WEDDING

joao felix headcanons with a s/o who is very sassy and girly?

❦ - joao felix x sassy gf headcannons

summary:: you’re joaos sassy girlfriend (joao is apart of sassy man apocalypse so honestly it’s hard to beat him)

warnings:: none xx

writers note:: yet again another gorgeous request. where have i been you might be asking, and the answer to that is idek myself… guys i’m working on the fics / req it’s js gon take time also i had sm fun writing this bc i fear im sassy myself.! 🤍

ꨄ - first of all, the media EATS YOU GUYS UPPPP. tiktok and everything loves you two because you’re iconic?? and the outfits you two have are chefs kiss

ꨄ - your comebacks are insane, you’re always keeping him on his toes bc you could say something diabolical

exhibit a ; ‘score a hattrick and then MAYBE i’ll let you choose dinner’

ꨄ - he SPOILS you. dior, lv, you name it, if you even mention it, it’ll appear within 2-3 business days

ꨄ - following that up, flowers will appear at your doorstep after you finish work almost every day

(IM LIT RAISING MY OWN STANDARDS WTF)

ꨄ - oh you best believe that you’re dragging him to the nail salon w you. he protested against it at first but honestly he grew to like it.

ꨄ - he’s definitely jealous of the chicks sliding into your dms

‘you got a dm on insta’

‘oh check who it’s from’

‘who’s j2trappy, he looks like a child… why’s he asking if you’re single’

ꨄ - you’re supportive but absolutely extra, you need to be known as chelsea’s favourite wag. you rock up to matches in full glam, hair and makeup wearing joaos shirt but his number and name is bedazzled

ꨄ - he gives you princess treatment but only for you; he’ll open doors for you, carry your shopping bags and treats you as if you’re the queen.

ꨄ - you send him texts during matches so he can read them afterwards

‘why didn’t you pass it there… even i could’ve scored that goal??’

‘okay i’m sorry carino, i’ll pass to you next time’

ꨄ - whenever you’re out shopping you’ll drag him with you for him to give his honest opinion on everything but it always ends in ‘you look perfect in everything’

ꨄ - before big matches, you’ll give him pep talks but always include some sort of attitude

‘okay baby, if you win today, i’ll let you choose the next vacation spot.’

you always said it in a joking tone but he secretly took it to heart and he definitely worked harder

ꨄ - you have a range of nicknames for him, ranging from ‘golden boy’ to ‘my ronaldo in progress’

october is diabolical (i feel u bro 💔.)

anyways this definitely makes up for the obscure amount of time that took this is yummy it fed me good lord. está es una de las mejores cosas que he leído, DIOS MIOS tu talento está más allá de este mundo😍😍

Hey can you do one for Alejandro Balde where he's childhood best friends with reader. Some angst where other girls seem to come into the picture with his fame but he finds out how Y/N feels and reassures her!

✮ Don’t Shy Away - Alejandro Balde

alejandro balde x childhood bsf!fem!reader

sy: you become painfully overwhelmed by how your childhood bsf becomes swarmed and smitten with his own fangirls, as you become increasingly scared to admit your love.

a/n: this has terribly been in my drafts since oct and im actually ashamed for leaving it so long. i hope this makes up for it though <3

warnings: not really tbf.

the sky hung low with a suffocating greyness, and the wind nipped at your skin as you lingered on the outskirts of the pitch.

he’d asked you to be here.

you bounced on the heels of your feet, your fingers nervously etching across the leather purse in your grasp, scratching at the silk. you felt out of place, like you didn’t belong here, but then again—he asked you to be here.

the laughter reached you first, light and airy, floating across the pitch like the first taunt of a fight you couldn’t win.

there he was. alejandro—swirled up in the centre of a foreign crowd. instead, lavishing with women in head to toe with glam. their eyes sparkled with admiration, their voices like birdsongs when they exclaimed out his name.

that smile; the same one you knew like the back of your hand.

but him? he only basked in it. basked in the attention that he received, oblivious to the way it shredded you, piece by piece—leaving raw edges where your heart used to be whole.

the boy who once made pinky promises in the glow of streetlights, who used to scold you for crying over scraped knees and share his dreams with the kind of quiet fervor that only children possess—he felt so far away now.

fame clung to him like a second skin, and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to peel it back and find the alejandro you knew.

