JULES DOESNT EVEN REMEMBER WHY 💔

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whichever moot this is i love you forever (there’s not many options bc i have like 5 moots)

wtaf actually no just meme pics 🫳

do you look at them..? @barcapix

kali uchis’ “your teeth in my neck” is my new obsession. the song isn’t lyrically phenomenal but the way she can make a song about wealth inequality so sultry is amazing 😭 her voice is so smooth and raspy and the way she pronounces her vowels is so satisfying 😻

hi guys! i js wanted to come and apologise for how long these fics are taking me and ik people can get impatient! and this is also the reason why i keep my fics around 1k solely bc im a gcse student who also needs to do revision. brainstorming, revising, drafting and writing fics is all very time consuming and for some 20+ requests aren’t a lot but for me it is! i love and appreciate every request i get because yall can be so creative! but especially with the longer ones they can take a lot longer. i’m ofc not gonna close my requests but i’m putting it out here that mine will take a lot longer! xx

HELLLO TIS I

okay so no.1 the theme ate SO HARD??? im drooling and i am on my KNEES

anyhow here to req a joao fic !!

so like what if reader is a ballerina or figure skater and she obvs comes home with like cuts and bruises from training and comps and stuff and basically joao makes thee BIGGEST fuss over it

like it can be treated with time but no. that man will bring a whole medic bag to treat the TINIEST cut and will overreact to every single injury she has !

this is so shitty but i requested this to someone else *uhm uhm evelina uhm uhm* and she has NOT written it yet so i'm frolicking here

you can ignore this if you want bc the idea is shit but yeah idk i js wanted to req something

BYEYEYYE HAVE A GOOD DAY / NIGHT AND ILYYYYY <33

MWAHHHH

❦ - delicate.

summary:: well there isn’t much to summarise bro 💔.

warnings:: none?

writers notes:: first and foremost i love this req and im tryna make my fics longer but idk how to drag it on yk? but i think if somewhat figured it out! ALSO EVE I MANAGED TO DO IT BEFORE YOU 👅👅👅👅👅👅👅.

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

joão swore he almost had a heart attack the first time he saw them.

the tiny, angry red cuts littering your feet and ankles, some fading into soft pink scars, others fresh from your last competition. you had always told him ballet was tough, that it wasn’t just twirling around in pretty dresses, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched over his lap, casually scrolling through your phone like nothing was wrong. meanwhile, he was staring at your feet like they had personally offended him.

‘what the hell is this?’ he blurted out, his fingers hovering over one particularly deep cut near your ankle.

you glanced at him, unfazed. ‘what’s what?’

‘this,’ he practically whined, gesturing wildly at your feet. ‘why do you look like you’ve been fighting for your life?’

you snorted. ‘joão, relax. they’re just cuts from my pointe shoes. they’ll heal.’

‘heal?’ he repeated, horrified. ‘how long have they been like this?’

you shrugged. ‘i don’t know. it happens all the time.’

his jaw dropped. ‘all the time?’

you sighed, putting your phone down. ‘it’s normal, babe. every ballerina deals with it. my feet just need time to recover between competitions.’

joão wasn’t hearing any of it.

‘this isn’t normal. this is self-destruction. why didn’t you tell me?’

‘because i knew you’d react like this.’

he scoffed. ‘of course i’m reacting like this! you’re literally injured and acting like it’s nothing.’

you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch. ‘joão, they’re fine. it’s not like i broke something. they’ll be healed in a few days.’

but he was already shaking his head, carefully lifting your foot to examine it closer.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he muttered, brows furrowed in concern.

‘what would you have done?’ you teased. ‘wrap me in bubble wrap?’

he didn’t answer, which told you exactly what you needed to know.

you laughed, cupping his cheek. ‘you’re ridiculous, you know that?’

‘you’re the ridiculous one,’ he shot back, still frowning at your feet. ‘how can you just ignore pain like this?’

‘because i have to. it comes with the sport.’

he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

‘so what, you just suffer in silence?’

you bit your lip. ‘i wouldn’t call it suffering. it’s just part of the process. like how you play with bruises or minor sprains sometimes.’

joão blinked, then scowled. ‘not the same thing.’

‘it’s literally the same thing.’

he huffed, still clearly displeased.

‘okay, but do you at least take care of them? like, properly?’

you hesitated for half a second, and that was all the answer he needed.

‘you don’t, do you?’ he accused.

‘joão—’

‘unbelievable.’

before you could stop him, he was already up, marching toward the bathroom.

you sighed, knowing exactly what was coming.

he returned moments later with a first-aid kit, a determined look on his face.

‘babe, really?’ you groaned.

‘yes, really. you clearly need someone to take care of you since you won’t do it yourself.’

you rolled your eyes but let him take your foot in his hands. he was surprisingly gentle, his fingers light as he dabbed at the cuts with antiseptic wipes.

he paused when you flinched, looking up at you with wide eyes.

‘does it hurt?’

‘not really.’

his glare told you he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue. instead, he carefully applied ointment to each cut, blowing softly on your skin like it would somehow make the sting go away.

you watched him work, your chest tightening.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you whispered.

he glanced up, his gaze softening. ‘i want to.’

you smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

‘you’re a little dramatic, you know that?’

he snorted. ‘yeah? well, you’re a little reckless, so i guess we balance each other out.’

you laughed, letting him finish bandaging your feet.

when he was done, he pressed a kiss to each foot before meeting your gaze.

‘no more competitions for a while, right?’

‘not for a few weeks.’

‘good. because i’m making sure you actually rest this time.’

‘yes, doctor félix,’ you teased.

he smirked. ‘damn right.’

he pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he needed to keep you safe from the world.

you sighed, relaxing into him.

maybe having someone fuss over you wasn’t so bad after all.

but joão wasn’t done.

for the next two days, he treated you like you were made of glass. he wouldn’t let you walk barefoot around the apartment, claiming the floors were ‘too rough.’ he brought you socks, ice packs, pillows, anything he thought might help, even though you insisted you were fine.

‘joão, i can literally walk perfectly. i danced on these feet last week,’ you reminded him.

he scoffed, tossing you another pillow. ‘yeah, and look where that got you.’

‘oh my god.’

he followed you around, ready to catch you at the slightest sign of discomfort. if you so much as winced, he was at your side in seconds.

‘are you okay?’

‘joão, i stubbed my toe.’

‘that’s how it starts!’

you groaned, shoving his face away.

but as much as he annoyed you, you knew it came from love.

late at night, when you were curled up in bed, he would trace the scars on your ankles with gentle fingers, his touch barely there.

‘you work so hard,’ he murmured against your skin.

‘so do you.’

‘yeah, but i don’t bleed for it.’

you turned in his arms, brushing your lips over his.

‘this is what i love, joão, and i know you hate seeing me hurt, but it’s part of what makes me strong.’

he exhaled, pulling you even closer. ‘i just wish i could take the pain for you.’

you smiled, tucking your head under his chin.

‘you already do, in your own way.’

he kissed the top of your head, whispering, ‘always.’

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry the weight alone.

and i will fuck you, like nothing matters; part three

pairing: gavi x ofc

summary: gavi wants coral to be his. she's scared of their fame.

taglist: @htpssgavi ; @joaosnovia

masterlist // series masterlist // I do not take requests

Gavi took a deep breath. He had faced guys twice as tall as him in World Cup matches, shot penalties and done post game interviews for the Cahmpions League, but he had never been as nervous as he was parking by Coral's apartment.

He ahd been coming so often that when he crossed paths with one of thr neighbours she just smiled and greeted him by his name, adding a small comment about how Coral had been playing guitar all day long, and how delightful her new song was.

Gavi shared that fondness, he wanted to listen to Coral's music for hours every day for the rest of his life. He took the stairs jumping two steps at a time, his usual impatience getting the best of him. By the front door of her apartment, the soft chords of a song Gavi had not heard yet could be heard.

He felt a little guilty, ringing and interrupting the music, but seeing Coral standing on the other side of hte door, an oversized Barça hoodie on, her hair mess and her lips pink from biting them, like she always did, when she was concentrating; made it all worthy.

Gavi almost fell to his knee and asked for her hand in marriage, but her suspected that such proposal would not be accepted before he fixed their current situation.

"Gavi! I'm so busy right now, I don't think it's the best time to fuck right now..."

Right, that.

