liked the connection he had with his family and preferred him to spend the holiday with them.

however, you secretly planned a surprise.

you managed to get a last-minute flight and despite the rush to make it on time, everything worked out. he still didn't know that you were about to knock on his door, distracting him with replies to his texts, as if you were still in your cold apartment in germany— but you were standing in front of his house.

nervous, you pay the taxi driver and look at yourself, checking your simple, pretty dress, all red, thin straps. your makeup was simple and you were holding a wheelie suitcase, ready to spend the rest of the year there too, since you've managed to plan properly for it.

you check the clock on your phone screen, noting that it's a few hours before christmas. but they're already all gathered inside, like the family they were, and you take a deep breath and start walking, dragging your suitcase along. you hadn't seen him for almost five months, always exchanging messages or making video calls, because you needed to stay in germany for another year to finish your master's degree in psychology.

even though it was difficult, you managed to make the relationship work. every now and then, gavi also managed to get over to germany to see you and spend a quality weekend, but those five months were the longest without seeing each other. you weren’t even able to go watch him play the match in which he made a comeback from his injury.

but you watched it all on tv. then you called him and spent hours together on the phone, despite the time zone, until you went to sleep. you thought you wouldn't be able to keep it up for that long, but you liked the way things were working out, both of you working equally hard to make it happen. you just had to wait another year. another year and you'd be back in spain, putting an end to all the distance.

you raise your hand and finally knock on the door. it doesn't take long for them to answer and the person who opens the door is aurora, your dear sister-in-law, gavi's sister, who gives you a huge, instant smile when she sees you standing outside. surprise shows on her face, but it soon gives way to genuine happiness, because aurora has always shown how much she loves you.

“oh my god, but i thought...?” she tries to say, hugging you.

you laugh softly and ask her to keep it down.

“i know, i know,” you say quickly, trying to explain yourself. “but i wanted to surprise him, okay?”

aurora crushes you in her embrace, but releases you soon after, agreeing with a silent nod. she makes room and points with her head in the direction gavi is, so that you can go and make your surprise without anyone ruining it.

you leave your suitcase by the door and walk silently to the other side of the room. from the side, you can see him sitting in a cozy armchair, with mateo, his younger cousin, sitting on his lap. gavi is looking at the boy, while another cousin of his snaps a picture and you ask him not to say anything.

you walk silently closer, slowly, not wanting to give away your presence too quickly and when you get close enough, you sit on the arm of the armchair as soon as he moves his hand away and smiles quickly for the camera, but he notices the sudden movement and raises his eyes towards you.

at first, his expression is closed, but when he sees that it's you standing next to him, his expression softens, there's surprise in his eyes and his lips lift in an instant smile, just like aurora's.

“y/n?” he calls out, confused, as if he's afraid he's hallucinating your presence.

you smile. he slides mateo slowly out of his lap and stands up, not caring about anything else except pressing his lips to yours in a kiss you haven't experienced for five months. and five months is considered a long time.

you pull away, only to hold his face, your fingers touching the smooth skin. the smile he gives you is so bright that you can almost feel your heart bursting with love. he touches your cheek and kisses the corner of your mouth, hugging you properly. the people around just let you have this moment.

“i've missed you so much,” you whisper just for him to hear and feel him squeeze you around the waist. your eyes tear up with emotion.

“no more than me,” he says.

as he steps back, he smiles even more at you, that sparkle in his irises outshining any glittering christmas decorations around you. the atmosphere is pleasant, cozy and you notice how he's dressed, so casual, so beautiful.

“i should have worn that horrible christmas sweater of yours,” you say, jokingly, making him laugh.

he stares you down.

“i like this dress better,” he says. “i  think it'll make my job easier later…”

“gavi!”

you understand the implicit suggestion and laugh, shaking your head, while he shows the innocent expression of someone who hasn't said anything too much. his hand finds yours, entwining your fingers as if he never wants to let go.

“you really came...” he murmurs, still trying to process your presence.

you nod, a smile playing on your lips.

“of course i came. couldn't let you spend christmas without me, could i?”

before you can say anything else, you're pulled out of the reunion bubble when aurora lets out an excited exclamation, attracting your attention. all the rest of the family were gathered around, waiting for their turn to hug you.

“a better surprise than this, impossible!” someone says in the middle of the small crowd, and you smile, feeling the warmth of the welcoming.

aurora approaches you again, hugging you. his mother is right behind, with a huge smile on her face.

“darling, i'm so glad you could make it!” mrs. gavira says, warmly.

you return her hug, but gavi doesn't let go of you for an instant. he remains by your side the whole time, observing your interaction with the rest of his family in silence, but with an expression of radiant happiness.

when everyone has finished talking to you, gavi finally takes you by the waist, leaving everyone alone again before christmas dinner is served.