“this is so stupid,” you curse yourself silently, your eyes magnate down to your shoes. let this be the last time you let yourself be humiliated.

you fumble with the watch on your wrist, clocking down the minutes that had you foolishly stood here, waiting. twenty-nine minutes.

it was pointless in waiting here still; you weren’t going to watch the clock tick to thirty as your self respect was slipping.

“hey,” balde called out, jogging to catch up to you, “your leaving so soon?”

when you didn’t turn around, he stopped you in your tracks by kneading his hand into your shoulder blade to prevent you from moving.

“alright party pooper, what’s with the rush? do you not wanna talk to me tonight or something?” he laughed, that same, familiar sense of humour creeping through in every worse moment.

with his help, you spun round, and instantly locked with his eyes. “what’s with the pout chica? im here, now, talk to me.”

“what’s there to talk about ale?” you inquire, brushing his hand from your shoulder. “you asked me to be here.”

“and you came,” alejandro pointed out with a grin, as if that alone made it better. “so i was thinking, if you wanted to stop by tonight.”

the way he said it, like he hadn’t just spent the last half hour entertaining other women whilst you stood around like an idiot.

you wanted to say yes. you wanted to just forget the hurt and walk away with him. but after tonight, after feeling like an insignificant background character, you didn’t have the strength to go.

“i’m just not feeling it today,” you whispered, avoiding eye contact. “sorry.”

“c’mon,” giving you playful jabs to your arm, “what’s the gloom? when do you ever reject me?”

there was a pause of silence. before you sighed, locking your hands behind your back. “it’s nothing.”

his grin faltered, his eyes examining your body language. “nada, no, see—now i know your lying.”

“just let it go ale.” you said, stepping back.

his teasing dropped almost instantly. “your upset? mad? definitely not happy,” he muttered the final words under his breath. “nervous?”

you grumble, crossing your arms. “seriously?”

he tilted his head slightly, examining your face carefully. “are you on your perio—?”

“no balde!” you finally snapped, which made his head instantly recoil back up. you couldn’t keep the anger from breaking through, even if you tried. “are you not aware of what you’ve just done?”

his expression stays blank, and if anything, he looks more shocked at your outburst than he does concerned. and that, more than anything, made the fire in you burn hotter.

“so your gonna stand there, mute, and act oblivious?!” you eventually screech, having no regard for who was listening. “as you always do i expect.”

“qué i don’t—”

“no you never do. do you ale?” you spit, as he pushes you into a more secluded area underneath the tunnel; away from prying eyes.

“look,” he sighs softly, “can you explain it to me rather than screaming in my face?”

“you dont deserve my explanation,” you mutter, feeling the sting of tears at the brim of your eyes.

your throat burned, the fury dissolving, leaving only a raw, aching pain in its wake. if you didn’t leave now, it would only make you cry, and you couldn’t let that happen.

not after defending yourself so promptly.

you turned away again, ready to walk off before you lost whatever shred of dignity you had left. but ale was too quick, wrapping his hand around you wrist before you had the chance.

“why do you keep pushing me away?” ale’s voice dropped an octave low, almost shameful. “im just trying to help you.”

with a slow twist back around, you met his gaze with an expression he could quite decipher.

the conflict of hurt and frustration clear in your eyes made his grip tighten, feeling the desperation in his fingers.

“maybe i don’t need your help!” you exclaim, the contradicting nature between his words and actions making your eyes burn. “not now.”

“what do you mean not now?”

“isn’t it clear?” you shake your head, “can you really not see it… how i truly feel?”

“how you feel? no i didn’t even recog—”

you scoffed, pulling your wrist away. “exactly.”

balde exhaled through his nose, raking his fingers through his hair. “what’s this about huh? you could of just told me you didn’t wanna come over y/n.”

“its not that,” you huff, staring at your shoes.

“then what is it?” alejandro crouches slightly to look at your face, bringing his thumb under your chin.

when you didn’t reply to him, he carried on.