Their relationship was based around sex, the friends with benefits label falling over them easily after his ugly break up with Sandra. With a shattered heart and ego, the internet creating demeaning memes at lightning speed and everything he thought to be true crumling around him, Gavi had found shelter between Coral's arms.

But that shelter was not enough, not when he needed to really be hers.

For a long time he had been the heartbroken boy fucking his anger away. Now he was a smitten man, ready to ask Coral to be his girlfriend.

"I didn't come for that," he explained. Her eyes fell to the bouquet of flowers he was holding.

"Oh."

"Yeah." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do you think I can come in?"

"Yeah."

Coral stepped aside so he could walk inside. The apartmwnt was a mess, the way it became when she was composing a new song.

That was what had her so busy.

"Coral..." he started, handing her the flowers. "I'm pretty sure you can already figure out where this is going..." he laughed nervously. "I like you, Coral. A lot. It think you could tell already."

"I had a small idea..." she was already smiling brightly, her cheeks pink. It gave him confidence on what he was about to ask.

"Would you be my girlfirend, please?"

Coral didn't reply. She threw her arms around Gavi's shoulders, and kissed him hard.

"I love you," she said ending the kiss, with his hands around her waist. "But I really need to finish this song before inspiration leaves."

Gavi smiled. If there was soemthing he knew, it was that big emotions triggered her creativity and she would be writing for hours.

But now he could watch her work, like the lovee sick puppy that he was.

Hiiiii I’ve been waiting sooo long to request from u I looooove ur writing <33

So hear me out luv a Hector Fort long fic (please make it long 8k+) where he’s a popular student and reader is like an unpopular middle class student and she’s kinda bullied for that but Hector starts dating her cuz he loves her but all his friends and people in school start calling her a gold digger and Hector keeps defending her so one day he gifts her a necklace like an expensive one right but she needs money cuz her mom needs meds and her fam aren’t doing well but somehow the popular girl in school that has a crush on Hector finds out and tells him so he thinks reader is actually with him for the money so he fights with her and break up and then later he finds out that she suffered and he regret it when he found her working 2 part time and became always absent in school and got sent to principal cuz she sleeps in class cuz she’s tired from working and make the endings fluffy but please make it angsty like I wanna cry I wanna bawl my lil eyes and heart out (I’m a sucker for angst I litt read sad books all the time)

If you are able to write this I thank u in advance darling <33

Have a great weekend and stay healthy and safe 💙

❦ - unpopular.

summary:: the req.

warnings:: angst but yk that.

writers note:: this took way too long to write but tbf this got requested ages ago and i’d write like once a week but it’s lowkey fun! also there’s a baby ref in this

w/c:: 9k

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

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montserrat academy smelled like money.

not literally, but in that subtle way: clean, polished hallways that echoed too much, perfume lingering in the air even after people had left, crisp uniforms that never seemed to wrinkle, shoes that didn’t scuff, phones without a single crack.

you didn’t belong there. not really.

you’d gotten in on merit, a scholarship, long nights of studying, beating the odds kind of story. your mom cried when you got the acceptance email. your little brother made a paper crown and called you ‘genius queen’ for a week.

but being in didn’t mean being part of.

you sat alone a lot. not because you were a loner, but because lunch tables filled up fast with people who didn’t look twice at you. your clothes weren’t trendy, your shoes were always the same beat-up pair of sneakers, and your accent still carried bits of the neighborhood you came from.

and the others… they noticed.

they didn’t push you or laugh in your face or throw your books across the floor like in those dramatic high school movies. no, it was quieter than that.

it was looking through you when you spoke in class. it was changing the subject when you joined the conversation. it was the way camila once complimented your thrifted bag, and everyone laughed like she’d told a joke.

you weren’t hated. just forgotten. misplaced. tolerated.

but you didn’t come to be liked.

you came to escape.

from the thin walls of your apartment, where you could hear your mom coughing through the night. from the grocery lists that had more crossed-out items than bought ones. from the part-time job you worked after school and on weekends, where your uniform smelled like espresso and burnt toast.

you told yourself that montserrat academy was a ladder.

get good grades. get out. get a future.

so you kept your head down. kept your notebooks full. tuned out the whispers.

until him.

héctor fort didn’t exist in your world. not really. he was the kind of student who was the school. son of someone important. name whispered like legacy. always surrounded. always laughing. not in a loud, obnoxious way, but in that warm, boy next door in a netflix teen show kind of way.

he played football, well. people wore his number on hoodies, not because they were on the team, but because he was the team. he was in all the sports day photos. he was in the group project that won nationals. he was even in the school tour pamphlet they handed to new families.

and he was everywhere.

in the mornings, leaning against his locker. during lunch, surrounded by people who hung on his every word. after class, headphones around his neck, bouncing a ball against his knee like he couldn’t sit still.

you noticed him because everyone did.

he noticed you, and that was the part you didn’t understand.

it started in october.

you were sitting behind the library, your favorite spot, shaded, quiet, full of soft rustling trees and the hum of faraway conversations you didn’t have to join. you liked being alone there. liked how the sun hit your notebook just right, how your soup thermos kept your hands warm.

you were rereading a chapter for literature class when footsteps crunched the leaves.

you didn’t look up right away. people didn’t usually come back here. but then you heard it, the unmistakable, too calm voice:

‘hey.’

you looked up.

héctor.

you blinked, then instinctively checked behind you, half-expecting him to be talking to someone else.

but there was no one.

just you.

‘is this spot taken?’ he asked, nodding toward the patch of grass near you.

you blinked again. ‘uh… no. it’s not.’

he sat. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

you waited for the joke. for someone to pop out with a camera. you waited to wake up.

but he didn’t say anything else. just pulled out a book, your book, actually. same edition, same dog-eared corner you had in yours. and opened it to where the next chapter started.

silence settled.

you told yourself not to read into it. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe he just liked the quiet too.

the next day, he was there again.

and the next.

by friday, he nodded at you like it was a routine. you didn’t even question it anymore. just shifted your bag to give him space and went back to your reading.

you still didn’t talk much. sometimes he’d point out a line in the book and mumble something about it being clever. sometimes you’d make a quiet joke and he’d laugh softly, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

it wasn’t flirtation. not yet.

it was something else. something slower. something quieter.

and you didn’t understand it. didn’t know why he was choosing this spot when he had all the tables in the courtyard waiting for him. why he started borrowing your highlighters and returning them with smiley faces drawn on the caps. why he lingered a little longer after the bell rang.

but you didn’t ask.

because it felt… safe. and safe wasn’t something you had very often.

one wednesday, he showed up with two drinks.

‘one’s for you,’ he said, handing you a plastic cup with condensation beading down the sides.

you took it cautiously. ‘what is it?’

‘iced cinnamon oat latte,’ he said. ‘the guy at your café said it’s your usual.’

you stared at him.

he just shrugged, a little too casual. ‘i went there this morning. wanted to see if the pastries were as good as you always say.’

you blinked.

‘you went out of your way just to—’

‘they’re mid, by the way,’ he interrupted, sipping his own drink. ‘but this? this is good.’

you smiled, small and stunned.

and he smiled back, like he’d been waiting to see it.

you didn’t know what this was yet.

it wasn’t a relationship. wasn’t friendship, even, not quite.

but it was something. something soft. something beginning.

and even if you didn’t trust it yet… you were starting to hope.

you didn’t plan on him becoming part of your routine.

he just did.

it was subtle at first. like sunlight stretching across your bedroom floor, there before you really noticed, warm before you could name it. héctor started showing up behind the library before you even got there. sometimes with coffee. sometimes with an apple he’d take one bite out of, then forget to finish. always with that calm sort of presence. that ease you envied.

you learned little things.

he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. he had messy handwriting and made his t’s too tall. he hated when people wasted food. he played with his necklace when he was bored. he smiled with one side of his mouth first, like the other had to catch up.

and he asked questions.

soft, curious ones.

‘what do you wanna do after this?’

you looked up from your book.

‘after school, i mean,’ he added. ‘like… life. what’s the plan?’

you shrugged. ‘go to uni. get a job. something stable. maybe sleep more than four hours a night.’

he laughed gently, but his eyes softened.

‘you don’t wanna dream big?’

you looked down. fiddled with the corner of your page.

‘i think surviving is dreaming big,’ you murmured.

he didn’t say anything right away. just nodded, slow, like he got it.

your classmates started noticing before you did.

you could feel the shift. the way people’s eyes followed you when you passed. the way conversations dropped to whispers when you walked into a room. it was subtle, at first. but it grew.

you weren’t invisible anymore. and it didn’t feel like a compliment.

camila started looking at you like you were a stray cat tracking dirt across her marble floors.