“come here,” he calls, pulling you to sit on his lap, as soon as he sits back in the armchair. with his other free hand, he gently strokes your exposed thigh. “how long can you stay?”

you rest your hand on the back of his neck, brushing the skin with your thumb.

“until the first week of january,” you reply. “i thought we could make up for five months away from each other.”

his expression becomes radiant again.

“i'm having so many ideas…”

you start to laugh and hide your face in his neck, placing a tender kiss there. it still seems unbelievable that you actually managed to get there and that you were finally together, the longing crushing your chest like never before. you want to stay there forever.

“merry christmas, gavi.”

you realize that being there, surrounded by him and his family, is exactly where you always wanted to be.

[lewisvinga]

sneaky link | jude bellingham x sainz! reader

summary; y/n knew it wasn’t the best idea to sneak jude in while her family was out at dinner. but she couldn’t help but risk it despite her overprotective brother

warnings; cursing

word count; 956

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; before you all ask no i’m not okay w the kroos news

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Oh shit,” Y/n mumbled as she heard multiple cars pull up into her driveway. She quickly gets up from Jude’s lap and looks out her bedroom window. She mentally curses when she sees the cars of her parents, brother, and sister in the driveway.

“What happened?” He asked curiously, lifting his head from her pillow.

She picked up his white t-shirt and zip-up hoodie from her makeup chair and chucked it at him. “My family came back earlier than expected. Hurry! Put your clothes back on!”

A laugh escaped from his lips as he sat up on her bed. He sets his phone down and catches his clothes. “You weren’t complainin’ 5 minutes ago when you were on my lap and-“

“Yes you’re very hot and as much as I appreciate you shirtless,” Y/n huffed, watching her brother shut the door to his Ferrari. “My brother wouldn’t.”

“I swear he’ll like me.”

“Just because you play for Real Madrid doesn’t guarantee that Carlos won’t go all crazy big brother on you.”

“Yeah but-“

“Y/n!” Her mother’s voice called out for her from the bottom of the stairs. “We came early and brought back dessert. Come down to the backyard!”

Y/n and Jude shared the same wide-eyed look. Whenever he visited especially late at night, the backyard patio was where he usually snuck out since there were cameras in the front door. With her whole family outside, it would be more difficult to get him out.

She hears the back door open and close, meaning they’re all outside. “You can get out from the side-“ She turned back to face her boyfriend and noticed he was still shirtless. “Stop distracting me!”

Jude couldn’t hold back his laugh from her panicked face. She glared at him as he wiped the tears from his eyes, taking deep breaths to try to stop laughing. “Okay, okay, fine! I’m sorry.” He said in between laughs, putting on his white shirt.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried though. I’ve met your mom already.”

Y/n sighed and grabbed her ugg slippers. “My mom. You’ve met my mom. Not my brother or dad.” She mumbled in reply. She remembered the time she brought a boy home when she was 15. Boy did her brother scare him away. Ever since then, she swore she wouldn’t bring a guy around Carlos not until she knew he was ready to see his baby sister be an adult.

“He can’t be that bad.”

She gave him a glare and he raised his hands up in defense. She grabbed his hand as she slowly opened her bedroom door. She looks down the lengthy halls before quietly and carefully dragging him towards the staircase.

“Now, keep quiet because I don’t need Carlos seeing you,” Y/n whispers to Jude who nods in response. They made it to the bottom of the staircase and were about to rush towards the side doors when a familiar voice stopped them.

“Don’t need me seeing who?”

The couple froze in their spots, both too scared to turn around. She felt her heart stop for a second when Carlos cleared his throat again. “Y/n.” His voice was stern.

She gulped and slowly turned around. She stood in front of Jude but that did little due to his height. She was met with her brother's stern gaze. His jaw was clenched, clearly unhappy at the sight of his baby sister with a boy.

Carlos knew who Jude was. Being a Madridista since birth meant he knew every player, especially one who helped them win the league. The Ferrari driver was a fan of the English player, at least he was until he saw him standing behind Y/n.

“He was just leaving-“

“Why is he here?”

“Hello, Jude, nice to meet you,” Jude said with a smile. He held his hand out but Y/n immediately slapped it down. “What? I’m trying to be nice!”

She glanced back at her brother and took a step closer to him. “Por favor, Carlos. No hagas de esto un gran problema.” [please, carlos. don’t make this a big problem] She quietly said. “Has hablado bien de él. No cambies tu opinión ahora solo porque el es mi novio [you’ve talked good things about him. don’t change your opinion now just because he’s my boyfriend]

Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows were furrowed up, showing how much she wanted her brother to be calm about her relationship. Jude was confused as he stared at the Sainz siblings. He only knew so much Spanish and certainly not to the extent of understanding all of what his girlfriend said.