“please, whatever it is, i would rather us talk it out than you hating me for something i’ve done.” and this time, his tone carried sincerity.

not like before, where it was all light and jovial, like he thought everything was just a joke. but instead, something that said he truly cared.

biting the inside of your cheek, you tried to keep your composure. “you spent thirty minutes surrounded by them..”

the guilt in his eyes were immediate; the footballers shoulders dropped in regret.

“..and i stood there like a fool, waiting for you.”

you shuffled your feet against the concrete, finally bringing up the courage to look him in the eyes. “i didn’t have to come.”

“i know,” he replied—weak.

the words echoed in the tranquil air, closing in on you both as neither of you had the fight to say anything.

“i messed up,” he finally admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i should’ve been with you. i should’ve seen you standing there.”

almost as a reflex, you squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to savour this moment if it wasn’t real. you wanted to trust that it was real.

“hey, im being serious y/n. for the first time ever.”

your lips parted in protest, your heart racing at the proximity as he pressed his forehead against yours.

the closeness, the way his breath fanned over your skin—it was everything you’d spent years yearning for, but never daring to confront.

“trust me when i say this,” he pulled back, brushing a stray hair from your face, “i don’t want anybody else.”

you gulped thickly, his words playing strings with your heart. why did he wait for so long to say it?

“you say that now,” you whisper, defeated. “but what about tomorrow? or even weeks from now, when your surrounded by them?”

his brows furrowed, eyes dark with something unreadable. then, as if making a decision right then and there, he took your hands in his.

“there won’t be a next time,” he promised, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “i don’t care about them, nor the attention, the cameras, the noise—it all means nothing without you.”

the words hit you harder than you expected, knocking the air from your lungs.

“i love you, nena. not them. not this life. you.”

your lips trembled, he was already pulling you in, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“i know i don’t deserve an answer right now,” he murmured against your skin. “but let me prove it to you, okay?”

a shuddered breath left you, your fingers gripping the front of his jacket as if letting go would mean losing him again.

“¿me dejarás?” (will you let me?)

you didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, in this moment, you needed to let go of the fear. to let yourself trust him, fully.

“yeah,” you nodded, falling into the urge to rest your chin on his shoulder—your resolve finally melting.

balde chuckled, relaxedly. “that means you forgive me right?”

“i don’t know, your on a test for the rest of this week.” you hummed mockingly, although really, it wasn’t too bad of an idea.

alejandro shook his head disbelievingly, but deep down, he was just relieved that he had his best friend back, or even after this—something more than just friends.

the scrape on your knee had been healed, the wounds of the past, and he was the one who healed it.

Hi, make one where the reader is obsessed with Cubarsí's arms! (Maybe I have an obsession in his veins)

❦ - biteable.

warnings:: none

writers notes:: lovely arms xx

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you swear you don’t mean to stare.

but god, his arms.

it’s criminal, really, how the sleeves of his shirt stretch just enough when he reaches up. how the veins in his forearms stand out when he’s holding his phone. or tying his boots. or breathing.

you’ve become very aware of them lately.

to the point where it’s a problem.

especially because he’s your problem. your boyfriend. the one who always smells good and talks softly and has no idea what he’s doing to you when he’s just… existing.

except he does know.

because you’re not exactly subtle.

the other day, you were watching him fix something under the sink, shirt slightly pushed up, arm flexed, vein popping, and you actually dropped your phone.

you okay? he asked, barely holding back a grin.

yeah. fine. just gravity.

he nodded. then flexed again. happens to the best of us.

you glared. he smirked.

he’s been teasing you ever since.

‘you’re staring again,’ he murmurs one night, lying beside you on the couch, arm draped behind your head.

you pretend to play dumb. ‘am not.’

‘you’re drooling.’

‘shut up.’

he shifts slightly, just enough to make his forearm flex against your shoulder. your breath catches. he definitely feels it.

‘you’ve got a thing for them, don’t you?’ he asks, voice low.

you try not to look. you fail.

‘they’re distracting,’ you mutter.

pau leans closer, smirk barely there, eyes soft but wicked.

‘then stop looking, cariño.’

you don’t.

you never do.

and he doesn’t mind one bit.

what do yall think abt franco x alonso!reader

“ur so pretty i almost forgot you colonized my country”

that’s so franco smh

kenan yıldız headers

like/reblog if you save x

- requested!