‘you and fort,’ she said one day in the hallway, voice sticky sweet, ‘are you, like… a thing?’

you blinked. ‘we’re friends.’

she laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.

‘right. just checking.’

you didn’t tell héctor. you didn’t want him to feel like he had to defend you. not when things were still… undefined. you didn’t know what he called you when you weren’t around.

but then he asked.

‘do people ever give you shit?’ he said one afternoon, tossing a leaf in the air and catching it.

you paused. ‘what?’

‘about us hanging out.’

you looked at him, quiet.

he sighed. ‘it’s just, someone said something earlier and it pissed me off. they don’t know you. they don’t get it.’

‘get what?’

he blinked. caught your gaze. then shrugged.

‘you’re cool,’ he said simply. ‘you’re real. i like being around you.’

your heart did something weird and fluttery. you hated how easily he made you want to believe him.

‘well,’ you said, trying to keep your voice level, ‘i’m not really used to people liking me for… anything, so. that’s new.’

he looked at you for a second longer than he needed to.

‘they’re idiots if they don’t.’

your shifts at the café got longer. your manager asked you to cover weekends, and you said yes because your mom’s meds weren’t getting cheaper, and you didn’t know how to say no to survival.

you were tired all the time. your eyes stung during lectures. your back hurt from being on your feet too long.

and one friday, héctor showed up at closing.

you didn’t even look up at first, you were too busy restocking sugar packets.

‘hey, stranger.’

your head jerked toward the voice.

him. in sweats. hair damp from practice. a little out of breath like he’d rushed.

‘what are you doing here?’ you asked, blinking.

‘thought you might need company.’

you blinked again. ‘i… i have to mop.’

he grinned. ‘i’m great with mops.’

he wasn’t. he nearly slipped. twice. but he stayed. made you laugh. and when you locked up at the end of the night, he walked you to the bus stop, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders brushing yours.

‘thanks,’ you said softly.

he looked at you.

‘for what?’

‘showing up.’

he didn’t answer.

just nudged your hand with his, like he was asking a question without saying anything.

you let your pinky hook around his.

not quite holding hands. not quite nothing, either.

the next week, he brought you a sandwich during break.

‘you didn’t eat at lunch,’ he said, not even looking up from his phone.

you blinked. ‘how’d you—?’

‘you had your sad soup face,’ he shrugged. ‘figured you were tired of leftovers.’

you stared at the sandwich. it had your favorite cheese. the kind you only got when it was on sale.

‘you didn’t have to—’

‘i know,’ he said, finally glancing at you. ‘but i wanted to.’

and that… that was the beginning of the end.

because wanting you?

that was dangerous.

and you were starting to want him back.

by the time december rolled around, everything felt different.

you still woke up early. still packed your brother’s lunch. still worked weekends, still walked to school half-asleep with a thermos in your hands and a hoodie pulled over your ears.

but something in your chest had shifted.

it was the way you checked your phone before anything else, looking for a good morning text with a dumb emoji that never matched the mood. it was the way you stopped bringing soup because héctor always showed up with something better. it was the way his hoodie lived in your backpack now, just in case you needed it.

it was the way he’d learned to say your name like it was something soft.

and the way you stopped flinching when he did.

it was slow, so slow. every step of whatever this was. like he was giving you space to run, even though you didn’t want to anymore.

you hadn’t called it love yet.

not out loud.

but sometimes, when he leaned his head on your shoulder behind the library, when he handed you a drink with your name spelled right and a heart beside it, when he tied your shoe without saying a word and then stood up like it was nothing, you thought, maybe.

maybe.

the first time he asked you to come over, you panicked a little.

‘just a few of us,’ he said, fiddling with the ring on his finger. ‘nothing fancy. we’re watching the barça match. i’ll save you a spot on the couch.’

you hesitated.

you knew what his friends thought of you. knew the names they didn’t say to your face. knew you weren’t the kind of girl they invited to anything.

but you showed up anyway.

your jeans were the only pair you owned without a hole. your hair was in its neatest braid. you brought a bag of chips that cost more than they should have, but you didn’t want to come empty handed.

his house was everything you expected, clean, modern, a little too big for a family of three. his mom smiled politely, offered you juice. his friends barely looked at you.

except camila.

she smiled with teeth. leaned too close to héctor. made comments that danced on the edge of insults, just sharp enough to sting.

but héctor didn’t let you drift.

he kept his knee pressed against yours. he explained the game when you looked confused. he handed you a blanket when it got cold, and when the match ended and his friends were getting ready to leave, he pulled you aside.

‘you okay?’ he asked.

you nodded. too quickly.

he watched you.

‘you don’t have to pretend around me,’ he said, voice low. ‘i notice things too.’

you bit your lip.

‘i’m fine,’ you said. ‘they just… think you could do better.’

his brows pinched, jaw tightening.

‘no,’ he said. ‘they don’t get you. big difference.’

you looked up at him.

he stepped closer.

‘you’re the best part of my day,’ he whispered. ‘they can choke on their opinions.’

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. it burst out, messy and real.

and he looked so pleased with himself.

christmas break was colder than usual.

you worked doubles. your mom’s medicine ran out and insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. the heating in your apartment went out for three days, and you slept in the same bed as your brother, layered in sweatshirts.

you didn’t tell héctor. he was spending the holidays in menorca with his cousins, sending you photos of the beach and dumb santa filters on his face.

you didn’t want to ruin that with your problems.

he texted you the night before new year’s.

hey. can i see you tomorrow? like… actually see you?

you said yes, of course.

he showed up at your building at noon, wearing that navy jacket you liked, a bag in one hand and a little grin tugging at his mouth.

you met him outside, hair still damp from your rushed shower, shoes half-tied.

‘i brought snacks,’ he said. ‘and something else.’

you raised a brow.

he held up a small velvet box.

your stomach dipped.

‘don’t freak out,’ he said quickly. ‘it’s not, like, a thing. i just saw it and thought of you. that’s all.’

you opened it slowly.

inside was a necklace, gold, delicate, a tiny star on a fine chain. barely there, but still beautiful. something that caught the light just right.

‘héctor…’

‘you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘i just… you look up at the sky so much, and it made me think of you. that’s dumb, right?’

you shook your head.

‘no. it’s not dumb.’

he reached out, slow.

‘can i…?’

you nodded.

he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. you held your breath.

and when he stepped back to look at you, his eyes softened.

‘perfect,’ he said.

you didn’t cry. not then.

but something shifted inside you. something quiet and seismic.

you wore the necklace every day after that.

under your uniform, tucked into your sweater at work. even to sleep. you touched it when you were anxious. let your fingers find the tiny star when you missed him.

you felt… seen.

loved, maybe.

but nothing good stays untouched for long.

camila noticed the necklace two days after school started again.

‘cute,’ she said, twisting her lip. ‘real gold?’

you didn’t answer.

she smirked.

‘must be nice, having a boyfriend with a black card. you’re really playing the long game, huh?’

you froze.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

she shrugged. ‘just saying. not everyone gets a promotion from barista to princess without putting in work.’

you walked away before your hands could shake.

you didn’t tell héctor.

again.

but you should’ve.

because you were about to need him more than ever.

the first time he said it, i love you, it wasn’t planned.

no candles, no build-up, no carefully picked moment.

it was raining. you were curled up on his bed, wearing his hoodie, socks mismatched. you were both tired, he had practice all morning, you had two shifts back to back, and your eyes kept fluttering shut during the movie playing in the background.

he turned toward you, head on his arm, eyes soft.

you didn’t even notice right away. not until he said it again, this time quieter. slower. more certain.

‘i love you.’

your breath caught.

he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t take it back or explain it away. just watched you with that look. the one that made you feel like the world wasn’t spinning so fast. like maybe you could stop running and rest for a minute.

you didn’t say it back right away.

you blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and whispered, ‘why?’

he smiled, small, real, almost sad.