Carlos lets out a deep sigh as he gently pats her arm. “Vale.” [okay] He says after thinking for a few seconds. “So what, is he your sneaky link?”

His words caused Y/n to gasp as the English player bursted into laughter once again. “Carlos! I just said he’s my boyfriend!” She exclaimed, ignoring the feeling of her face burning up as her boyfriend balanced himself on her and tried to stop laughing.

“Why’re you sneaking him out?”

“Because of you!”

Jude takes a deep breath before standing back up straight. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout sneaking behind your back. It did kinda seem like I was her sneaky link.” He said with a smile, gently poking her cheek.

Carlos gave him a glare which made the Real Madrid’s player smile fall. The Ferrari driver immediately smiled before pulling him into a side hug. “Oye, no more sneaking around with my sister. You’re an amazing player on the pitch and just because you’ve saved us many times doesn’t mean I’ll be easy on you for dating my sister.”

“Got it, no more sneaky link meet-ups.”

“Jude!”

[jude5bellingham]

post to story ౨ৎ jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x f!reader

summary: when attempting to document a trip to madrid becomes a soft launch.

warnings & notes : reader has something already established with jude, is good friends with jobe, and other people in jude's circle. in my head i imagine that the set of stories are spread out throughout the day or week!! also sorry the plot is so loose 😔

yourusername added to their story!

💌 judebellingham has replied to your story:

when did you get here

why didn't you say anything

are you still out?

yourusername

yeah

see you in 10

you know where i am bellingham

judebellingham

you're the worst

i'll be there in 5

💌 gioareyna has replied to your story:

ain't no way

yourusername

no hello? hi ??

a waving emoji would've been enough too tbh

gioareyna

yeah you don't deserve that rn

don't do anything i wouldn't do

yourusername

not exactly sure what that means but

thanks dad

gioreyna reacted 👎🏻 to a message

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

the dots...

yourusername

there are no dots

jobebellingham

if you say so..

yourusername added to their story!

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

looks an awful lot like my brother

yourusername

blehhhhh

jobebellingham

you're the worst

yourusername

and you sound just like your brother

jobebellingham

oh! you're definitely the worst!

💌 camavinga has replied to your story:

no need to tease us

we know who

yourusername

teasing is my specialty

camavinga

keep that between you and jude

yourusername

who said it was jude 🤨.

camavinga

yeah ok 😂😂😂😂

yourusername reacted 👎🏻 to a message

💌 judebellingham has replied to your story:

your song choice is making it seem like i'm some whore

yourusername

...

judebellingham

wow

i see how it is mate

yourusername

no need to mate me now

judebellingham

?

pretty sure you'd like that

yourusername

i think that's more than enough out of you jude

judebellingham reacted 🤐 to a message

yourusername added to their story!

💌 trentarnold66 has replied to your story:

tell me the lad put on a good show at least

yourusername

not better than you

trentarnold66

obviously not better than me

yourusername reacted 😂 to a message

but still

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

HELLO??? THEYVE CONNECTED??

yourusername

what are you talking about

jobebellingham

THE DOTS

yourusername

STOP.

jobebellingham

i knew it...

yourusername

my turn now

you're the worst

jobebellingham

🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

yourusername reacted 👎🏻 to a message

💌 judebellingham has replied to your story:

didn't know you were in the stands

why didn't you tell me you wanted to watch

yourusername

didn't want you offering me the same seats you give every other girl

or the goal dedication

judebellingham

bit presumptuous of you

who says i would've offered you seats

or dedicated my goal to you

yourusername

oh?

you wouldn't have?

judebellingham

of course i would've

would've written your name on my undershirt

blown a kiss and everything

yourusername

same treatment every other girl gets?

judebellingham has reacted 👎🏻 to a message

judebellingham

there aren't any other girls

yourusername

that's not what a certain someone said 🤐

judebellingham

i'm killing jobe

yourusername

just kidding

your mother got me that seat

judebellingham

i told her to do it

yourusername

yeah sure

good job today brum boy

judebellingham

me when they say good boy 😝

yourusername

I DID NOT SAY GOOD BOY

judebellingham

you did now 🤤🤤🤤

yourusername

you are SICK.

judebellingham

sooo... see you at 5?

yourusername

can i say no?

judebellingham

no

yourusername

🙄🙄🙄 see you at 5 then i guess

judebellingham reacted 😁 to a message

yourusername added to their story!