RIGHT. this is absolute blasphemy where are the joao fics at?? I SWEAR TO GOD yall are driving me insane like fym i have to write them MYSELF? excuse me. SO. send me joao requests if you wish because on god i’ve had enough of this nonsense 🤬. i miss when there was new fics every week like some of them were absolutely peak writing like i think ab that kiss me thru the phone fic every day #bringthatback 💔. @barcapix i love u pls don’t ever die bc i need you to make more fics b4 this flu sends me to heaven ❤️. OKAY LOVE YOU GUYS

it’s been a hot minute since i read a joao fic i miss him wtf

𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤 - 𝙅𝙤𝙖𝙤 𝙁𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙭

summary: João always plays Call of Duty but his girlfriend is determined to distract him so she can ask him something

warnings: slightly suggestive

author's note: english is not my first language, divider from @sisterlucifergraphics

João's favourite videogame is Call of Duty, damn we are meant to be together

It was one of those peaceful days off, both me and joao were home with no commitments for the day, our plans were to just chill and relax. Yeah relax. If it wasn't for Joao's loud voice from the living room, he was playing Call of Duty and he was shouting various insults in portuguese. I went to the living room and i saw him laying on the couch with the controller in his hand and a concentrated look. Damn he didn't even see im standing right here, i had to do something.

I went up to our bedroom and changend into a pair of shorts and a white tanktop, then i went downstaris to the living room again. I walked straight to the couch and then i sat on Joao's lap.

He immediately paused playing, got up and wrapped his arms around my waist

"amor, what are you doing?" he asked giggling and putting his face in the croock of my neck

"nothing... i just wanna watch you play" i said with a small smirk

"fine" he sighed and laid again

He continued playing and i paid attention to what was happening on the screen, then i decided to distract him a bit: i started moving my hips just a little to create a bit of friction.

I saw him twitching his leg, my plan was already achieving the desired results.

After a while i moved again my hips, like i had to adjust myself on his lap. This time i heard him grunt a little but he continued playing. I had to get tough to distract him, so i started to gather my hair for a ponytail so my hips could move even more against his lap. This time actually worked, he immediately got up and stopped my movements with his hand on my waist

"are you trying to get me hard in the middle of the game?" he asked with a serious tone ù

"oh no, i just wanted to distract you a bit" i replied with an innocent smile

he lowered his face to level my neck and started kissing it "don't lie to me amor" he said with his tone low "tell me what you want"

i sighed and reluctantly pulled away a bit "i just want you to teach me how to play" i said flushing a bit, god why it was so embarassing?

Joao was taken back a bit "you acted like that just to ask me this?" he aksed

"yeah but... nevermind" i said as i tried to get up but his strong hold kept he sat

"no no amor, now you will stay here and i will teach you everything about ths ok?" he said in a sweet tone "don't be embarassed to ask me things like this again ok?"

Thus began the most boring 15 minutes of my entire life, don't get me wrong i like the game, but he was literally explaining me everything. When the explanation was over he told me to try and play. When the round was over he looked at the screen and stared at it in disbelief "amor, your score is just a few points below my usual and it's just your first round!"

I giggled, proud of myself "that's because is have a good teacher" and gave him a well deserved kiss

i js washed my hair so like what if you do a joao fic where he's home early from training and he comes back to see reader has washed her hair and it's all like curly and stuff

since his hair is more wavy-ish he's like surprised by the amount of care and products it takes to do to get the curls to be healthy and pretty yk?

so he's asking reader about the products and trying to add them to his hair and reading the labels on the packaging to get to understand what is the process

so yeah idk i hope this was understandable

(bonus is him being horrified by the amount of hair loss (totally not reflecting my own pain))

❦ - my girls curls.

summary:: what the req says

warnings:: none

writers note:: OMG I GET YOU BC TS WAS WHY I WAS BALD FOR AGES 💔. anyways i don’t have that issue anymore bc of a long long story from some bangladeshi hair salon… anyways yea… also i always write my fics b4 formatting so im doing this as i’m watching the portugal match and istg i keep on hallucinating that vitinha is joao.