‘because you still show up, even when everything tries to tell you not to.’

your throat burned. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. your eyes stung.

and when you finally said it, i love you too, his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

he didn’t kiss you. not right away.

he just pulled you closer. held you like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time.

like he knew you hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

after that, things got easier.

he called you more. waited outside the café when your shifts ran late. sent you dumb tiktoks and notes in your locker. sometimes he showed up at your place with dinner, stuff your mom liked, stuff your brother would actually eat.

he never made it a big deal.

never made you feel small about needing help.

never made it feel like charity.

just said, you’d do the same for me.

you fell for him a little more every time he said stuff like that.

he called you star girl sometimes. said the necklace made you look like you were born under something magic.

you rolled your eyes at him, but you never took it off.

not even once.

one night, after your shift, you both sat in his car in the parking lot. your feet were killing you, your voice was hoarse, and your eyes burned from staying open too long.

he reached over, took your hand.

‘come away with me this summer,’ he said.

you blinked. ‘what?’

‘somewhere quiet. no pressure. no uniforms. just you and me and maybe the sea.’

you laughed. ‘and how would we afford that?’

‘i’ll figure it out.’

‘you say that like it’s easy.’

he looked at you, serious now. steady.

‘i say it like i want you there. and when i want something, i make it happen.’

you looked away.

no one had ever made room for you like that before. not in plans. not in futures.

you squeezed his hand.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘just you and me and the sea.’

he smiled, wide. like you’d given him the world.

you started dreaming again.

tiny dreams.

less tired. more time. a quiet apartment with bookshelves. a degree with your name on it. dinner that wasn’t just toast or soup. a boy with brown eyes and soft hands waiting at the end of every day.

you let yourself believe you could have that.

you let yourself feel safe.

loved.

wanted.

just long enough for it to really hurt when it was taken away.

you noticed the change before it happened.

it started in the eyes. the way he looked at you.

less soft. less sure. less warm.

just for a moment, maybe two. but you felt it. deep, right between your ribs.

you brushed it off at first.

maybe he was tired. school, training, everything piling up. you told yourself you were being paranoid. that old voice in your head, the one that used to whisper they don’t stay, was lying again.

but then the texts got shorter. the calls went unanswered. the lunch spot behind the library sat cold and empty for three days in a row.

and then… the whispering started again.

it was different this time. sharper. louder. less subtle.

someone knew.

you caught it in the hallway.

‘heard she sold the necklace.’

‘seriously? damn. i knew she was in it for the money.’

‘poor thing’s gotta pay rent somehow, i guess.’

your blood ran cold.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t ask. didn’t confront.

you waited for him to bring it up.

but he didn’t.

not until the fourth night you waited for him after your shift, in the freezing cold, with your fingers numb and your chest tight and your backpack too heavy.

his car pulled up late.

he didn’t smile when he saw you.

you slid into the seat, heart already racing. he didn’t kiss your cheek. he didn’t say hey, star girl.

he just drove. quiet. stiff. hands clenched on the wheel.

you didn’t ask until you were two turns away from your apartment.

‘did something happen?’

he didn’t answer right away.

just exhaled. sharp. through his nose.

and then—

‘i heard you pawned it.’

your heart dropped.

‘what?’

‘the necklace.’

your voice cracked. ‘what are you talking about?’

‘camila said—’

‘camila?’ you cut in. ‘you’re listening to camila?’

his jaw tightened. ‘she showed me. a friend of hers works at the shop downtown. said you came in last week.’

your mouth went dry.

you opened it. closed it. opened it again.

because it was true. you had gone. but not to sell it. not to pawn it. you wanted to ask if they could hold it. just in case. if things got worse.

you didn’t do it. you couldn’t.

you still wore it. every day. tucked under your uniform. over your heart.

‘i didn’t sell it,’ you whispered.

he didn’t look at you.

‘you really think i’m using you?’ your voice trembled.

‘i don’t know what to think right now.’

‘you think i’m a gold digger?’

he winced at the word, but didn’t deny it.

you blinked, tears building fast, throat closing.

‘i helped pay for my mom’s medication last week,’ you said, voice barely a breath. ‘we ran out. the insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. she was in pain, héctor. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to fix it. because i know you’re not a bank. you’re a person. the person i—’

your voice cracked.

‘—i loved.’

his face crumpled for half a second. but he turned away. again.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he said quietly.

you laughed, a bitter, wet sound.

‘and you should’ve believed me.’

silence.

you looked out the window. hand pressed flat over your chest, where the necklace sat, cold against your skin.

‘pull over,’ you whispered.

‘what?’

‘pull over.’

he did.

you stepped out. shut the door before he could say anything else. started walking.

and he let you go.

you didn’t cry when you got home.

you didn’t cry when your mom asked if you were okay, or when your brother offered you the last piece of bread from dinner.

you cried when you got to your room. when you closed the door. when you sat on your floor, in the dark, and finally unclasped the necklace and held it in your hand.

it glowed a little in the streetlight from your window.

a gift. a promise. a lie?

you didn’t know anymore.

you stopped answering his texts.

you couldn’t look at him in the halls. didn’t go behind the library. didn’t walk past his locker.

he tried. once.

‘can we talk?’

you shook your head. didn’t trust your voice.

he nodded. stepped back.

but he looked wrecked.

and you hated that part of you still wanted to run to him. still wanted him to take it back. to say he was sorry. to say i believe you.

but he didn’t.

not yet.

so you stayed quiet.

and tired.

and alone.

the first night he didn’t come to find you, you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t text you. didn’t leave a voicemail. didn’t even try to look for you after school. you spent the whole night trying to tell yourself it wasn’t personal. maybe he needed time. maybe he was too ashamed. maybe he just didn’t know what to say.

but the silence echoed. louder than any apology. louder than anything he could’ve said.

you tried to distract yourself. books, homework, scrolling through your phone as if it could ease the ache gnawing at your chest. but nothing worked. nothing could fill the space he left behind.

you found yourself wishing you’d never said it. wishing you could take back those words, the ones that shatteredeverything. wishing that maybe, just maybe, if you had just stayed quiet, everything would’ve been okay.

but you couldn’t go back.

and in the silence, it became real. this wasn’t a misunderstanding. this wasn’t just a fight. this was something bigger. something that felt too heavy to carry.

the pain, his pain, stuck to your ribs. suffocated you. not from the words he said, but from the words he didn’t say.

he never even tried to fix it.

the next day, he didn’t try to find you. he didn’t come to your locker, didn’t sit beside you in class. he walked past you in the hallway, his gaze drifting somewhere else, anywhere but toward you.

it stung. the cold indifference. the way he looked like you weren’t even worth a glance anymore. like you were just another girl he used to care about.

he didn't apologize. he didn’t even see you.

he just, walked away.

and you hated yourself for still feeling something.

you tried to keep your distance. tried to push him out of your thoughts. out of your heart. but no matter how many times you told yourself you were better off, you couldn’t shake the image of his eyes. the way they softened when they looked at you. the way he’d whispered “i love you” like he’d meant it.

but that was before.

now, all you had were the remnants of the promises he’d made.

the necklace. the plans. the quiet moments. the love you thought you had.

and it hurt. oh god, it hurt more than you thought anything could.

you kept walking. kept working. kept pretending that it was okay, that you were okay. but every step felt like a betrayal of the love you had given him. the love you’d believed in.

that night, after another shift, you barely made it home before your mom noticed.

‘you look terrible,’ she said. ‘how’s your day?’

you didn’t answer right away. just slid off your jacket and put it on the chair. sat down at the kitchen table.

‘work’s fine,’ you said, your voice shaking despite the effort to sound normal. ‘it’s fine.’

but she wasn’t fooled.

she sat across from you, her eyes narrowing. ‘you know you can talk to me, right?’

you nodded. but the words were stuck in your throat. the words that needed to come out wouldn’t.

because they weren’t just about a fight.

it was about everything.

you stayed quiet. stared down at the table, where the unfinished bowl of soup from earlier sat cold.

‘does he love you, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft, gentle. like she already knew.

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. does he?

you thought you knew the answer.

you thought he did.

but now? it felt like that love had been a fragile illusion.

‘i don’t know,’ you whispered, voice breaking. ‘i really thought he did, mom. i really did.’

the next day, he still didn’t talk to you.

but she did.

camila. the girl who had spread the rumors. the one who’d whispered about you being a gold digger. the one who had poisoned his mind with lies.

she smiled at you like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been the one to rip the love you had apart with her venomous words.

