#juventus fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

applejuicefruit · 1 year

Text

welcome to my blog if you’re new here!

i’m currently writing for football players

📈 RULES 📈

i write only FLUFF/ANGST and some SMUT (i don’t feel comfortable enough to write smut but if you have some ideas just text me and I’ll see if I’m comfortable enough )

don’t send me the same request you sent to other blogs, it makes me uncomfortable and it’s not fair towards me and other writers

my requests are currently OPEN

be specific with your requests please

(all the new fics will be linked in masterlist 2)

MASTERLIST

Masterlist 2

One shots

Adrien Rabiot

Mr Professor

Proud of you

Love at first sight

London nights

Don’t touch her

My love, stay with me

Breakfast in bed

Are you jealous?

Taking care of you

Mon amour

XOXO

First time?

Lazy morning

Kylian Mbappe

Not a secret anymore

One more chance , pt.2

Home sweet home

Emergency room

Safe

Don’t leave

Something better

Attention seeker

A father’s love

My hero, my saviour

In your eyes

What exactly are your intentions Kyky?

Juventus is better than you

Cuddles make everything better

Titanic

Silent treatment

Only human

She hulk

Not everyone’s favourite

Was she worth it?

Three of us

Bad mistakes

First valentine

Why not me?

Pet therapy

Fairytale

As long as you need me

Drunk in love

Light it up

The way you are

Crazy in love

Did you cheat?

On the edge

Clingy

Oscars

Perfect as you are

Neymar Jr

Everything I need

Love letters

My sunshine

City of Angels

Breathe for me (daughter reader)

Consequences

My angel

Never change

Richarlison

Nightmares

Antoine Griezmann

Let me love you

Alone

Olivier Giroud

Safe

Jealousy jealousy

A father’s love

In your eyes

What exactly are your intentions Kyky?

Love bites

Daddy issues

Erling Haaland

Breathe in

Goodnight kiss

Oh, baby?

Safeword

Cherries

Dusan Vlahovic

Did you really fall from the stairs?

Break up with your boyfriend

Power & Control

Daddy care

Protective

Baby?

See you later

Filip Kostic

First time

Taking care of you

Headcannons

Adrien Rabiot

Aftercare

Subspace

Kylian Mbappe

Aftercare

Subspace

Dating

More than friends

What is love?

Neymar Jr

Aftercare

Jude Bellingham

The first time

Jealous

Panic attack

Erling Haaland

Aftercare

Subspace

Richarlison

Aftercare

Shark week

Dusan Vlahovic

Aftercare

613 notes · View notes

formuladoll · 1 year

Text

woman of my life — pierre gasly

[request] he never thought losing your little family was possible, not until that magazine cover.

masterlist — request a fic!

fallen autumn leaves colored the streets of central milan, peacefully resting on the sidewalk for your little girl to play with. the evening breeze announced the end of another day, a special one since you got to spend it with your daughter.

it was moments like this that reminded you of how she was the best thing to ever happen to you; walks around the city with amélie’s smile spread across her face and a small hand holding a strong grip around your fingers.

since the first time you held her against your chest in that solitary hospital bed, you swore to protect her from everything, and you weren’t breaking that promise over any lover.

dating pierre had been amazing for you, especially with how natural he had been about you being a young mom; he constantly reminded you that he was not afraid of loving a woman who wasn’t able to give him undivided attention. pierre had interacted a few times with amélie, but on each occasion, he connected with her in such a way that you couldn’t help the small tears running down your cheeks.

pierre insisted that she was a flawless reflection of her mother, said you both share a compassionate gaze accompanied by the biggest toothy smile. it wasn’t until a year into your relationship that you presented him to little amélie as your partner. she was over the moon, comparing you two to her favorite princess and prince. your heart fluttered with love seeing how content she was with him moving over with the two of you. suddenly, everything fell into place.

with your daughter knowing about your relationship, the both of you agreed it was more important than ever to protect her by keeping your love away from the public. pierre lived for formula one, but without a second thought, he would leave everything behind if it meant protecting you and amélie from the negativity the sport brought into the driver’s personal lives.

you were now walking with amélie towards her favorite gelateria, having promised to buy her a scoop of gianduia. “hurry up, mamma,” she insisted with excitement shining in her eyes, holding your hand while guiding you through the path she knew so well. you let out a small giggle at her, picking up the pace to keep up with her small but rapid steps.

