October Is Diabolical (i Feel U Bro 💔.)

MY FAVE WRITOR 😍😍 i love this and everything you do babe you’re amazing 💔💔

could u do a hector fort x reader where he’s at training and during the break, one of his teammates show him multiple social media posts uploaded by his mom of her and his gf of 2-years having a girls day without him knowing prior. the whole team is teasing him and saying how locked in they are and he’s just so happy asf saying that’s wifey and stuff like that xx

✮ Tú y Mamá - Hector Fort

hector fort x fem!reader

sy: hector’s mood had been low all day, from your absent messages for hours. what he doesn’t know though, is your date with his mother was what you were up to.

a/n: this was a little crammed into my schedule to write, so im really sorry if it’s a lil stiff but ty for the req 🧡(ifykyk @n0vazsq)

warnings: nope!

the ciutat esportiva was electric, barça players scattered out amongst the pitch, immersed within a full spectrum of excersise and activities.

hector was completing goal warmups, firing past numerous balls beyond inaki. nearby, cubarsí and lamine were atop a cooler box, following every movement hector made.

“he looks sorta angry doesn’t he?” lamine nodded over, grabbing pau’s attention. “i wonder what’s up with him.”

“did you not hear what he was talking to balde and ansu about? his girl hadn’t messaged him this morning.” pau noted in all solemnity.

“what?” lamine grinned, “are you serious? de ninguna manera.”

“im serious.” pau scoffed, shaking his head. “he’s crazy over that girl.”

lamine let out an exasperated sigh, watching as hansi blew out his whistle to signal the first water break of the morning.

hector kept his head low, strutting past the two guys in a seemingly rushed hurry. his eyes were locked onto the ramp to the lockers, as lamine and pau instantly followed his footsteps.

their cleats were in a rhythmic motion, the clicks bouncing from the concrete walls onto the otherwise silent hallway. hector’s movements had stopped at this point, an eerie silence lingering.

“hey hermano?” lamine called out, his voice echoing off the bricks. they meet face with the locker room, sighting hector’s figure silhouetted in the dim light. he sat on the bench below his locker, head in hands.

his curls were messy and crumbled, his jersey clinging to his sweat-drenched body—his toned abs on display.

“why are you in here man? your bottles outside.” pau walked on closer, gently swatting his head.

hector let past a low murmur, tugging his shirt over his head. lamine frowned, taking a seat next to him.

“what’s the matter with you amigo? you don’t seem yourself today.” he further pressed, as they exchanged a knowing look.

“im alright, just tired.” he grumbled. it probably would of been believable if his voice wasn’t so threaded with tension.

“ey, the usual im tired gimmick,” pau teased but tone firm. “seriously hector, what is it?”

as hector was about to retaliate, a follow-up echo of shoes clacked against the floor, revealing a wide-eyed gavi, pedri, casado and olmo.

“coach has been looking everywhere for you three!” dani exclaimed, flailing his arms. “why are you all in here?”

pedri sighed in relief whilst muttering a small, “i told you so,” to gavi who didn’t seem to hear.

“ask him that,” lamine gestured to hector, inviting the four players near. the group drew closer, with raised brows and curious expressions upon hector’s uncharacteristic gloom.

“we saw you with that dopey look on your face earlier,” gavi tried to lighten the somber mood, grinning. “wipe that glare off man.”

hector didn’t comment, he just kept his gaze onto his lap where he was fidgeting with his jersey.

casado huffed, trying to bring reassurance. “it’s not personal H, she’s just busy with your mom.”

the words rolled off his tongue simultaneously, though by the look on hectors face, he immediately regretted it.

“she’s what?” hector abruptly stood up, voice rising and laced with confusion.

“uh, yeah, she’s been with your mom all morning.” the spaniard mumbled, stepping back ever so subtly.

“how do you know?” hector advanced onto him, his face now inches apart from marc’s. hector’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his cheek twitching.