‘hey,’ she said sweetly, leaning against the lockers like she owned the space. ‘still hanging around him? thought you’d know by now. boys like him don’t stay with girls like you. they never do.’

you didn’t respond. couldn’t.

your stomach twisted, but you didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn’t turn around. you didn’t let her win.

by the time the final bell rang, the weight of the day crushed down on you. the world felt like it was closing in. your chest ached with every breath, your heart heavy, suffocating in the grief you couldn’t shake.

when you got to your locker to grab your things, you found something unexpected.

a small envelope, tucked into the corner of your books.

your hands shook as you opened it. and there, inside, was a note.

it wasn’t from him.

it wasn’t even signed.

just words, scrawled quickly. desperate.

he's sorry. he doesn’t know what to do. he needs you.

you stared at it. your vision blurred, and the sting in your chest deepened.

he needs you. but where was he? where was his apology? where was the man who promised to never leave?

he hadn’t even fought for you.

and the truth cut deeper than anything else.

he was still the same. still too afraid to face the mess he’d made. too scared to fix what was broken between you.

he had let you walk away. had let her win. let her voice drown out his love for you.

you couldn’t stay anymore.

not for him. not for this.

you folded the note carefully and shoved it into your bag. you walked out of the school, the weight of everything pressing on your chest, and didn’t look back.

that night, after another endless shift, you found him waiting for you. he was standing at the end of the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. eyes wide, searching.

you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t.

and when you walked past him, you heard his voice crack.

‘i love you.’

you didn’t turn around. didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking.

because love wasn’t enough anymore.

he didn’t sleep that night. couldn’t.

his phone was on his desk, buzzing with texts from friends, but he didn’t care. nothing mattered except the silence between you two. that’s all he could hear now. nothing but the deafening silence, thick with everything he hadn’t said, everything he should’ve said.

he thought about all the moments he could’ve fixed it. all the times he could’ve walked up to you and held you, apologized, and told you the truth. but no. he let his pride get in the way. let his insecurities shape his decisions. and now he was paying for it.

he sat up in his bed, staring at the wall, replaying the fight. hearing your voice break when you said, “you think I’m a gold digger?” like a knife to his chest. he couldn’t shake it.

he thought about all the things you must’ve gone through. about your mom needing medicine. about the struggles you were fighting on your own. and he had been too selfish to see it. too blind to see that you weren’t asking for anything from him except love.

the doorbell rang early in the morning, dragging him from his thoughts. he wasn’t surprised when he saw his mom standing there, her arms crossed, her face full of concern.

‘you look like shit,’ she said bluntly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. ‘what happened?’

‘i fucked up,’ he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. ‘big time.’

‘what’d you do?’ she asked, her voice softer now.

he shook his head, not sure he could explain it. not sure he could tell her that he’d messed up the best thing in his life, that he’d pushed away the only person who had ever really cared about him, really cared.

‘i hurt her,’ he said simply. ‘i hurt the one person who was real with me. and now she’s gone.’

his mom sighed and sat down beside him. ‘i don’t know what you want me to say, Hector. but you can’t change it unless you show her you care. unless you prove that you’re willing to fight for her. words are cheap, son. you’ve got to show her you mean it.’

he swallowed thickly. ‘but what if she doesn’t want to fight for me anymore? what if she’s just... done with me?’

‘then you’ll live with that,’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘but you’ve got to at least try. she’s not a game you can just walk away from. she’s a person. and you’ve got to show her that you see her as that. if you love her, you’ll fight for her, no matter what.’

he nodded, but the weight of the reality set in. could he fix this? or had he already ruined everything beyond repair?

the next day at school was just as empty as the night before. he walked through the halls, trying to act like everything was fine. but every glance, every whisper, reminded him of the mess he’d made. his friends were quieter around him, his old group of popular kids acting like nothing had happened. but he knew better. they weren’t the ones he was fighting for.

he wasn’t even sure they cared about him anymore.

and then he saw you.

you weren’t looking at him. you never looked at him anymore.

you were with your friends, sitting by the lockers, talking quietly, like you didn’t even notice him across the hallway. and he couldn’t help but watch. watch how you smiled at them. how easy it seemed for you to laugh with them, like the last few weeks hadn’t existed. like you hadn’t been in love with him.

but he knew. He knew the truth, and it ate him alive.

his phone buzzed in his pocket. a text from his best friend: ‘yo, you good?’

he didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

he knew if he answered, it’d be a lie. because he wasn’t good. he wasn’t even close to good.

he was broken. and it was all his fault.

you had to leave early that day. your mom had called, telling you she couldn’t pick up her prescription, and the pharmacy wouldn’t hold it any longer.

you didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere near that school, near him. near the empty spaces where his words used to live.

the walk home was long. longer than it usually felt. with each step, you felt the weight of everything. everything that had happened, everything that was falling apart, and everything you had tried so hard to hold together.

and as you walked, you realized something: you missed him. you missed him so fucking much.

you hated yourself for it. because he hadn’t fought for you. he hadn’t cared enough to look for you. to hold you and make it right.

and yet, you were still here, still aching for him, still wondering if things could go back to the way they were before everything fell apart.

the whole situation made you sick. it made you feel small and foolish.

you needed to take a breath. you needed to move on. but every time you told yourself that, you could still feel him. feel his presence, his touch, his words, lingering like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

he didn’t wait long after you left.

he caught up with you on your way home. when you saw him in the distance, you stopped in your tracks, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the same pang in your chest as he got closer.

he was panting, out of breath, his eyes wild like he’d been searching for you for hours.

‘please... talk to me,’ he begged. ‘i can’t just let you walk away from me. not like this.’

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. ‘you already did. you walked away first.’

his hand reached for yours, but you pulled back, too hurt to let him in.

‘i didn’t mean it,’ he said, voice raw, desperate. ‘please. i’m so fucking sorry. you have no idea how much i regret listening to them. to camila... to everyone. i’ve been an idiot. i was scared, okay? i didn’t think someone like you would ever love someone like me. i thought—’

‘you thought what?’ you interrupted, voice trembling. ‘that i was just after your money? that i was just another girl who wanted a piece of your life?’

he winced at the accusation, guilt washing over his face.

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t think. i should’ve trusted you. but i was just so scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i was scared of losing everything, and i let that fear take over. i let it make me do things i’m not proud of.’

you stood there, feeling like you were holding onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

‘you shouldn’t have been scared,’ you whispered. ‘you should’ve trusted me.’

he nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. ‘i know. i was stupid. but please... please don’t walk away from me. i love you. and i can’t lose you.’

for the first time in days, you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, you felt the faintest trace of something, maybe hope. maybe, just maybe, he still meant it.

but for now, it wasn’t enough.

he didn’t text you after that night.

you didn’t text him either.

and the world stayed still for a while.

it wasn’t silence the way it had been before, cold and final. this was different. quieter, softer. like the space between two people holding their breath, unsure if they’re falling apart or falling back together.

you were tired. tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. tired of hoping, of second-guessing, of giving and not knowing what you’d get back.

you still showed up to school. you still worked both jobs. still helped your mom with everything she needed. still carried the weight of a life no one at school ever saw.

and he noticed.

he saw the way your uniform wrinkled more now, like you didn’t have time to care. he saw the dark circles under your eyes. saw the way you zoned out in class, like your body was there but your mind wasn’t. he saw all of it. and it killed him.

because he knew that pain. knew he had a part in it.

and even worse, he knew you wouldn’t let him help anymore.

it was a week after he’d found you on that street when you saw each other again. not just passing glances or accidental run ins. this time, it was real.

you were sitting in the back of the library, curled into a hoodie three sizes too big, your head in your arms, notebook half-filled with messy equations and tired handwriting.

you didn’t hear him approach.

‘you’re gonna burn out,’ he said quietly.

you looked up, blinking slowly. ‘already have.’

he sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. no drama. no begging. just silence and the low hum of pages turning around you.

‘i’m not here to fix anything,’ he said after a beat. ‘i know i don’t have the right. but i just wanted to sit with you. if you’ll let me.’

you didn’t answer right away.

you should’ve said no. told him to leave. told him that he lost his chance.

but the truth was, you missed him. and you were tired of pretending that you didn’t.

so you shrugged.

‘it’s a free country.’

and he smiled. just barely. just enough to let hope breathe again.

you didn’t talk much that afternoon. he watched you scribble notes. you watched him flip through a textbook he wasn’t really reading. every so often, your knees would bump under the table, and neither of you pulled away.

it was stupid how natural it still felt. how easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even with all the cracks between you.

but neither of you brought up the fight.

not yet.

it was too soon. the wound was still fresh. and you both knew that healing would take more than one soft moment in the library.

still... it was a start.

later that week, he found you in the cafeteria, sitting alone, a half eaten sandwich beside your notebook. your head was resting against your hand, eyes barely open.

he didn’t say anything. just slid into the seat beside you and offered his water bottle.

you took it without a word, too tired to argue, too drained to push him away again.