“ma, pierre's in a magazine!” the little girl squealed as she dragged you closer to a kiosk on the way to your destination. it was indeed a picture of pierre, but he wasn’t by himself— it was the both of you in a football match a few days ago, seemingly arguing about the psg-juventus match while attending the game. he thought it would be a great idea to take you there since he supported the french team, while you rooted for its italian counterpart. you both had such a fun night but weren’t aware of the media outlets noticing your presence.

needless to say, a picture of you both in a compromising moment wouldn’t just make the front page of a magazine, it was intended to allure people into reading the article in which pictures of pierre hugging you and kissing your forehead were included. you felt exposed and forced by the media to share with the world your relationship— which wasn’t ideal considering amélie would be exposed to the public sphere too.

“what’s going on, mamma? is pierre angry?” the little girl now looking up at you while wrapping herself around your legs asked. you were speechless, never really prepared for this scenario. “of course not, amore mio. we were just having a conversation and someone took a picture of us, don’t worry about it,” you answered before picking her up and placing her on your hip. “come on, let’s go get you that gelato.”

intrusive thoughts on the many possible outcomes of your relationship becoming public knowledge invaded your mind, causing an anxious feeling to creep up your throat. as soon as you got to the store, amélie sat down with you at a table, eating her much-awaited sweet reward.

trying to keep calm to not worry your daughter, you dialed pierre’s number and waited for him to pick up. “pronto, mon amour. i was just about to call you, i’m on my way home,” he said, unaware of your current dilemma.

“amour, please come pick us up from the gelateria,” you pleaded in a tone that would make anyone think you were in serious trouble. “what’s wrong, chérie? you sound stressed, are you both safe?” he could hear you sigh. “talk to me.”

“there are pictures of us at the football game going around, they made the cover of most magazines.” pierre’s hands gripped the steering wheel as if the shock could make him crash. he thought of the many ways he would’ve smashed that damned paparazzi’s camera if he saw it happening. “putain. i’m so sorry, mon amour. this is all my fault, i shouldn’t have taken us.” he apologized while stumbling over his own words.

the desperate tone coming from him convinced you that he genuinely couldn’t lose you— the both of you. you knew he would do everything in his power to keep your daughter safe. “we will be alright. i know our love is stronger than this and, as long as amélie is safe, i won’t give up on us.”

you could hear your boyfriend’s rushed breathing on the other side of the line, emotion tainting his voice as he struggled to keep his composure. “mon amour, je t’adore. you are the woman of my life, i promise i’ll protect our family from this. i’m a few minutes away from you, save me some gelato.”

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly drabble #pierre gasly oneshot #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1blr

527 notes · View notes

yojeongin · 1 year

Text

DON’T BLAME THE LOVECATS — 11: JUVENTU’S JUNGWOO

→neighbor!jaemin x neighbor f!reader

genre: social media au, neighbors au, fluff, angst, enemies to friends to lovers, humor

an: jungwoo juventus player and we’ll pretend dybala never left the team. just like we’ll pretend gio prospered in barca, messi along ney didn’t leave, and that rafa is still playing 🤗 for my sake we’ll also pretend chicha remains in man united and kuni never retired and went to barca, I want him with juli. I think this might be one of the few fics where I’m trying to avoid real events lol

m.list | previous | next

taglist: @bbymatz @dandelionxgal @multieonnie @w3bqrl @liljeongseong @n0hyuck @minjiville @xxxx-23nct @liliansun @ihrtnyu

let me know if you’d like to join the taglist!

94 notes · View notes

onetouchparadise · 3 months

Note

i see your fanfic request post and i'm going to act like a little devil on your shoulder, whispering that you should write zanetti x del piero

Hiii!!