“oh si.. she posted it on instagram,” he gulped, the colour drained from his face. “earlier.”

hector’s glare intensified, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “my question is, why do you follow her?” he interrogated.

“no reason.. i follow everybody.” he said weakly, hurriedly shoving his phone into his pocket.

hectors eyes narrowed, the type of look that made marc shift uncomfortably. as though he was about to burst, pau quickly intervened, slinging his arm over his shoulder. “don’t worry hermano, he followed my sister and her friends who he’s never even met before.”

marc let out a sigh of relief, dropping his tense shoulders. a few of the boys snickered, poking fun at casado for his internet obsession.

pau continued, slowly steering hector’s attention away, “and get this, he liked so many of her posts that her boyfriend had to step in.” pau proceeded laughing, causing casado cheeks to blush.

“ey! i was admiring her aesthetic!” marc tried to defend, though that never really stopped the rest of them making fun of him.

“can’t you do that with your own sister? i don’t blame irene for blocking you!” pedri clapped his back.

“what? irene blocked you?” lamine doubled over laughing, clutching his stomach for air. “no way!”

“okay whatever whatever, show me again.” hector interrupted the guys’ gig, motioning for gavi’s phone.

pablo protested, although dani elllbowed him into submission. reluctantly, he pulled up the post on his phone, as hector took it from his hands.

hector flicked through the numerous posts, images of you and his mother laughing, posing, and seemingly drunk off merriment.

they featured everything from coffee dates and endearingly charming selfies, to affectionate boasts about your latest matching nail sets together.

each photo possessed a natural setting, no forced chemistry, no pre-practised techniques or no false smiles. hector couldn’t shake the swell of his heart that was multiplying with each swipe, his grin only growing wider.

the simplicity of all of the candid shots, brought an unwavering, flustering emotion over him—his earlier frustration melted away. who knew that all he needed was a few coupled images of the two women he loved most in this world, to cure his dishevels.

“look at that smile on his face,” lamine teased. “he’s so happy, it’s disgusting.”

“see the way he’s invested in them,” gavi added, him and pedri similarly leaning into eachother by snickering. “he’s completely gone.”

“she’s got you hooked man,” dani commented, also grinning ear to ear.

laughter filled the room again, but this time, hector joined in. he ran a hand through his hair, with pablo’s phone still in hand, gazing fondly at the screen.

“at least we now know who really runs your life,” pedri qipped finally.

“she’s worth it though, they both are,” he said simply, the sincerity in his voice silencing any further teasing.

the others nodded, their teasing softening into gentle ribbing. “of course she is,” marc stated. “just don’t let her forget it.”

hector chuckled, his heart now infinitely lighter than it had been all morning and his mind no longer foggy. “believe me, i won’t.”

Hi! I'm going crazy after that Juventus vs. PSV match. Could you write something where the reader comforts Yildiz after this terrible game? He gave his all, even though he was put in during the final minutes, and his teammates seemed a bit slow.

❦ - in your arms, always.

summary:: kenan is frustrated after juventus’ tough loss against psv, feeling like he didn’t do enough despite giving his all in the final minutes. you’re there to comfort him, reminding him of his worth beyond a single match and offering the quiet support he needs. sometimes, being held is all it takes to ease the weight of disappointment.

warnings:: not really but it’s a bit angsty / comfort & mentions of self doubt.

writers note:: i saw this and instantly started writing loooord i love ts, anyways that’s so real bc i accidentally caught my reaction on camera and i was deadass going insane, anyways enjoy this fic as always!

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

the locker room was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums and made your chest feel heavy. even through the walls, the muffled cheers of the psv fans outside the stadium stung. juventus had lost.

you stood outside the players’ tunnel, waiting. you had seen it all, how kenan was put in late, how he tried, sprinted, fought, but his teammates felt a step behind. and now, after all that effort, defeat still clung to the air like a storm cloud.

the moment he stepped out, your heart ached. his head was down, damp hair falling over his forehead, shoulders slumped under the weight of frustration. he hadn’t even taken off his jersey yet, the fabric still clinging to him from sweat and exhaustion.