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

joão wasn’t supposed to be home this early. training usually ran late, giving you plenty of time to go through your whole hair routine in peace. but today, for whatever reason, things had been cut short, which meant he was now stepping into your shared apartment much earlier than expected.

the first thing he noticed was the smell, sweet, floral, and slightly fruity. not your usual perfume, but something that smelled like you.

the second thing? your hair.

his eyes widened the second he saw you.

you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, your curls still slightly damp but fully defined, soft ringlets cascading down your shoulders. joão had seen your hair like this before, but something about catching you right after wash day made him stop and stare.

‘woah.’

you looked up, amused. ‘woah?’

he set his bag down, stepping closer. ‘your hair looks… really good.’

you smiled. ‘thanks, i just washed it.’

joão flopped down next to you, still looking at your curls with fascination. he had wavy hair himself, but nothing like this.

‘so, like…’ he gestured vaguely at your head. ‘how do you get it like that? because my hair just… exists.’

you laughed. ‘it takes work, joão. a lot of work.’

he frowned, suddenly curious. ‘what kind of work?’

you got up, motioning for him to follow. ‘come on, i’ll show you.’

he trailed behind you into the bathroom, eyes immediately going wide when he saw the chaos on the counter.

bottles. everywhere.

leave in conditioners, curl creams, mousses, oils, gels, things he had never seen before in his life.

‘…this is all for your hair?’

‘yep.’ you grabbed one bottle and handed it to him. ‘this is my leave-in.’

he turned it over, reading the label like it held the secrets of the universe. ‘intense hydration for dry, damaged curls…’ he looked at you. ‘is your hair dry and damaged?’

‘no, because i use that.’

he hummed, grabbing another bottle. ‘curl defining custard? custard? like the food?’

you snatched it from him before he could say something even dumber. ‘not the food, joão.’

he moved on, picking up a tiny bottle of oil. ‘and this?’

‘that’s my hair oil. it seals in moisture.’

he popped the cap off, sniffing it. ‘smells nice. can i try some?’

you raised a brow. ‘you wanna try my products?’

he shrugged. ‘i mean, my hair’s wavy, right? maybe it needs moisture too.’

you smirked, grabbing a small amount of leave in conditioner and running it through his hair. he stayed perfectly still, watching you in the mirror as you gently scrunched his strands.

‘see? it enhances your waves,’ you said, fluffing his hair.

joão blinked at his reflection. ‘oh. oh, this is nice.’

you laughed. ‘told you.’

just as you were about to grab the oil, you heard a dramatic gasp.

‘amor,’ he whispered, eyes locked on the sink. ‘you’re losing hair.’

you sighed, already knowing where this was going.

‘joão—’

‘there’s so much.’ he turned to you, horrified. ‘are you okay? are you sick? are you dying?’

‘oh my god.’ you dragged a hand down your face. ‘i shed hair, joão. it’s normal.’

he didn’t look convinced. ‘but this is a lot’

‘do you panic every time you see hair in your barber’s cape?’

he opened his mouth, then closed it.

you smirked. ‘yeah. exactly.’

joão sighed, shaking his head. ‘this is too much. all these steps, all these products, all this hair loss… how do you do this every wash day?’

you leaned against the counter, smiling. ‘because when it’s done, i look good.’

he grinned, reaching out to pull one of your curls, watching it bounce back into place.

‘you look really good,’ he admitted.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in. ‘i know.’

he laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. ‘can i borrow your leave in?’

‘absolutely not.’

he pouted but didn’t argue, still fascinated by your hair. his fingers twirled a curl around lazily, watching it spring back every time he let go.

‘so, how long does this all take?’

‘on a good day? an hour and a half.’

his jaw dropped. ‘an hour and a half?’

you rolled your eyes. ‘it takes time to look this good.’

‘i don’t even spend that long in training some days,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

you snorted. ‘you also don’t have curls that need hydration and definition.’

he looked back at his own hair in the mirror, scrunching his waves. ‘maybe i should start a routine. do you think my hair can look like yours?’

you tilted your head, studying him. ‘with the right products? maybe. but you’d have to actually commit to it.’

he hummed, still scrunching his hair like he was testing it. ‘what if i just let you do it for me?’

you smirked. ‘absolutely not.’

he groaned. ‘but you’re so good at it’

‘then i’d have to do this twice every wash day. no thanks.’

joão sighed dramatically, still staring at his reflection. ‘fine. but you are helping me find the right products.’