💌 camavinga has replied to your story:

kiss already

yourusername

EDUARDO.

camavinga reacted 😂 to a message

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

your plausible deniability is running out btw...

yourusername

no it's not

innocent until proven guilty actually

jobebellingham

mum said you stayed over

yourusername

ON THE COUCH

jobebellingham

WITH JUDE

yourusername

you know what

i'm not arguing with you jobe

jobebellingham

cause you would lose

yourusername

no

jobebellingham reacted 👎🏻 to a message

jobebellingham

why can't you guys just give it up

it's not like you have to tell the world

but you don't have to lie to me

yourusername

...

it's cause me and your brother aren't anything jobe

jobebellingham

GIVE IT UP ALREADY

yourusername

i'm serious jobe

we haven't talked about it

jobebellingham

so you went all the way to madrid to see a guy who won't ask you out officially

yourusername

not just any guy 🙄

he's your brother

ALSO I DID NOT GOT TO MADRID JUST FOR THAT

jobebellingham

he's just another guy if he won't ask you out officially yn

he is my brother but stand up ☝🏻😀

yourusername reacted 👎🏻 to a message

yourusername

...

can you stop being real with me jobe what the flip

FINE

i will start the conversation

jobebellingham reacted 🙏 to a message

1:27 AM

jude

yn

uhhhhh

??

grrrrrrrrrr

you alright?

AHHHHHHHH

AHHHHH

why are we screaming

jude you know i like you right

i like you too yn

what is happening

jude what are we

oh wow

yn you are ruining it

oh

NO

that came out so horrifically wrong

i'm so sorry

what i meant to say is

i have dinner reservations for 2 at 6pm

and you just spoiled your own surprise

ohh

nice save jude

🙄🙄.

fine

yn you make me really happy

and i hate that i haven't brought this up earlier

would you let me be your boyfriend

weeeeeee

okay now you're ruining it

i'll see you at 6 mate

wow...

yourusername added to their story!

♫ The Daughters of Eve ⠂Hey Lover

💌 camavinga has replied to your story:

so can you finally admit it was jude

yourusername

🙄🙄.

camavinga

have fun tonight 😉😏😏

yourusername

EDUARDO CAMVINGA.

camavinga reacted 😂 to a message

camavinga

i didn't say anything 🤔🤔

yourusername reacted 😒 to a message

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

did he ask you out

yourusername

yes...

jobebellingham

are you guys together now

yourusername

yes...

jobebellingham

so the dots connected

yourusername

yeah...

jobebellingham

go ahead

yourusername

you're the best jobe

jobebellingham reacted 😼 to a message

💌 gioareyna has replied to your story:

did you never see that clip dortmund posted

yourusername

which one

gioareyna

who wouldn't you let date your sister

yourusername

... i saw it

gioareyna

congrats though

he's yours to deal with now

yourusername

i'm sure you could steal him back anytime

gioareyna

let me know if he's too much for you to handle

i'll take him off your hands

yourusername 😳 reacted to a message

💌 judebellingham has replied to your story:

really?

the last story was unnecessary i think

yourusername

yeah he's a little odd looking

but he's my boyfriend

judebellingham

...

yourusername

speechless?

judebellingham

i have a bad feeling this is just the beginning

yourusername

of our relationship 💔💔?

judebellingham

no

good feeling about that

bad feeling about

your future story posts...

yourusername

yeah you're probably right

don't get caught lacking now mate

judebellingham

again with the mate...

can you go back to calling me your odd looking boyfriend

yourusername

alright

if that's what you prefer mr. odd looking boyfriend

judebellingham reacted 🙃 to a message

yourusername added to their story!

💌 jobebellingham has replied to your story:

wow this is brutal

💌 gioareyna has replied to your story:

oh he is not living this down

💌 camavinga has replied to your story:

poor jude

💌 trentarnold66 has replied to your story:

give the lad a break

💌 judebellingham has replied to your story:

this is just cruel

and evil

and mean

and

:(

yourusername

isn't my boyfriend just the cutest lil guy ever?

judebellingham

well if you put it that way...

yeah

yourusername

great! so it's staying up

i'm gonna add it to my highlights too

judebellingham

you evil woman...

yourusername

tagged judebellingham

liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, and 201 others

yourusername silly strange odd boyfriend making silly strange odd faces on our silly one year anniversary 🤍

view all 60 comments

camavinga he never learns does he 🤦‍♂️

yourusername nope!

jobebellingham he's finally moved up to feed post 🥳

yourusername yep! 🥳

judebellingham WHY DID YOU POST THEM IN THAT ORDER

yourusername wdym

judebellingham why didn't you post the normal one first

yourusername cause that is least representative of my boyfriend duh..

judebellingham ...

judebellingham one day i will get you back for this...

yourusername never🥸

judebellingham one of many years to come 🫶🏽

yourusername almost makes me feel bad for the order of the pictures

yourusername jk

yourusername 🤍🤍

judebellingham yeah 🙄 love you too🤍🤍

yourusername thanks mate 🤍🤍

judebellingham ...