‘kenan.’ your voice was soft, but it was enough to make him look up. his eyes, usually filled with that spark of determination, were dull.

he let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his curls before walking over to you. ‘that was terrible,’ he muttered. ‘i barely got any minutes, and even when i did… it felt like no one was on the same page.’

you reached for his hand, fingers wrapping around his, grounding him. ‘you did everything you could.’

his jaw clenched, and he pulled you into a quiet corner of the hallway, away from the noise of staff and players moving past. his grip tightened slightly, frustration evident in every part of him. ‘but it wasn't enough,’ he murmured. ‘i wanted to change the game. i wanted to..’ he exhaled sharply. ‘i should’ve done more.’

‘kenan,’ you whispered, reaching up to brush the damp strands of hair away from his forehead. ‘you barely got time to make an impact. and still, you played with your heart, you tried. i saw it. everyone watching saw it.’

his eyes met yours, searching, like he was trying to believe your words but struggling to let go of his own self-criticism. ‘it just.. it hurts,’ he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. ‘i hate feeling like this. like no matter what i do, it's not enough.’

you cupped his face gently, thumbs tracing slow circles against his skin. ‘you are enough,’ you said firmly. ‘one match doesn't change that. one loss doesn't erase all the talent, all the passion you bring to the game.’

he leaned into your touch, eyes slipping shut for a moment as if he was letting himself believe you, letting your warmth seep into the cracks frustration had left behind.

‘i just…’ he sighed again, but this time, his shoulders relaxed slightly. ‘i need to get better. i need to work harder.’

‘you will,’ you assured him. ‘but not tonight. tonight, you need to breathe. to rest. to let go, just a little.’

a small, exhausted chuckle left his lips as he shook his head. ‘you always know what to say, don't you?’

‘that’s because i know you,’ you said, squeezing his hand. ‘and i know that no matter what, you'll come back stronger. you always do.’

he exhaled, and then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. his embrace was tight, desperate, like he needed you to hold him together. you wrapped your arms around him just as firmly, fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back.

‘i'm proud of you,’ you whispered into his shoulder. ‘not just for what you did tonight, but for the player, and person, you are.’

kenan didn’t say anything for a while. he just held you, grounding himself in your presence, letting the frustration slowly melt away. when he finally pulled back, there was still disappointment in his eyes, but there was something softer there too, something like hope.

‘come on,’ you said with a small smile. ‘let’s go home.’

and for the first time that night, he nodded without hesitation, lacing his fingers through yours as you walked away from the echoes of the match, into the quiet comfort of each other.

joao felix getting w neymars ex is the weirdest link up ever?? bro i’d never expect joao to b w sm1 that neymar got with in 2014.. as long as he’s happy!! gabriella lenzi, you better not be the new magui

hiya!! could you write something for jamal Musiala about how you two being out and about in london, it’s a relatively warm spring day, you’re wearing a midi red polka dot dress, some docs paired with your miu miu ivy bag with cute charms on and jamal was wearing green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic tshirt, his go to black Nike cortez and a surpreme cap. You’re both wearing your matching jewelry (rosequartz bracelet) . His arm never leaves your waist, you’re snuggled into each other while walking and laughing about silly stuff your talking about or seeing on the street. You then go in for a kiss but his cap is in the way so he puts it on backwards, looking even more handsome, something about that backward cap is doing something to you, you quite frankly can’t stop staring and kissing him. in the middle of one kiss you’re getting interrupted by fans who want to take a picture, kindly accepting their request. You both have swollen and red lips from kissing and the most love sick smiles on your faces. Paparazzi and the internet goes crazy over you two.