‘you’re not sleeping,’ he said gently.

you gave him a look. ‘gee, wonder why.’

he looked down, ashamed. ‘i deserve that.’

‘you deserve worse,’ you muttered, but your voice lacked the venom it once had.

he nodded. ‘i know.’

a pause.

and then, softly, too soft:

‘i don’t expect you to forgive me. not yet. maybe not ever. but i just want to show up. for you. however you’ll let me.’

you stared at him for a long moment. longer than you meant to.

‘you can sit,’ you said finally, nodding at the chair across from you. ‘but that’s all. don’t expect anything more.’

he nodded. and he stayed.

and just like that, he became part of your orbit again.

not your boyfriend. not your enemy. just… there.

he started walking you to your classes, just a few steps behind, never pushing. he offered you his jacket when it rained. he kept his distance when you needed space. and sometimes, he didn’t say anything at all.

but he was there.

and that meant something.

not everything. not yet. but something.

because you were still healing.

and healing doesn’t happen in grand gestures or perfect apologies.

sometimes, it’s just someone showing up. again and again. until the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

he knew he had no right to ask for more.

he was lucky you even let him sit beside you. lucky you didn’t spit his name like poison anymore. lucky you didn’t flinch when his hand brushed yours by accident.

he was still tiptoeing around your pain. still watching you fold into yourself every time the world got too loud. still noticing the little things, how you wore the same three hoodies on rotation, how you never touched the food in the cafeteria anymore, how your phone always had a message draft open but never sent.

you were hanging on by threads. and he hated that he used to be one of them, and then chose to cut himself loose.

so he didn’t push. he didn’t beg. he stayed in the quiet with you.

and he noticed things again. like how you never showed up to first period anymore. how you’d started asking to borrow pens because you kept forgetting your own. how your eyes glazed over in the middle of conversations, like your brain just... shut off sometimes.

he asked around, lowkey. your teachers were frustrated. your friends were worried. the front office said you’d been absent a lot.

he didn’t ask why. he already knew.

he figured it out when he passed by the corner store one night, walking home after practice, and saw you inside, half asleep behind the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes barely open. it was past ten.

his heart sank.

he stood there outside the glass door for a while, just watching you ring up a woman’s groceries, nodding politely, smiling weakly. it wasn’t your real smile. it was your i don’t have the energy to exist smile. and he felt like shit for knowing it.

when he finally came in, the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even look up.

‘i’m clocking out soon,’ you mumbled, automatically, voice tired and soft.

‘not here to shop,’ he said gently.

your head jerked up like you’d been shocked. and your eyes met his. and you just blinked, like your brain was short-circuiting.

‘why are you here,’ you asked, voice flat.

‘i was walking home,’ he said. ‘and saw you.’

you didn’t answer. just turned back to the register, scanned a pack of gum for a teenager with headphones in.

‘do you always work this late?’ he asked quietly.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t need to.

‘someone has to pay the bills.’

he nodded slowly, like the guilt in his stomach hadn’t just quadrupled.

‘i didn’t know.’

‘you didn’t ask,’ you said simply.

and that hurt worse than if you’d yelled.

when your shift ended, you didn’t expect him to still be there. but he was, leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, eyes soft.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you muttered, walking past him.

‘i know,’ he said, falling into step beside you. ‘but i want to.’

you sighed, too tired to argue. and so the two of you walked in silence. your backpack looked heavier than usual. maybe it was. maybe you were just too drained to hide it anymore.

he offered to carry it halfway through.

you said no.

but when your steps started to slow and you winced mid stride, he reached over and took it anyway.

you didn’t stop him.

the walk to your building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. just slow. heavy. like everything between you was still being rebuilt, brick by broken brick.

he paused at your doorstep, holding the bag out to you.

‘i meant it, you know,’ he said.

you looked up.

‘meant what.’

‘when i said i’d show up. no matter what.’

your fingers brushed his when you took the bag back. you didn’t pull away this time.

‘okay,’ you whispered.

just that.

but for him, it was enough to keep going.

because maybe this wasn’t the end. maybe you were still letting him in. inch by inch. breath by breath.

and if there was still space for him, no matter how small, he was gonna stay.

every time.

until you believed he meant it. until you believed you were worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him love you again. this time without fear. without conditions. just love.

quiet, steady, and real.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep at school again.

you tried. really. but your eyes had started burning halfway through third period, and your head had gotten heavy, and the warmth of the classroom mixed with the low buzz of the teacher’s voice just… pulled you under. you didn’t even feel it happen.

you woke up to the principal’s voice.

he was standing over you, your name tight in his mouth, like he’d said it more than once. your classmates were staring. the room was too quiet. your face was warm with embarrassment, but your limbs were heavier than shame.

you mumbled an apology and tried to blink yourself back to life, but your head still felt like it was filled with fog. your teacher looked guilty. the principal looked frustrated. and you just felt small.

he asked you to come with him.

you didn’t say anything. you just stood.

you sat across from him in his office, hands in your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged down past your knuckles. you’d been here before. when your absences started stacking. when your grades slipped. when someone reported that you were always nodding off, always running late, always “not quite here.”

he didn’t yell. he wasn’t cruel. he just sighed.

‘this isn’t sustainable,’ he said gently. ‘you’re clearly overwhelmed. your teachers are worried. you’ve changed, and not in the way we like seeing.’

you nodded slowly, unable to argue. because it was true.

‘is everything okay at home?’ he asked.

you hesitated, then nodded again. even though the truth was, not really. but what could he do? what could anyone do?

‘i’m just tired,’ you whispered. ‘that’s all.’

his frown deepened.

you left with a warning and a pass to go lie down in the nurse’s office. you didn’t go. you just sat on the steps outside the building, elbows on your knees, forehead resting on your arms.

you didn’t cry.

not because it didn’t hurt.

but because you didn’t even have the energy to.

hector found you like that.

he was supposed to be at practice. he left early. said he had a stomach ache. he didn’t. he just had a feeling. a gut-wrenching, aching sort of feeling that he needed to find you.

he spotted you from across the quad, folded up into yourself, hair falling forward, body still.

his chest cracked open.

he crossed the space between you like it was instinct. like his legs moved before his brain could catch up.

he sat beside you without asking.

you didn’t look up.

‘i heard,’ he said softly. ‘what happened.’

your voice was barely there. ‘did the whole school?’

‘doesn’t matter.’

you exhaled shakily, but didn’t speak.

‘you wanna talk about it?’

you shook your head.

so he didn’t push.

you sat like that for a while, him beside you, you folded in two, the sky slowly shifting above.

then, out of nowhere, you whispered, ‘i’m trying.’

he turned to you.

‘i know.’

‘i’m trying so hard, hector. and i just… i’m so tired of trying. and still getting nowhere.’

his throat tightened. ‘i see you. i see all of it.’

‘no you don’t,’ you said, finally looking at him, eyes rimmed red. ‘no one does. they all think i’m lazy, or ungrateful, or not trying hard enough. but i’m doing everything. i’m keeping my mom alive, and i’m paying rent, and i’m working every shift they give me, and i’m still failing everything and—’

your voice cracked.

‘—and i don’t know what else to do.’

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’d wanted to since the first moment he messed up.

and you didn’t fight it.

you just sank into him, into the warmth of him, into the steady heartbeat under his hoodie. and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall.

‘i’m so sorry,’ he whispered into your hair. ‘for every second you had to feel alone.’

you didn’t say anything.

but your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve like you didn’t want to let go.

he didn’t leave your side after that.

not for a second.

he helped you with your homework that night. sat beside you on the floor of your living room while your mom rested in the next room. he watched you write your essays, helped quiz you for math, brought you coffee even though you told him not to.

he didn’t care.

he was there.

he texted you in the morning to make sure you woke up. met you outside your first class with breakfast in a paper bag. walked you to work after school. waited outside until your shift ended.

you kept telling him you didn’t need saving.

he kept telling you he wasn’t trying to save you. he just wanted to love you right this time.

and little by little, piece by piece, you started to believe him.

because love doesn’t always come in grand gestures or perfect words.

sometimes it shows up late, with shaking hands and tired hearts.

sometimes it’s soft and quiet and steady.

sometimes, it’s him, carrying your backpack without asking, walking you home in the rain, whispering that he’s proud of you when you finish your homework even though your eyes won’t stay open.

sometimes, love is just showing up.

and this time, he was here to stay.