‘deal.’ you grabbed your oil and rubbed some onto your hands, working it through your curls.

joão watched you carefully, his eyes soft. ‘you know, you’re kinda cute when you do all this.’

you snorted. ‘kinda?’

he grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

‘okay, really cute.’

you leaned back against him, smiling. ‘good answer.’

he pressed another kiss to your cheek, sighing. ‘i still can’t believe you go through all this every wash day.’

‘well, now you kinda have to, too,’ you teased.

joão groaned, burying his face into your neck. ‘what have i gotten myself into?’

you laughed, threading your fingers through his waves. ‘moisturized hair, that’s what.’

hector fort with a sassy/bossy girlfriend who is actually a sweetheart🥹 like yes she will make something out of nothing- but she also give the softest praise when she wants to?

❦ - my favourite player.

summary:: you’re hector’s sassy girlfriend (with kindness 😛)

warnings:: it’s like not a proper fic yk? it’s just a ton of scenarios but too long for headcannons idek atp

writers note:: IM SO INCONSISTENT W POSTING I NEED TO START POSTING THESE AS SSON AS IM DONE WRITING OMDS THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR HOURS.

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

hector fort never really knew what hit him when he started dating you. you walked into his life like a storm, sharp tongue, quick comebacks, and a look that could cut through steel, but underneath that bossy, sassy exterior, you were the biggest softie he’d ever met.

he learned that early on. like the first time you two went out and he showed up three minutes late. three.

‘oh, so you thought i didn’t deserve punctuality?’ you’d said, arms crossed, hip cocked to the side. ‘is that what we’re doing now, fort?’

he scrambled with apologies, cheeks red, swearing traffic was worse than usual. you just sighed, looped your arm through his, and murmured, ‘relax, i’m messing with you. but you are paying for dessert. non-negotiable.’

he never minded paying, especially when you’d grin at him over your ice cream, that spark in your eyes softening just a bit. and god, when you’d say things like, ‘you’re lucky you’re cute,’ it did things to him he didn’t know how to explain.

but it wasn’t just the teasing. it was how you supported him, how you believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. after that match he’d been kicking himself over for days, missed shots, sloppy passes, you cornered him in his apartment, hands on your hips.

‘hector fort, if you don’t stop beating yourself up, i swear—’ you cut yourself off, softened. stepped closer and cupped his face, fingers warm against his skin. ‘baby, you played so well. everyone has off days. i’m proud of you.’

he melted. every damn time.

sometimes, you’d get worked up over the smallest things, like when your coffee order was wrong. ‘how hard is it to do two pumps of vanilla, not three? i’m not asking for rocket science.’ you’d huff, glance at him, and when you caught him grinning, you’d roll your eyes. ‘...whatever. wanna sip?’

he loved that you’d fight anyone and anything, but when it came to him? you handled him with care. your bossiness wasn’t mean, it was protective. you demanded respect for yourself, for him, for the people you cared about. you were fire and warmth all at once.

and hector? he’d never been happier to stand in the middle of that fire.

it was in the little things, too. the texts before his matches, ‘score a goal for me, baby. or don’t. you’re still my favorite.’ the way you’d pull him aside after a rough day and say, ‘c’mere, let me fix your hair. you look like you fought a tornado,’ fingers gentle as you smoothed back his curls.

but nothing compared to the quiet moments. like when you thought he was asleep, and you’d whisper, ‘love you, y’know? so much it’s stupid.’ like he didn’t hear you. like he didn’t tuck those words away, holding them close on the nights he missed you the most.

hector fort knew you were a lot. sassy, bossy, dramatic. but god, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. because beneath all that, you were his soft place to land. his person.

and if you wanted to make something out of nothing, throw a fit over a late pizza delivery or a movie starting five minutes past the showtime? fine. he’d let you. hell, he’d stand right beside you and complain too.

as long as, at the end of the day, he still got to be the one you smiled at like that. the one you whispered those soft, precious things to when you thought no one was listening.

because you, with all your fire and sass and sweetness, you were everything.

fc barcelona out of context