Thank you :)

❦ - london days.

summary:: req says enough

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: idek what to say atp bro but it’s a cute concept i love it & also idk what happened but this didn’t save so this is rushed now

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the sun was shining brightly in london, a soft warmth filling the air as you strolled down the busy streets, hand in hand with jamal. it was one of those rare spring days where the warmth made everything feel light and easy. you couldn’t have asked for a better day.

you were both in your element, laughing, joking around, and just enjoying each other’s company. your red midi polka dot dress flowed gently around your legs as you walked, paired with your docs that added a little edge to your otherwise soft look. your miu miu ivy bag with its cute little charms swung lightly with every step. jamal, as always, looked effortlessly good. he was wearing his green baggy carhartt cargos, a black graphic t-shirt, and his usual black nike cortez. his supreme cap sat snugly on his head, completing the look.

but what made it all better was the way his arm never left your waist, how close he kept you, the way he pulled you into him like it was second nature. it was easy, familiar, like the most natural thing in the world.

‘you know,’ jamal said, a laugh in his voice, ‘i swear that guy just tried to sell me a “limited edition” air max for 500 pounds. i told him they weren’t even real’

you burst out laughing at the way he imitated the vendor, shaking your head. ‘you’re too nice, jamal. if i were you, i would’ve asked for a discount’

‘hey,’ he grinned, pulling you a little closer, ‘i’ve got a reputation to keep up. wouldn’t want to look too gullible’

you snorted, ‘right, right, so instead, you’re just gullible in a different way, got it’

he nudged you with his shoulder, his smile still wide. he made everything feel easy, like nothing in the world could go wrong as long as you were together.

as you turned a corner, the moment felt perfect. the streets of london were busy, but none of it really mattered. you were so wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world just faded into the background.

without thinking, you reached up to kiss him, but his cap got in the way, pressing against your forehead. he laughed, pulling back just enough to flip it backwards in one quick motion.

and something about that made you stop.

he somehow looked even better like this. the way the cap sat on his head, the effortless confidence in the way he adjusted it, your heart skipped a beat.

without thinking, you kissed him again, your hands finding their way to his face as he smiled against your lips. he kissed you back just as eagerly, his hands resting on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.

but then, just as you were completely lost in him, voices interrupted the moment.

‘excuse me, could we take a picture with you two?’

you pulled away, cheeks warm, lips slightly swollen. jamal looked at you, his expression just as dazed as yours, before turning to the fans with a grin.

‘of course’

they quickly snapped a few pictures, giggling and thanking you both. you tried to compose yourself, smoothing down your dress, though you could still feel the ghost of jamal’s lips on yours.

‘thanks for being so nice,’ one of them said, smiling as they walked away.

as soon as they were gone, you looked up at jamal. his lips were still a little red from kissing you, and his cheeks had a faint flush. he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

‘you okay?’ you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

he grinned, eyes soft. ‘yeah. just… getting used to this whole public couple thing’

you laughed, but you both knew it was true. the internet and paparazzi had already caught onto you two, and the pictures were probably spreading like wildfire. people loved the way you two looked together, how natural and real it seemed.

but none of that mattered. all that mattered was the way he was still holding onto you, how he wasn’t letting go.

you kept walking, still laughing, still holding each other close. the spring day had just gotten a whole lot better.

hi hello! do you write for kieran tierney? if you don’t feel free to ignore this. but if you do can i please request a one shot where they’re talking about the fact that kieran’s moving to celtic at the end of the season and if they’re at a place in their relationship where the reader would move with him and it’s all angsty? hurt/comfort maybe? have a great day!

❦ - moving on.

summary:: moving on is hard, especially when you’re expected to pick everything up and move. not everything goes to plan and life is the best example of that.

warnings:: i don’t think so…

writers notes:: never did i expect to be writing for him but ykw heck yeah 😍. anyways i love writing angst it’s my element i fear, others may disagree but i love it sm

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

the apartment felt quieter than usual. the soft hum of the city outside and the distant buzz of your phone were the only sounds that kept you grounded as you stared out of the window. it had been a long day, and all you wanted was some peace. but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

kieran’s voice broke through the silence, though it was quieter than usual, almost uncertain. ‘i think i’m really going to go for it. celtic. end of the season.’