Hiii, would you write for Trent Alexander-Arnold?

❦ - headlines.

summary:: a day in the life w your boyfriend.

warnings:: made up match (just to make my uncle happy?)

writers note:: idk if this is a question or request but here you are!! also magui blocked me on tiktok and i’m honoured bc her ego can’t match her sensitivity! 🤍

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

trent was always the first to wake up. it didn’t matter if it was a matchday, an off day, or the rare chance to sleep in, his body was wired to rise with the sun. most mornings, he would slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake you, and head downstairs to start his routine. but today, he stayed.

he turned onto his side, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. his arm draped over your waist, fingers brushing against the warm skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. outside, the faint sounds of liverpool waking up drifted through the window, but inside, everything was still.

‘why’re you so close,’ you huffed out a laugh, barely opening your eyes as you reached back, fingers carding through his curls. ‘we’ve been together for years, trent. thought the novelty would’ve worn off by now.’

‘never.’ his voice was low, a little rough, and you shivered when he pressed a lazy kiss just beneath your jaw.

it would have been easy to stay in bed all day, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, but trent had training. you knew the exact moment he realized it too, his sigh was deep, reluctant, his grip tightening like he could somehow hold onto time if he held onto you tight enough.

‘you don’t have to go,’ you said, knowing he absolutely did.

‘don’t tempt me,’ he groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. ‘slott would kill me.’

‘probably,’ you admitted, stretching your legs before sitting up. ‘but imagine the headlines. “trent alexander-arnold skips training for a lie-in with partner.”’

‘bit long for a headline, that.’

‘fine. “trent’s in love.”’

his eyes softened as he looked at you, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile. ‘always.’

you never got tired of watching him play.

there was something about the way he moved, the way he saw the game differently from everyone else. the way he took risks that no one else would, because he knew he could make them work.

tonight was a big game. liverpool vs. man city. the kind of fixture that made your stomach twist with nerves, even though you weren’t the one stepping onto the pitch.

you sat in the stands, surrounded by familiar faces, players’ families, friends, all of you bound together by the same tension. trent had looked good in warm-ups, sharp and focused, but you knew him well enough to sense the pressure sitting on his shoulders.

when the match started, city came out strong, pressing high, forcing liverpool deep. trent was everywhere, tracking back, winning duels, threading passes between the lines. then, in the 32nd minute, it happened.

the ball broke loose in midfield. trent took a touch, lifted his head, and saw the opening before anyone else did. a perfect switch across the pitch, straight to salah’s feet. in a flash, salah was inside the box, cutting onto his left foot and curling it past the keeper.

anfield erupted.

trent didn’t celebrate much. he never did unless it was something special. but his eyes found you in the stands, and when you blew him a kiss, he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

the game wore on. city equalized, then took the lead, but liverpool kept fighting. in the 85th minute, a free kick was awarded just outside the box.

your heart pounded as trent stepped up.

he took a breath, then struck the ball cleanly. it curled over the wall, dipped at the last second, and nestled into the bottom corner.

he turned on his heel, arms outstretched, letting the roar of anfield wash over him.

and then, without thinking, he ran straight to you.

he didn’t even hesitate, just climbed over the barriers and reached for you, his hands on either side of your face as he kissed you, hard, ignoring the cameras and the cheers and everything else.

when he pulled away, breathless, he grinned. ‘told you i’d make the headline.’

Hii do u write for Marc Bernal or the Fernandez cousins (Toni and Guille)?

I love ur writing btw <3

❦ - the best kind of trip.

summary:: it’s 2am after a long day and you and marc decide to go on a random road trip.

warnings:: uhhhh none?

writers note:: okay so this isn’t really a req but i wanted to write for him to i took the opportunity!

the city buzzed outside, alive with distant laughter and the hum of traffic, but inside the apartment, it was warm and quiet. the kind of quiet that settled between two people who didn’t need to fill the space with words. you sat curled up on the couch, wearing one of marc’s oversized sweatshirts, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you scrolled through your phone aimlessly. the clock on the wall ticked past midnight, and the space beside you felt too empty. he had texted hours ago: team dinner, i won’t be too late, but as the minutes stretched into hours, your mind began to wander.

it was after one when the front door finally creaked open. you looked up, relief washing over you as marc stepped in, hair tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold. his smile was soft, a little sheepish.

‘hey,’ he said, voice low. ‘sorry i’m late. things ran longer than i thought.’

‘i figured,’ you murmured, unfolding from your spot. you crossed the room and slipped your arms around his waist, holding him close. he smelled like the night air and the faint hint of his cologne, something familiar that eased the tension in your chest.

‘missed you,’ marc whispered into your hair, arms tightening around you.

‘missed you too,’ you replied, voice muffled against his jacket. pulling back slightly, you reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. ‘you eat? i kept some food warm.’

he shook his head. ‘wasn’t really hungry. just wanted to come home.’

you smiled, fingers lingering against his cheek. ‘come on, let’s sit. you look exhausted.’

he let you lead him to the couch, flopping down beside you with a sigh. without thinking, you pulled a blanket over both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. he leaned into you, head resting on your shoulder as your fingers found his hair, combing through the dark strands.

‘these are my favorite nights,’ marc murmured, voice barely above a whisper. ‘just you and me. no noise, no cameras.’

‘mine too,’ you said softly. the television played something neither of you was really watching, casting flickering lights across the room. outside, rain began to patter against the windows, the soft sound filling the spaces between your breaths.

a comfortable silence stretched between you until marc spoke again. ‘wanna do something spontaneous?’

you glanced down at him, brow raised. ‘like what?’

he grinned, boyish and bright despite how tired he looked. ‘let’s go somewhere. right now. just get in the car and drive.’

you laughed, shaking your head. ‘marc, it’s two in the morning.’

‘that’s what makes it fun,’ he argued, sitting up. his eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘we don’t have to go far. just... get out of the city for a bit. clear our heads. what do you say?’

you hesitated, glancing toward the window where rain continued to fall in gentle waves. the idea was ridiculous, and yet, there was something irresistible about it. about him. ‘you’re impossible,’ you muttered.

‘but you love me,’ he shot back, grinning

‘unfortunately,’ you teased, grabbing your keys from the counter. ‘fine. but you’re driving.’

‘deal.’

twenty minutes later, you were in his car, the heater blasting as you sped down near-empty streets. marc rolled the windows down despite the chill, letting the rain-scented air whip through the cabin. you leaned back, watching city lights blur into streaks of gold and red. his hand found yours on the center console, fingers intertwining naturally.

‘this is crazy,’ you said over the music, wind tugging at your hair.

‘the best kind of crazy,’ marc replied, glancing at you with a grin that made your heart stutter.

you drove aimlessly, laughing as marc sang (badly) to old songs, stopping at a 24-hour gas station to load up on snacks. you found yourself giggling at the absurdity of it all, standing in a fluorescent-lit aisle at three a.m., marc holding up a bag of gummy bears like it was the greatest discovery of the night.

‘essentials,’ he said seriously

‘you’re a menace,’ you replied, tossing a bag of chips into the basket.

back in the car, you drove until the city fell away, replaced by dark roads winding through fields and trees. eventually, marc pulled over at a secluded spot overlooking a stretch of water, the surface rippling under the rain. he killed the engine, and for a moment, the world felt suspended, just the two of you in a bubble of quiet.

he got out first, grabbing the blanket from the backseat. ‘come on,’ he urged. you hesitated before following, shivering as the cool air bit at your skin. marc wrapped the blanket around both of you, pulling you close. your head rested against his shoulder as you looked out at the water, the sky beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn.

‘worth it?’ he asked softly.

you glanced at him, taking in the messy hair, the tired but content eyes. ‘yeah,’ you whispered. ‘worth it.’

he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. ‘told you.’

the sky bloomed with colors, pinks, oranges, soft purples, reflecting off the water in shimmering waves. marc held you tighter, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you in the moment. for a while, neither of you spoke, content to watch the world wake up around you.

‘this,’ he murmured after a long stretch of silence, ‘this is what life should be. just... us. no schedules. no pressure. just being.’

you nodded, heart swelling with affection. ‘i could stay like this forever.’

he chuckled. ‘careful, i might hold you to that.’

you tilted your head up to kiss him, slow and soft, the kind of kiss that spoke of quiet promises and late-night adventures. when you pulled back, his smile was lazy and content. ‘love you,’ he said.