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ scoops of doubt; 

         aurélien tchouaméni ────── 

     grabbing ice cream after a meal is a cherished tradition for the two of you, but the sweetness fades when a single comment sends your emotions over the edge.

⭑  wordcount : four thousand four hundred sixty-seven.

⭑  notes : not sure if you guys will like this fic as it is more sensitive, but i wanted to write about a topic that everyone struggles with to some extent: body image. everyone’s body is beautiful and comes in different sizes; as for this story i picked a reader on the chubbier end and will be diving into some insecurities that they could face. i tried my best to display this topic in an appropriate manner and and as always, my dms are open if you ever need someone to talk to, though i'm not a professional. <3

warning : body image struggles

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Going out with Aurélien was always special, and tonight was no exception. You both enjoyed taking turns picking places for your date nights, and no matter where you dined, you always ended up at your guy’s favorite ice cream shop afterward. This summer evening, it was his pick—a hidden gem that his teammate, Federico Valverde, had strongly recommended. After just a few bites, it was obvious that the footballer had made the perfect choice.

The night was filled with the usual tender smiles and exchange of dishes. Each of you stealing bites from one another and debating whose choice was the superior one. It was silly, but it made the meal feel more like an adventure in itself.

“Okay, so I definitely picked the best dish this time,” Aurélien grinned, as he leaned over to offer you another bite of his meal. “I knew you’d love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh really? Are we going to keep a tally of who picks the better dish? Because, overall, I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You definitely think you are, don’t you? But you can’t deny that this is a strong contender.”

You pouted, taking the bite he offered. "Fine, you win this round. But next time, I’ll make sure to pick something even better."

He leaned back, giving you a playful, mock-dramatic look. “This is war, then. Prepare for the next round.”

You both laughed, enjoying the easy rhythm of the conversation. The little games you played over shared bites of food made the whole experience feel so much more fun.

“So,” Aurélien started, swirling his wine in his glass. “If I win this little food battle we’ve got going, what do I get as a prize?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, what kind of prize do you think you deserve?”

He leaned in with a teasing smile. “A kiss, obviously.”

“A kiss, huh? ”Your lips curling into a playful smile as you raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you teased, a flirty spark in your eyes.

Aurélien leaned in close, a teasing smirk on his face. “Come on,” he whispered.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, playing along, and your thumb grazed his cheek as you leaned in like you were going to kiss him. But, just before your lips met his, you quickly swiped your thumb across the side of his mouth, wiping off the sauce he’d missed earlier. His eyes widened, and he groaned in disbelief, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept back on his face. 

A mischievous laugh escaped your lips as you watched him, his mock frustration only making the moment more delightful. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the amused sparkle in his eyes. It was as if you guys were in your own bubble of happiness.

You savored the moment, the rich flavors of the meal dancing on your tongue as you made your way through the courses. Aurélien’s rants about training filled the space between you, his voice blending with the clink of silverware against plates. It felt almost dreamlike—the way the world outside faded away as you both sank deeper into the rhythm of each other’s company. You both finished your plates slowly, savoring the last few mouthfuls, reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy Italian place. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick before we head out.” Your boyfriend stated as he squeezed your hand to signal his departure.

You nodded, watching as Aurélien stood and melted into the crowd, his tall frame effortlessly disappearing toward the restrooms. Left to your own thoughts for a moment, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drift around the warm ambience. As you glanced over the dessert menu, you pondered your options. You knew you’d both end up at the ice cream shop later—it had become a tradition—but maybe you could share something here first. It seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, the idea of a sweet Italian pastry was tempting. A crisp cannoli? Or a velvety tiramisu? You couldn’t decide, so you waved down the waiter, hoping for a little guidance.

“Excuse me, could you help me choose between the cannoli and the tiramisu?” you asked, flashing a smile. “Which one do you recommend?”

“Oh, another order?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Well, the tiramisu is world-class, but after all that, I doubt you’d even fit in your dress anymore.” He chuckled as he answered you.

The words hit you instantly, meant to be playful but coming across with an edge that caught you off guard. You froze, a flush creeping up your neck as the comment sank in. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. 

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and instead of anger, you felt a rush of awkwardness. Was that really necessary? You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Uh, yeah... can I just get the check, actually?" you said, offering a tight smile as you reached for your drink, hoping the awkwardness would pass. 