the words hung in the air, thick with unspoken tension.

you didn’t turn to face him immediately, afraid that if you did, you’d betray the way your stomach had twisted in response. you felt the air grow heavy with the weight of his decision. he hadn’t exactly asked you what you thought, but you didn’t need him to. you both knew what this meant.

celtic was his home. he’d always spoken of them fondly, of the pride in representing the club that had raised him, that had seen him grow into the man he was today. and now, after everything, after all the time apart, after the struggles, the ups and downs, it was finally happening.

the move.

your heart ached at the thought.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. ‘it’s... it’s a good opportunity, kieran. for you.’

it sounded almost dismissive, even to your own ears, but you couldn’t make yourself say anything else. because the truth was, a part of you was afraid. afraid that this was the moment that everything would change. that maybe you weren’t ready to let go of what you had here. or that, perhaps, you weren’t ready to follow him into this new chapter of his life.

kieran didn’t respond right away, and you finally turned to face him. he was sitting at the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on his phone. his shoulders were tense, but his face, his face was the same as always. the face that had smiled at you in countless photos, that had comforted you when things felt rough, that had been the one constant in your life for so long.

but now, it was a mask. a mask you weren’t sure you could break through.

‘you don’t seem happy,’ he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

you took a shaky breath, the lump in your throat growing with every second. ‘of course i’m happy for you. it’s celtic. it’s everything you’ve worked for. but... but what about us?’

the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. you didn’t want to be selfish, but you couldn’t help it. his dream was becoming a reality, and you... you didn’t know where you fit into that anymore.

‘what about us, kieran?’ you repeated, your voice trembling. ‘are we at a place where... where i should follow you? can we keep doing this long-distance thing? or is this the end?’

the question hung between you, thick with all the unsaid words that had built up over the past few months. you’d both been busy, so busy, between his commitments, your own, that the time together had become sparse. and with this looming decision, with the inevitability of his move to celtic, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

kieran was silent, his gaze falling away from yours. ‘i didn’t want to put that pressure on you,’ he said quietly. ‘i don’t want to make you feel like you have to come with me.’

‘but i’m not sure i’m ready to leave everything behind,’ you confessed, your voice cracking. ‘i’ve built my life here, kieran. my job. my friends. i can’t just pick everything up and go.’

his eyes softened, and he stood up from the counter, walking over to you slowly, carefully. when he reached you, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the few stray tears that had fallen.

‘i didn’t mean to make you feel that way,’ he murmured. ‘i’m not asking you to leave everything behind for me. but you’re part of my future. that’s not something i can just... walk away from.’

you blinked up at him, trying to process the gravity of his words. you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that you could make it work, that love could conquer distance, could conquer time.

but it wasn’t that easy. not when you were being pulled in different directions, your own future uncertain.

‘and what if this doesn’t work out, kieran?’ you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. ‘what if you go to celtic, and things change? what if we change?’

he closed his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of your question was too much to bear. then, with a slow breath, he replied, ‘i don’t have the answers. i don’t know what the future holds. all i know is that i want you in it. i want us in it. but i can’t ask you to follow me if you’re not ready.’

the silence that followed was deafening. you wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to reassure him that you didn’t want to lose him. but you also needed to be sure of yourself. you needed to know that you were making the right choice, for both of you.

‘kieran...’ you started, but the words caught in your throat.

he kissed your forehead gently, and you melted into him, allowing yourself the brief comfort of his touch. ‘whatever you decide, i’m not going anywhere,’ he whispered. ‘but i’m here for the long haul, and i need you to know that.’

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of his words, even if they didn’t fully ease the uncertainty in your heart. for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to breathe in the scent of him, to just be with him. you weren’t ready to make a decision, but you didn’t want to let go of what you had, either.

the future was uncertain, but in this moment, you had each other. and maybe that was enough to keep you going.

for now.

he’s so me

14/03/24 (📷 Mark Sutton)

All I Want - (João Felix) Sweetmas

Warnings- FLUFF, Christmas love, puppy lovers only

“João! Wake up!” You yelled, jumping up and down on yours and your boyfriend’s shared bed. “Huh? Wha-“ Before he could finish his sentence, you kissed him. “Morning, baby. It’s Christmas.” He smiled and nodded “I have something for you… I think you’ll like.” Your smile widens to a grin, jumping off of the bed, “Lead the way!” He chuckled and got out of bed, throwing a shirt on and fixing his hair. “Let’s go.” He grabbed your hand, leading you through the silent house into the living room. “See that box?” There was a big box with a big, red bow. “Yeah?” He smiled and nudged you towards the tree, “Open it.” You giggled and walked over to the tree, looking back at João before crouching down and slowly unwrapping the bow around the box. You slowly lifted the lid, revealing a golden, small figure. It jumped out of the box, that’s when you realized- “IT’S A PUPPY!” He laughed and nodded, smiling so bright and sitting on the couch. “João! You got me a puppy?!” You exclaimed, petting the puppy on your lap. “A golden retriever.” He said, sitting on the floor next to you, “You like it?” You nodded in response, kissing his cheek. “Your too sweet.” He chuckled and brushed some hair out of your face, “Only for you, amore.” He sighed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.” You said, holding his face. “I love you too. You make Christmas so much more better.” And that was THE best Christmas that you two ever had. You, João, and your new baby.

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

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

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

franco.

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

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

you try not to stare.

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

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

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

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

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

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

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

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

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

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

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

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

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

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

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

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

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

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

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

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

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

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

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

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

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

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart does something stupid.

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

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

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

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

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

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

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

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

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

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

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

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

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

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

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

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

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

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

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

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

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

your heart stumbles.

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

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

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

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

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

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

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

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

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

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

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

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

you say yes.

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

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

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

‘you asked,’ you reply.

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

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

but he’s soft. all soft.

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

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

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

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

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

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

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

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

just before you open the door, he stops.

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

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

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

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

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

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

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

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

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

the next morning, he texts you:

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

you type:

‘same. weird.’

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

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

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

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

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

it’s raining.

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

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

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

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

and you do.

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

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

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

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

you look at him. really look.

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

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

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

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

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

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

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

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

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

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

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

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

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

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

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

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

Hi love I’m the one who requested the angsty Hector fic I just wanna say 🎤

YOU DID SO GOOD OMG THE ANGST??? YOU SHOULD WRITE MORE ANGST YOU WRITE IT SO PERFECTLY IT HIT IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES LIKE I LITERALLY CRIED WTH THE WHOLE FIC WAS SO GOOD LIKE I JUST KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE GOOD SO I KEPT DELAYING IT ITS LIKE 2AM I JUST FINISHED READING IT AND IVE HAD SUCH A TERRIBLE DAY THIS MADE IT A HUNDRED TIMES BETTER THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH FOR TAKING TIME FROM YOUR DAY TO BLESS US WITH THESE FICS 🗣💕💕

PLS WRITE MORE ANGST 😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

PLEASE I LOVE YOU AND IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST I FEEL SO BAD! and idk if it’s actually as good as people are saying it is bc i actually haven’t proof read or actually read it yet so i guess ill do that now😭 but thank you so much for requesting it bc istg it really broadened my mind on writing and w all the angst parts i was listening to frank ocean nd u also requested this when i was watching baby religiously so ofc i had to reference that a bit!

i thought i'd spam you with reqs so you have like a lot of ideas to write idk

please delete them if they're bad or shitty or you just don't want to write them <33

no pressure at all pooks take all the time you need to write the ones you want <3

i'll try to make them like more on the fluffy side rather than romantic since i know youre fasting and it's ramadan for you !!

BYE I LOVE YOU IM HAPPY TO WRITE ALL OF THEM IVE BEEN SO OUTA IDEAS ATP AND I NEEDED THEM DONT DIE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE UOU