Ohhh I love this Devil! I love the ship and HELL YES! Anyways here's your fic, I like angst what can I say but yeah... Hope you like it🫶

The days after May 5, 2002 were impossible for Javier, it was as if his life had been destroyed... he was the captain, he took on everything that came to him, it was his duty... but he too had a limit and in fact after accusations and mockings he built a wall: he locked himself in his house.

He didn't let anyone in, he didn't answer messages or calls, actually it was as if his brain had just stopped working: 4-2... those two damn goals, and the tears that came out of his eyes between the covers of the sofa were many more than two, those walls became his defenses from a cruel world. And in those desperate moments he became a child again, reminding himself with a sad smile of when he was a child and, after a bad fall while playing his friends, full of dreams like him, he'd went to his mother, bleeding, and asking for a hug, a bit of affection and comfort. She kissed him on the forehead and washed and bandaged his wounds, carrying him to bed with a smile. And at that memory the Argentinian smiled, but his mother had remained in his brithplace (how much he missed it) and he was now alone.

But hadn't he chosen it?

"If anyone cared they would come to visit you..." and for the millionth time in a few days he ignored the constant devil on his shoulder, chasing it away....

But, in the midst of his mourning, someone knocked.

"No... impossible..." what if he dreamt it? He wanted someone to come so much that his already experienced senses had played such a trick on him?

Intrigued, however, the Inter player opened the door....he wishes he hadn't done so. "Nono, are you kiddin'... are you kidding me?!" and Javier, in his denial, shook his head and tried to push the guest with his bare hands, but the other did not move.

Javier, his anger increasing, hissed: "What do you want... Del Piero?", well... yes, Alex Del Piero was at his door.

It wasn't the first time he'd come to his house, but it was the first time he wasn't welcome. But Zanetti's threats (so similar to pleas) were of no use, the Captain of the Bianconeri remained there, motionless, with sad eyes and a fragile smile of pity. Javier didn't want pity, they had lost, and it was his fault, no amount of pity could save him from what he earned. It was too late for pity now.

"Javier-" "Oh, now we do use first names, Alessandro?" "I thought that after everything we've been through we could talk civilly..." "I thought that after everything we've been through YOU WOULDN'T COME HERE JUST TO REMBER ME HOW YOU WON THE SCUDETTO!" and Zanetti was shouting, in front of everyone, so much so that some people walking near the house turned to look at him, on the doorframe. Alex pinched his nose and when he spoke he seemed much more serious and... tired: "Javi... I didn't come for this and you know it, you're delusional, it's not you anymore. But you have to recognize it, you lost. I won't let you stay locked up here to destroy you though."

And with that small, tiny sentence, reality collapsed on Javier Zanetti like a house of cards, but he was part of another deck, the discarded one, he broke, burst into desperate tears and clung to Alex, as steadfast as a rock in the open sea, the Juventus captain gave him a hug and took him into the house, he knew it well by now, they sat down on the sofa.

"I'm the captain... it's my fault if we lost...", Alex frowned at the words "It's not true and you know it too, everyone of you lost exactly because you're captain your team needs you now.".

"Yes, but it's easy for you to talk... you won the Scudetto in the end... you are the Italian Champions, the fantastic Juventus... and us? We only lost against Lazio and lost the Scudetto the last day...".

Alessandro didn't want to hear another word, he caressed his shoulder, Javier shivered at the touch, how much he missed him... he missed Alex but he didn't want to look for him after the match, he was angry with the world, with him above all.

"Thank you... for coming, and sorry for earlier, I didn't know what to think, I was sure that you too would come and tell me that I wasn't up to your standards, I wasn't a good captain... I didn't deserve you..." "Javier Adelmar Zanetti... don't say something like that again. I love you, and you are much more important than a Scudetto won or lost, you are my greatest trophy and I can only thank football for having known you." and Alex kissed him, slowly and passionately, it was sweet as honey but filled with desire, and Javier as much as he loved him, kissed him back and who knows how much they were like that, enjoying their love with these sweet gestures.

Then Alessandro shook his hands and looked at him in those chocolate brown eyes that shone with untold emotions (and tears) and said to him: "Now go and show all of Italy who Javier Zanetti, captain of Inter, is and why they chose him!" and his boyfriend hugged him again, and Alex smiled when he saw the determination return in his gaze, because Javier was a warrior, he always has been, and after a lost battle you have to move forward, whatever it takes.