‘love you more,’ you replied automatically.

‘impossible,’ he shot back, grinning.

the sun crested the horizon, bathing everything in warm, golden light. marc’s arms stayed wrapped around you as the world stretched out before you, vast and full of possibility. and in that moment, with his heartbeat steady under your palm and the future wide open, you believed that maybe, just maybe, you could stay there forever.

i am screaming crying throwing up to the point words can’t describe my emotions in english bro. oh dios mío, esto me ha hecho querer sollozar porque necesito un hombre así, en realidad has elevado mis estándare 🤯 i’ve never seen a fic this good im flabbergasted you’ve made my day.

joao fic with he stays sober at a forge in italian club in milan, so reader can get drunk and he’s trying to take her home because she can’t walk straight but he’s struggling because he knows no italian at all (i also know your italian so thought this would be a good idea)😛

Milano & L'amore - João Felix

joao felix x fem!reader

sy: milan comes with its fun, but also its less appealing moments. tonight’s an example.

a/n: although i hate the abbreviation of the ‘mafia’ and even mentioning it i couldn’t think of anything else as a placeholder so💔 plus this is not proofread idk im tired so sozsoz for any mistakes ..

warnings: portuguese and italian and the use of alcohol

the bartender slides you another shot of tequila across the marble countertop, and you catch it surprisingly easy.

the club is a kaleidoscope of green and pink, the flashing lights sending you into a drunken void.

“another one?” your boyfriend, joão, comes up from behind. his aftershave is overwhelmingly strong, which makes you even more nauseous.

“yes, another one,” you mock, taking a swig.

the liquid burns down your throat, the addictive wave of alcohol scorching into your head. your slumped over the bar, barely sitting upright and the stool is nothing but a flimsy cushion underneath you.

“y/n, i think you’ve had enough for tonight,” joão tries to snatch the drink, but you slide it away.

“i decide when i have enough,” you counter, almost falling backwards but joão’s swift enough to catch you on time.

“really?” he scoffs. “your gonna play this game with me? you know this isn’t healthy.”

with a second gulp of your drink, you slam the glass down onto the table to look up at your sober boyfriend who looks merely amused.

“your always acting like this,” you lazily mumble. “always lecturing me at… parties.”

you mimic him whilst swaying your hands in the air. “no y/n you can’t drink this, don’t do that. come over here, don’t go there.”

joão looks at you with an jovial expression—in the way your still able to form a sentence despite the amount of churning alcohol pitting in your stomach.

“now,” you fist the glass up to his face. “stop being so boring and have some!”

his grin falters, now unimpressed. “i’ll pass.”

“we’re in milan joão!” you lazily squeak, pulling him down by his half unbuttoned shirt, faces now inches apart. “you need to have some fun.”

he pinches his nose. “yeah and you need gum.”

your smile is carefree, joyful. you sling your arms around the nape of his neck, littering sloppy kisses over his tanned skin.

“awh aren’t you the sweetest?” you mistake his comment for a compliment. “i’m so lucky to have you bebê waby.”

joão purses his lips, rolling up his sleeves. “c’mon, enough. we’re going home right now.”

as he tries to lift you up, you vividly protest.

“ey antonio,” you call to the bartender, using the first name that comes to mind. “don’t make him take me away! we’re friends, right?”

the bartender solely spares you a glance, continuing to pour drinks like he’s heard this exact situation play out a hundred times before.

before you can resist further, you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, swung over joão’s shoulder like a misbehaving child.

“joão! put me down this instant, traidor,” you yell, kicking your legs.

joão, clearly, has more strength than you will ever possess, when he doesn’t even phase at the wriggling your doing to try and escape.

“joão! estou faland—serious,” you babble. “this.. não é justo.”

any words that spring to mind, you voice, even if it was a mix of both english and portuguese. you still somewhat have a smidge of conscious left, and you use it to snatch a fresh glass of vodka from a passing waiters tray.

joão catches on, glancing up at you. “y/n, where did you get that from—no!”

your mid-sip, when he forcefully slides it from your grasp and tosses it into a nearby waste bin.

“what’s wine ever done to you?” you slur, poking him in the chest as he finally sets you back down outside the club.

“for starters, that wasn’t wine,” he corrects. “and second of all, it stole my girlfriend from me.”

your eyes widen dramatically. “you have a… girlfriend? oh, so when did you meet her, huh?” you gasp. “you’re using me.”

joão runs a hand down his face. “no, amor, i don’t have another girlfriend.”

there was in fact, no other girl, but obviously you had way too many to drink than he anticipated.

“hmm,” you squint at him like you’re trying to read his mind.

visibly stressed, he runs his fingers through his hair as he pulls out his phone for a taxi. whereas, your too busy playing with the buttons on his shirt to notice.

“joão,” you spout, reaching up to squish his face between your hands. “you’re so… handsome.”

he sighs deeply, gently prying your hands off. “obrigado, amor. now let me find us a taxi, okay?”

but before he can even look up from his phone, you gasp dramatically. “wait. wait. where’s my bag?”

joão’s heart nearly stops. “what?”

you twirl around in circles, patting your sides. “i had a bag. where’s my bag? joão, my bag—”

“anjo, hey look at me,” he says, firmly locking your shoulders down. “you didn’t bring a bag.”

“oh.” you pause. “are you sure?”

“yes, i’m sure,” he groans, raking a hand down his face, almost on the brink of having heart palpitation. “we have more important things to worry about. like getting you home.”

as if the universe is mocking him, not a single car is in sight. the street is presumably quiet, as it is almost 3am and most people are already inside the club or stumbling off in different directions.

the portuguese looks around desperately, until spotting a driver leaning against the streetlamp.

“come on,” he tugs on your hand. “let’s see if he’s free.”

but you, in your drunken wisdom, come to a halt and dig your heels into the ground. “wait.”

joão groans. again. “wait for what y/n?”

you nervously grab onto his wrist with your spare hand, and whisper (noisily). “what if he’s part of the mafia?”

he stares at you, blinking so fast that he hopes you’d snap back into reality. the mafia?

your confident in your conspiracy, staring back with all of the faint seriousness you had left. not that you had much tonight, though.

“y/n,” he erupts flatly. “he’s a taxi driver.”

you hiss. “that’s what they want you to think.”

joão closes his eyes for a long moment, breathing in so deeply like he’s summoning for any patience that god can offer him. then, his nostrils flare determinedly, and without another word, he drags you along.

the driver looks up as you approach “sì?”

“uh.. possiamo eh,” he gestures vaguely. “possiamo.. prendere un taxi?” (can.. we get a taxi?)

“dove vuoi andare?” the driver now turns to face you fully. (where do you want to go?)

joão blanks. well shit. did he really expect a local in milan to be fluent in english? luckily, he briefly understood what he’d said but knowing how to form a response was a new challenge.

“uh.. to our hotel?”

“quale hotel?” the driver gives him a pointed look. (which hotel?)

joão’s mouth opens and closes. of course he knows the name of the hotel. but right now? right now, when you were clinging to his arm and sputtering some nonsense about ‘dangerous italian gangsters’(?). his brain was fried.

for you, this is nothing short of in awe. “awh baby you sound so smart right now.”

“y/n, please.” he feigns.

the driver sighs, patience thinning. “l'indirizzo?”(the address?)

he quickly fumbles for his phone, trying to pull up the hotels location. his hands are full because of your constant swaying against him, always looking to grab his attention.

“joãoo,” you pout, pressing your cheek against his chest. “why is your heartbeat so fast? is it normally this fast?”

“um, no,” he presses his lips into a thin line, still struggling to get the location. you continue to ramble about something else, but ignores you.

after a painful few seconds, he finally grabs the address, showing it to the driver.

the man squints at the screen, then exhales heavily, like he’s deeply regretting taking this job tonight. but he nods. “va bene. venite.” (okay. come)

you snort. “look at you, my multilingual king.”

he helps you into the backseat, making sure you don’t hit your head in the process, before sliding in next to you.

when the engine starts, your head hits his shoulder, he cuddles you closer, his arm around your waist like a crafted seatbelt.

after a few beats of silence, you grumble. “you still love me after all this right?”

joão ushers a breathy laugh, resting his chin atop your head. “more than anything mi vida.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb