❦ - Forza Ferrari.

saira i have an idea

what if i send you a joao fic idea everyday until i die (have to go offline)

how about yes! i have a few other fics (a LOT of kenan and cubarsi but i have a draft for a joao one u requested 👅

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love! 💕💕💕💕❤️

hi queens i’m tryna clear my inbox so here we are and EID MUBARAK TO MY OTHER MUSLIMS 🙏

anyways here we are queens / kings / its 🥰

love && war part 2. - pablo gavi.

amore a milan. - joao felix. (I LOVE THIS SM.)

moonlight. - hector fort.

‘and we created you in pairs’. - kenan yildiz.

playing for keeps. - toni fernandez. (i forgot ab this.)

OKAY HERE ARE MY TOP 5 WRITERS (not in order bc i can’t choose for the life of me)

@barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @hollyf1 (ik ur not really that much of a fic writer but u never fail to make me laugh)

hii, i just start read you fic, and i love them. and can you maybe make a story of y/n and Guille Fernandez, where they are old friend, but haven't seen each other for years, but she chooses to go to Barcelona to surprise him. a cute ending.

❦ - back to you.

summary:: you and guille have always been bestfriends but you had to move away. ever since then he’s all you could think about to the point you couldn’t take it anymore and you came right back.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: i’m sorry this is really rushed i really need to extend my fics bc this is more of a blurb icl but i hope you guys like it nonetheless!

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

the plane lands with a soft jolt, and you grip the armrest, heart thumping. it’s been years. too many. your pulse quickens as you gather your bag, feet moving on autopilot through the terminal. barcelona greets you with golden warmth, the kind that sinks into your skin and settles there, familiar and comforting. the air smells the same too: sea salt, roasting chestnuts, and the faint hint of blooming jasmine wafting from somewhere beyond the airport doors.

your phone buzzes in your pocket. a text from guille lights up the screen: meeting ran late. might just crash when i get home. today’s been brutal. you smile, thumb hovering over the keyboard. should you respond? hint at what’s coming? no. that’d ruin the whole point. you tuck your phone away, nerves simmering beneath your excitement.

the cab ride is a blur of winding streets and familiar sights. balconies overflow with potted plants, and the hum of city life pulses at every corner, laughter, footsteps, distant music echoing through the alleys. barcelona feels like a memory you’re stepping back into, equal parts comfort and surprise. maybe it’s the city that’s changed. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s him.

your thoughts drift to the last time you saw him, five years ago. rushed goodbyes at an airport terminal. promises to stay in touch that slowly dissolved. guille had been a constant back then, the anchor to your storm. funny how some people hold onto a part of you, even when time stretches thin between meetings.

the driver pulls up to his building, and you thank him, nerves twisting tighter. the graffiti along the side wall is still there, same colors, same shapes. the bakery on the corner glows warmly, scent of fresh bread curling through the cool evening air. you inhale deeply, letting it wrap around you like a hug. some things never change.

you pause at his door, fingers hesitating before you knock. quick. sharp. footsteps shuffle on the other side, and then – a pause. the lock clicks. the door creaks open.

his hair’s longer, scruffier. but those eyes; the same warm blonde, widen with disbelief. ‘what the hell?’ his voice is caught somewhere between a laugh and a breathless exhale.

‘surprise,’ you grin, nerves melting beneath the weight of his gaze.

‘you’re here,’ he breathes out, blinking as if you might vanish. his hand reaches forward, fingertips brushing yours. ‘god, you should’ve told me.’

‘and ruin the surprise?’

he laughs, loud, bright, the kind that pulls at something deep in your chest. ‘get in here.’

inside, his apartment is a blend of clutter and comfort. books stacked haphazardly. a guitar propped against the couch. the place smells like coffee and cedarwood. he runs a hand through his hair, still dazed. ‘seriously, what? how long are you here for?’

‘depends,’ you shrug. ‘how much coffee can you promise me?’

hours later, you end up at the beach, shoes kicked off, waves cool against your ankles. the city hums behind you, music, conversation, life carrying on while the sky melts into a watercolor of pinks and oranges. conversation flows easily. you swap stories, trade laughter, filling the spaces where years had crept in. it’s seamless. natural. like no time passed at all.

he bends to pick up a pebble, flinging it into the surf. ‘remember that summer we got lost trying to find that lighthouse?’

‘you mean you got us lost,’ you shoot back.

‘hey, i was following your map!’

‘my map didn’t tell you to wander into someone’s backyard.’

laughter bubbles up between you, shoulders bumping. the sky deepens into indigo, stars beginning to prickle the horizon. silence settles, comfortable and warm. his gaze shifts to you, softer now. ‘i missed you,’ he says, quiet but certain.

your heart tugs, something tender and familiar unfurling. ‘yeah. me too.’

he reaches for your hand. no hesitation. fingers slip between yours, fitting like they always have. the waves hush against the shore, and for a moment, it’s just this, just him, just you.

‘so,’ he murmurs, glancing over. ‘you staying a while?’

you squeeze his hand, smile tugging at your lips. ‘yeah. i think i will.’

you walk back through winding streets bathed in amber light, shoes dangling from free hands. laughter drifts from nearby cafés. someone strums a guitar overhead, notes floating down from a balcony. the city stretches out around you; vast and intimate all at once.

later, you sit side by side on his balcony, mugs of tea warming your hands. barcelona sprawls before you, glittering under the night sky. he leans back in his chair, casting you a sidelong glance. ‘can’t believe you’re really here.’

you rest your head against his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping. ‘me neither.’

the night folds in close, warm, familiar, as if the universe is whispering: this is where you’re meant to be.

jealous kenan about his teammates finding you attractive and his rival team so he’s not playing good until the last bit and when reader comes down to the pitch she just gives her a hungry kiss to show everybody she’s takin

❦ - the love of italia.

summary:: kenan finding out that almost the whole of italy put him off his game by a lot, eventually motivating him to do better.

warnings:: none

writers note:: thing is, i wrote this as soon as i got the req (ages ago) before ramadan thinking that i’d be able to post it before then but life had other plans so khalas, the haram police can’t catch me because i wrote this BEFORE ramadan.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz was not having a good game.

it wasn’t because he was out of form, or tired, or struggling tactically. no, kenan was playing like shit because his mind was elsewhere. specifically, on you.

it had started before kickoff. you’d come to support him, looking effortlessly good in one of his old juventus hoodies, the sleeves hanging past your fingers, your hair falling just right. that alone would’ve been enough to distract him, but what really set him off was the way his teammates, and worse, the opposing team, had noticed.

‘so that’s your girl, huh?’ one of his teammates had asked in the locker room, nodding toward where you were chatting with some staff near the stands. ‘damn. didn’t know you were pulling like that.’

kenan had just given him a look.

then, during warmups, he caught some of the other team’s players also looking. one even had the audacity to say something to him as they passed.

‘number 10’s playing for more than just three points today, huh?’

kenan clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

from that moment on, he was done for.

it was obvious from the first whistle, kenan was off.

his passes were sloppy. his first touch was heavier than usual. he missed chances he’d normally bury without thinking. and every time someone from the rival team got near him, talking just enough shit for the ref not to hear, his blood boiled a little more.

‘what’s up with yildiz today?’ the commentators were already talking about it.

his coach was yelling from the sidelines. his teammates were trying to snap him out of it. but nothing worked. because every time he looked up, there you were, beautiful, perfect, and completely oblivious to the chaos happening in his head.

it wasn’t until the last few minutes of the game that something finally clicked.

it was still 0-0. they had one last attack. the ball came to kenan’s feet, and for the first time all game, his frustration sharpened into something useful.

he drove forward, weaving past defenders like they weren’t even there. everything else faded. the noise, the tension, the trash talk, it didn’t matter. all that mattered was getting this goal.

and he did.

a clean strike. bottom corner. unstoppable.

the stadium erupted. his teammates surrounded him, yelling, pulling him into hugs. but kenan barely reacted. his celebration was already planned.

his eyes went straight to you.

the second the final whistle blew, you made your way down to the pitch. you weren’t even thinking, you just knew you had to get to him.

by the time you reached the field, kenan was already waiting. his jersey was damp with sweat, his breathing still heavy, but his eyes were locked onto you like you were the only person in the world.

‘kenan, that goal—’

you didn’t get to finish. because the moment you were close enough, he grabbed you. one hand firm on your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck. and then he kissed you.

not just any kiss, a statement.

it was possessive, like he wanted to make sure every single person watching, his teammates, his rivals, the entire damn stadium, knew exactly who you belonged to.

you barely registered the cheers (and teasing whistles) from his teammates. all you could focus on was kenan, his body pressed against yours, the way his fingers dug into your waist.

when he finally pulled back, his expression unreadable.

‘you’re mine,’ he muttered, voice low enough for only you to hear.

your breath caught. but before you could even think of a response, he smirked, like he already knew the answer. like he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

and honestly? he was right.

gang i’m 5’7 too 👅

tags:: @barcapix @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; SORRY FOR UNWANTED

@ mutuals rb this w how tall you are i wanna know

i’m 4’11

❦ - ivy.

summary:: you’re in love with gavi, and loves you too, but the distance is breaking you.

warnings:: angst??

writers note:: WHY AM I LOWKEY COOKING. fics under 500 words are so easy like why’d i write this in like half an hour im getting somewhere 😍. ALSO DIV CREDS TO RIGHTFUL OWNER I JS FORGOT WHO IT BELONGS TO

tags:: @barcapix ; lmk if u wanna be added

There’s an ache in your chest, the kind you can’t name. The kind that only seems to surface when Gavi’s beside you.

It’s not that you don’t love him; you do. More than you probably should. But tonight, the silence feels heavier, the air charged with things neither of you dare to say.

He’s sprawled across the couch, hair messy from your fingers earlier. The game’s on in the background, but neither of you are watching. You’re tucked into his side, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

‘I wish it didn’t feel like this sometimes,’ you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gavi’s fingers pause where they’ve been tracing lazy circles on your arm. ‘Like what?’

You pull back slightly to meet his eyes, and the question hangs between you. The weight of it, the truth of it.

‘Like we’re holding on too tight.’

His face softens, but there’s a flicker of something else there, too; fear, maybe, or recognition. ‘You’re all I’ve got,’ he says, so simply it makes your chest hurt.

The thing is, you believe him. And maybe that’s why it feels like this sometimes, like you’re tethered to each other by something too fragile to last. You love him so much it terrifies you, and some part of you knows he feels the same. But love like this,it burns too hot. Leaves scars.

‘We’re okay,’ he says, his voice steady now. ‘Aren’t we?’

You hesitate for a moment too long, and his hand tightens on your arm. ‘Tell me we’re okay,’ he pleads, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, because the truth is you don’t know how to live without him anymore. Because even when it hurts, he’s still the only person you want to come home to.

‘We’re okay,’ you say softly, and the relief in his expression almost breaks you.

He leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead, and pulls you closer. ‘I don’t care if we’re a mess,’ he murmurs. ‘As long as you’re mine.’

And for now, it’s enough.

Because even if this love isn’t perfect, it’s yours. And even if it hurts, it’s home.

BARCA WTF

MAN GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER LOCK IN ITS BEEN 4 MINS AND WE ALREADY CONCEDED A GOAL TF ?? WHO IS LEGANES . WE WERE A SEXTUPLE WINNING CLUB LIKE 15 YEARS AGO AND WE’RE LOOSING TO A CLUB THATS 15TH IN THE TABLE LOCK TF IN 😭😭 . okay that’s my rant over 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

❦ - the alchemy

summary:: jamal wins bundesliga with his girl by his side.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: expect this series to be done today!! bc these are concerningly easy to write esp when you have the idea clear in your mind! i was gonna make it that he won ucl as per @hearts4musiala request but i’m a culer so that doesn’t work w me.. 😔.

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

The stadium was alive with chaos, golden confetti falling like a storm, the roar of fans echoing through the Allianz Arena. Jamal Musiala stood in the middle of it all, his hands clutching the Bundesliga trophy, the weight of it almost surreal. This moment had been everything he’d worked for, dreamed of, but somehow it felt even better because you were here.

You watched him from the sidelines, beaming, your chest swelling with pride. He’d worked so hard for this. You’d seen every late night, every self-doubt he barely let himself voice, and every time he pushed himself beyond what you thought was possible. Now, as he stood at the center of glory, you could see it in his eyes, the quiet disbelief, the golden glow of triumph.

He found you instantly in the crowd. His eyes softened in the way they always did when he looked at you, like you were the only thing grounding him in the chaos. Without thinking, you pushed through the barriers, weaving past teammates and staff who barely noticed your presence in the delirium of celebration.

When you reached him, Jamal didn’t say a word. He pulled you in, one hand still clutching the trophy while the other found your waist, holding you tightly against him. His forehead fell to yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, the noise of the world fading into the background.

‘You did it,’ you whispered, your voice catching.

‘We did it,’ he murmured back, his voice low and soft.

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. ‘This was all you.’

He laughed under his breath, pressing a kiss to your temple. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

You knew he meant it. The nights he’d called you after a bad game, the moments he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders; you’d been there. But this wasn’t about you. It was about him, about the magic he created every time he stepped onto the pitch.

‘Proud of you, Jam,’ you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

His smile grew, but there was something else in his eyes, something tender and unspoken. ‘Feels like alchemy, doesn’t it?’ he said.

You blinked at him, confused.

‘All the doubt, the pain; turning it into this,’ he explained, lifting the trophy slightly. ‘It’s like gold. It’s like… us.’

Your chest ached at the way he said it. At how easily he compared this golden moment to the love you’d built together.

You kissed him then, soft and fleeting, the kind of kiss that didn’t need words. The world cheered around you, but Jamal only kissed you back, as if this was the real win of the night.

And maybe it was.