The waiter nodded, clearly unaware of the effect his words had, and turned to go. You sat back in your chair, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You shook your head slightly, trying to push the feeling aside. You felt silly for letting the situation impact you like this. Nothing had seemed overtly wrong. Just… a bit strange. But then again, it could have just been in your head.

Although the waiter left, it felt like every eye in the room was suddenly fixed on you, each gaze heavy with judgment. Of course, you knew this wasn’t true—logically, you understood no one was staring at you—but that didn’t stop the feeling from washing over you like a cold wave. Your body suddenly uncomfortable in the chair, too much for the space around you. The fabric of your outfit felt suffocating now—clinging to you in ways that highlighted every inch. You wished you could just disappear.

Your stomach twisted, the pressure growing unbearable, the feeling of nausea even crept in. Every breath felt like too much effort, too loud, as if just being alive was drawing in too much attention. Your arms crossed over your torso instinctively, hoping you could somehow hide yourself from the world. But nothing helped, the ache was deeper than anything you could physically conceal. Your thighs pressed against the seat, and you could swear they expanded under the weight of your thoughts, a cruel trick of perception that only fed the panic rising inside you.

The heat clung to you, pressing down on your chest, its weight making each breath feel shallow and strained. It was like being trapped inside the very furnace that had just baked your pizza, the warmth heavy and stifling, consuming everything in its path.

You managed to steady yourself before Aurélien returned, but the floor beneath you betrayed every shift. Each small movement sent a sharp creak reverberating through the silence, an intrusive sound that seemed to echo your every restless gesture.

As Aurélien came back, the waiter dropped the check off. Your boyfriend’s focus immediately shifting to it, his hand instinctively reaching for his wallet. He sat down across from you, as he placed down his card. 

You tried to hide the faint tremor in your hands and the nervous habit of tugging at the hem of your dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was a silly plea when you considered the fact that Aurélien had been trained on the pitch to detect even the smallest shifts in movement—to read the slightest twitch of a muscle or the faintest change in posture. It was second nature to him, a skill honed over years of relentless focus.

So, of course, he noticed.

“You okay, mon amour?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t pushing, just offering you a space to speak.

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mhm, just tired,” you muttered. 

Aurélien didn’t press further, but the eerie quiet between you lingered once he stood up from the table as he thanked the waiter. He reached for your hand as you both moved toward the door, his grip warm and steady, though his fingers tightened slightly, as if sensing something was still off. You followed him outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement.

As you approached the car, Aurélien opened the passenger door for you, his usual confident smile back in place, though there was something in his gaze that seemed to weigh you down even more. You sat down staring out the window, the city passing by like a blur as he drove, you hoped for a reprieve from the heavy feeling in your chest.

With dinner finished, the next step in your routine should have been a trip to the charming little ice cream shop nearby, a tradition that had started on your first date. It was a small, unassuming parlor where, with complete confidence, he had declared he could figure out your favorite flavor just by looking at you. Of course, he was wrong—but his confidence had made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, and in the end, you picked that flavor as your new favorite.

Yet tonight, the thought of ice cream twisted your stomach in a different way.

“Aurélien… I’m not really feeling it tonight,” you said in a hushed voice, trying to sound as neutral as possible. 

Aurélien shot you a glance, brow furrowing. “Not feeling it?” he echoed, as if the words themselves were foreign.

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get any ice cream”

His face fell slightly, a small frown tugging at his lips, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

Instead of heading toward the ice cream shop, he smoothly made a U-turn at the next light.

“Wait, did you not want anything either?” you asked, blinking at him.

He glanced over at you with a half-smile. “It’s okay. Ice cream doesn’t taste nearly as good unless I’m sharing it with you.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “I mean, have you ever tried chocolate chip cookie dough all alone? It’s just... sad."

You let out a soft chuckle, your shoulders relaxing a bit. "You’re ridiculous."

He just shrugged, eyes still on the road. "Hey, I swear the flavor will grow on you one day."

You looked back out the window, resting your head against the cool glass, feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts lighten just a little. 

Then, his hand reached for yours, his grip warm and steady. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a quiet, soothing motion—one that seemed to soothe something deep inside you, though he was unaware of what.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you, opening his mouth as if to say something. But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he could voice his concern.

“I’m gonna go change,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t wait for a response, slipping out of the car and into the house, where the warmth should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.

Aurélien lingered in the entryway, watching you disappear up the stairs, his frown deepening. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t just a passing mood. This was something deeper, something festering just beneath the surface, something eating at you from the inside out. And he knew. He always knew. 

But he also understood you wouldn’t talk until you were ready. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the doorframe, dragging a hand down his face before slowly removing his shoes, giving you the space he knew you thought you needed.

Upstairs, you hurried to the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind you—or so you thought. You barely noticed it remained slightly ajar, too preoccupied, too desperate to strip yourself free from the weight clinging to you.

Your dress pooled at your feet, as if even the fabric was eager to rid itself of you. Shedding you like an old skin—but unfortunately, this was no simple transformation. You didn’t even spare it a second glance before tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Your heart hammered in your chest, beating so fast you could feel it in your throat.

Your hands reaching for one of Aurélien’s shirts—the one that always offered solace in ways nothing else could, especially when he was away, swallowed by the distance of football and travel. But just as you were about to pull it fully down on yourself, your gaze flickered to the mirror.

And everything stopped.

The reflection didn’t greet you with kindness. It didn’t soften its edges, didn’t smooth out the harsh truths you spent so long ignoring. 

It stared back, merciless, cruel in its honesty, dragging your eyes down the lines of your body like an artist outlining every flaw with deliberate strokes. As if it’s not just your body that feels burdened, but your mind too.

Your stomach—softer than you wanted, pushing outward when you wished it would vanish instead. The skin stretching slightly, smooth with a few faint lines marking where it met your waistband.

Your chest—felt fuller than before, both physically and emotionally heavy. The discomfort pulling at your spine, making every movement feel strained. 

But worst of all? Your thighs.

You let your shirt slip, falling softly over your figure as your hands instinctively found their way to your thighs. Your fingers pressed into the warm flesh, grasping, as if to test reality. You felt the resistance of how they refused to shrink, to yield, no matter how desperately you willed them to. Each inch of flesh that you grip only deepens the chasm between who you are and who you wish to be. There’s a sense of helplessness in the way your fingers meet the soft curve of your thighs, like you’re at war with your own skin. 

You want to recoil, to pull your hands away, but they stay, as if your own touch has become a punishment. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the reflection in the mirror, but even with your lids shut tight, it’s as though the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids. The feeling doesn’t go away, not even in the dark. It lingers, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome shadow that refuses to leave.

You wanted to sever off the parts that wouldn’t obey. 

Your breath hitched, nausea pooling in your stomach. The mirror made a mockery of you, highlighting every insecurity, every whispered doubt, every cruel thought that lurked beneath the surface. You crossed your arms over yourself, dread curling around your ribs like barbed wire. A sickening thought sank its claws into you:

Why would he want you when you look this way?

The thought struck without warning, a tightening coil cutting off the oxygen to your lungs.

Would he still trace his fingers over your skin with that same reverence? Still hold you, still love you, when you felt like nothing but a burden too heavy to carry? If you couldn't even love yourself, then how could anyone else?

The faint sound of movement drew your attention, and a chill swept through you. You spun, and there he was—Aurélien Tchouaméni, standing in the doorway, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn't quite place. His heart silently shattering as he watched the person he loved more than anything crumble beneath the unbearable weight of their own reflection.

He had seen everything.

Your arms yanking down the shirt, a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from his gaze, but it was too late. His expression was no longer just concern—it was heartbreak. For you. For whatever cruel battle you were fighting inside your own head.

“Mon amour,” his voice was quiet, hesitant, as if afraid to startle you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat had closed up. Embarrassment burned through you, hot and suffocating. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the worst way, like every insecurity you tried to hide had been laid bare for him to see.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I—I’m fine…really I—"

“Amour…” he interrupted gently, stepping inside the room, closing the distance between you both. “Please, don’t try to hide from me.”

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head harder. “Please... just give me a minute. I don’t want you to look at me when I’m like this.”

Aurélien’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as the hurt on his face became undeniable. He reached out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?” he asked, stepping closer, his heart in his eyes. 

“Like this— I’m a mess,” you whispered, gesturing at yourself like your own body was something disgusting, something shameful. “Like—like I take up too much space. Like I’m too much. I—I don’t feel like—"

The footballer sighed, stepping back, running a hand over his head. His jaw clenched, and his whole body tensed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who made you feel like this?” His voice was quiet, his protectiveness beaming through.

“Who?” he asked again, not taking your silence as a response.

You could hear the barely veiled frustration underneath, but not at you—never at you. It was anger at whoever had planted this seed of doubt in your mind, at whatever had made you believe that you were anything less than extraordinary.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Well the waiter,” you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He made some stupid comment, but… it’s not just that.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, his posture stiffening.

You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I wish I was.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If I’d heard it—” he exhaled sharply, reigning in his anger. “I would’ve said something.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But it’s not just about what he said. It’s how I’ve been feeling for a while actually.”

Aurélien exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before stepping closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face. His thumbs caught the next tear before it could fall. "Amour… I love you so much," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just talk to me about it."

The weight of his words unraveled something in you, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free from your throat. Your knees buckled slightly, but Aurélien caught you as you stumbled, his arms scooping you up, strong but delicate. His warmth enveloped you entirely, and for the first time all night, you felt at ease as you laid in bed.

“I hate that you feel like this,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “I hate that someone made you doubt how incredible you are.”

You let out a choked laugh, but it held no humor. “It’s not someone, it’s me,” you admitted, voice trembling. “It’s how I’ve felt for a bit.”

His hold on you tightened, his jaw tensing against your hair. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Still, I wish I could just make it all go away. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. I’ll carry it with you.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. His lips brushed over your skin in the softest, most reverent way. But then his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, kneading them as if committing them to memory. His fingers traced over the softness of your stomach, his grip both possessive and tender.

“Mon amour,” he whispered, voice husky, thick with emotion. “Do you know how perfectly you fit against me?” 

Like you were made to be there, pressed into him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer conviction in his voice, the way his hands never wavered as they caressed you, he was worshiping every inch. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I love being suffocated by your thighs,” he murmured, nipping playfully at your skin, earning a startled laugh from you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

You swatted at his arm, pushing at his chest. “Aurélien!”

He grinned against your skin, placing one last kiss to your temple. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

You sniffled, hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fingers. “I just don’t feel—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted gently, cradling your face again so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were burning with something fierce, something unshakable. “You are enough, mon amour. You always have been. And if you can’t see it right now, that’s okay—I’ll remind you every single day.”

A broken sob escaped your lips, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness alone. 

It was from the overwhelming love, the sheer depth of what this man was offering you. A love so pure, so unwavering, that for the first time, the voice in your head telling you that you “weren’t enough” quieted.

Aurélien exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if we have to stay up all night, but I’m not letting you go until you understand how much I love you.”

You let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “That might take a while.”

His lips quirked up, but his eyes were still serious. “Then I hope you’re comfortable, because I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Another moment of silence passed, your ears pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, then smiled—this time lighter, with something familiar in it.

"You know what we need?" he asked, his voice soft but certain.

You blinked up at him, still sniffling. “What?”

“Ice cream.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I just said I didn’t want any.”

“And I just decided that’s unacceptable,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, but he simply grinned ear to ear. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A small smile broke through your haze of sadness. “Fine. But no more strange flavors!”

-

The drive to the ice cream shop was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of the music playing in the background. Aurelien’s hand never left yours, his touch a steady reassurance, grounding you in the present. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if he were silently reminding you that you weren’t alone.

When you stepped into the familiar little shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, the weight pressing down on your chest lifted just a little. The warm scent of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

Aurélien made a show of examining the menu, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think… I’m going to pick for you, just like our first date.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you challenged him. “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll get it right this time?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I know you, mon amour.”

A few minutes later, Aurélien handed you a cone with a knowing grin. The flavor he picked wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Honey Vanilla Bean.

“You know, I really wanted to go with blueberry,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “But I figured… you deserve something like you. Sweet, comforting, a little bit of warmth when everything feels cold.” He paused, feigning exasperation. “Also, I really didn’t want to get yelled at over an ice cream scoop.”

You shook your head in disbelief, holding back a grin. “Alright, fine. You win.”

His grin was smug as he bumped his shoulder against yours. “So, can I get my prize now?”

With a playful glint in your eye, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled him in, pecking his lips. The moment was brief but full, the sweetness melting between you as his fingers brushed your waist, holding you steady.

Hand in hand, you wandered outside and settled onto the curb, the cool night air wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. Aurélien pulled you closer, his warmth a contrast to the gentle chill. 

Aurélien nudged you with his elbow, holding out his own cone. "Here, try some of my chocolate chip cookie dough. I even got star-shaped sprinkles on it."

Rolling your eyes as you leaned in, ready to taste it, but just as your lips parted, the ice cream dripped on to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as he burst into laughter.

Before it could roll off your body, Aurélien leaned in without hesitation, licking the ice cream off your face before pressing a brief, puckish kiss to your lips.

“There, crisis averted.” He announced smugly, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You shoved him away with a mix of laughter and disbelief. "Eww Aurélien, what is wrong with you?!"

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Oh, plenty, but you still love me."

You rolled your eyes, but as you looked at him—at the man who had spent the last hour trying to hold you together when you felt like you were falling apart—you felt your heart flutter.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into his side.

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely in his arms as his cheek rested against your hair. “Good. Because I love you more. Every single part of you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually believed it.

© gul4bjamoons