Zanetti stood up, their noses were touching and god, how grateful he was for Alessandro, "I love you, only you could have cheered me up... will you be by my side in this revenge match?"

The greatest love was the one the world will never know, two Captains who were not bitter rivals, but the tenderest of lovers.

"Always. I am your most trusted companion, my love."

And they kissed again...

...you are the best prize that life has given me...

Love Zaniero and THANK YOU SM for the request! <3

#alessandro del piero #javier zanetti #juventus #inter fc #fanfic #zaniero #HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS SHIP

6 notes · View notes

brasideios · 10 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Hey everyone!

So, I'd intended to do Snippet Sunday, but my awareness of days of the week is, as usual, up the wazza; so, I'm late and doing an out of kilter Wednesday instead. How very me, lol.

I actually have something brand new to share because (excitingly) I've finally got back into working daily on a new long (original) fic 🙌 It's taken me so long to find my inspiration again; what a time.

Anyway, I'm calling this project Floralia for now, probably a working title. It's centred on Titus Lartius, and his son Quintus who I introduced and shared a snippet about already here, but the story begins much earlier, before Titus is even married. I've started working at the start, writing and reworking the opening scenes over n over as I get some key characters and relationships established as cleanly as possible. I think I'm just about there (at least for now, lol).

If you are kind enough to indulge me and read this snippet, I really would like to know if you find there are too many names and details straight outta the gate - it's always a balancing act when you don't want to include exposition dumps.

But otherwise, welcome to the life of Titus Lartius, I guess :)

~~~

Titus Lartius was standing on the street-verge across from the house of his oldest friend, Marcus Vibius, with the cold of the early winter air sharp against his skin, redolent with the scent of pines. Welcoming warmth and light were spilling from the open double doors on the other side of the road. The sound of voices and laughter tickled his ears, tempting him to hasten forward; but still, he hesitated. He’d stood in this exact spot five years earlier – pausing beside the fast-trickling cistern with the lion head - but back then, it’d been his going away party he was supposed to be attending. He had the uncanny sensation that time had somehow collapsed in on itself. Surely he’d only left a few months before? Surely the memories of everything that’d happened in Illyria were a dream… or a nightmare. He took a deep breath, consciously releasing the tension from his shoulders, reminding himself he was home; reminding himself that he was safe here; and then he went in.

The house embraced him in its hazy fug of yellow, flickering light. With a quick assessing glance, he saw that the guests were, for the most part, on the other side of sobriety, and he could easily imagine the proceedings of the evening up until that moment. They’d have eaten one of Marcus’ famously good dinners, served with copious amounts of mixed wine, and then dispersed throughout the atrium and tablinum, spilling out even into the garden, the wine fortifying them against the cold. Marcus, a man the same age as Titus himself but taller and lighter in his colouring, spotted him. His face split into a happy smile, and he hastened to him. ‘Titus! You’re here!’ He embraced him warmly, making Titus chuckle, any last shred of worry evaporating. ‘Good to see you too, my friend.’ Marcus released him, and stepping back, chided him lightly, ‘I didn’t think you were coming – you’re very late. Aulus came before dinner.’ He gestured across the atrium to where Titus’ younger brother, black-haired, bearded and unsmiling, was chatting with a couple of older men – perhaps in their forties or fifties. Titus said dryly, ‘Sincerely, I apologise for my lateness. My mother wished me to meet all of her cronies and they all wished to take it turns to pinch my cheek – you’d have thought I’d just come back from offering my first beard to Juventus, rather than the provinces. I can’t say I blame Aulus for avoiding such a spectacle.’ He laughed. ‘Elena was always wonderful at fussing over you both.’ Titus snorted. ‘Mother will never accept that we’ve grown up.’ He looked at Marcus archly and added, ‘Though maybe, when I get as many greys as you’ve got now, she might get there.’ He laughed heartily. ‘You think five years has been any kinder to you?’ He gestured at Titus’ longer-than-usual curls and said, ‘These aren’t the colour they used to be, in case you haven’t looked in a mirror lately. Come – let’s get you some wine.’

They settled onto a dining couch beside one another. A servant brought them wine, and it was then that Aulus saw Titus and raised a hand, though he made no attempt to come over to where they sat. ‘Who’s that with my brother?’ Titus asked. ‘The man on the left is Flaminia’s uncle, Flaminius Deuter.’ Flaminia was Marcus’ wife. ‘He’s here visiting for a few days with my favourite person, cousin Lucius. I’ll introduce you later - you’ll love him.’ He said this with an expression that said quite the contrary. He continued on, ‘With Flaminius is Naevius – Lollius Naevius. He came out of nowhere, but most people reckon he’s the richest man in Lavinium.’ He added dryly, ‘Though you know how folks like to say such things with no evidence to speak of. He fancies himself a patron of sportsmen, and a philosopher besides.’ ‘He’s Aulus’ patron?’ Marcus shrugged a little. ‘I’m not sure. Aulus hasn’t talked to me about it. I see them together often though, so perhaps.’ ‘Mother told me in her letters he’s been going from strength to strength in all the competitions.’ In a jocular way, he rubbed his hands. ‘He sure can fling a discus like no man I’ve ever seen, despite being skinnier than any of the other competitors – a great advantage.’ Titus looked at him archly. ‘And you make a lot of money from his performances, I suppose.’ He grinned. ‘I may’ve won a wager or two made with the unwary; but so has Aulus. He bets on himself, you know, and has made quite a neat sum that way, believe me.’ Titus shook his head, though he felt a spike of affection towards his little brother. ‘He always did have a high opinion of himself.’

#original fiction #octituslartius #ocmarcusvibius #ocauluslartius #ancient rome #jpdoingwords #working title: floralia

9 notes · View notes

thequibblah · 1 year

Note

6 for wtrf and your 37 please bestieeeee xoxo

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

god. you'd better believe i have some stupid facts lined up for forthcoming instalments of this series — i am, after all, the person who made up enough new british/irish quidditch teams for the quidditch league to be comparable to the premier league, and because we never create work for our future selves and instead immediately tackle it all, i looked at google maps, picked stadium locations, and named said stadiums as well, and then also did that for european clubs, sampler below. no prizes for guessing which names are canon (alliteration) and which are made up by me (european football watcher, recovering)

some of these are low effort (cough juventus) and others like the munich and madrid ones definitely involved some research but rn just looking at it i could NOT tell u why i picked those names. cheers

anyway this is definitely going to pop up in the fic eventually anyway, but i couldn't resist an opportunity to whip out ye olde spreadsheet, so

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

gonna go with acid trips, a miss withnoi bday gift! i am always like [woozy emoji] about mostly plotless oneshots and i think i myself did not reread it after i wrote it because i was like oh no what have i done this is SANS PLOT but. you know what. i just reread it and 1. i do actually really like the prose — it's atmospheric and emotion-heavy without (i think!!) being over the top, and i like Small Conflict. i don't often write fic about what happens after they get together, and i like that this is established relationship but also about like... the communication hiccups and stages of limbo that make reading romance so deliciously fun, which don't go away after two people start dating! i enjoy that!

ask me these!

#ask me #wtrf #clare with no i

7 notes · View notes

alexbkrieger13 · 1 year

Note

Sempan about when Amanda got injured. Linda met her before she went to Australia and says she's doing fine

https://www.aftonbladet.se/sportbladet/fotboll/a/gEkPn1/linda-sembrant-om-klubbkamraten-amanda-nildens-skada

Linda Sembrant: It was tough to see Amanda Nildén suffer

From the substitutes' bench, Linda Sembrant, 35, saw the tough tackle on Amanda Nildén, 24.

After being cared for on the field, she was helped to be led by.

- It was tough to see her suffer, says Sembrant.

Amanda Nildén was selected in the national team that is now in Australia.

But after a tackle at the end of October, the Juventus player was injured against Fiorentina and the only option for her was to return the offer to national team captain Peter Gerhardsson.

The tackle gave Nildén a fracture in her foot and she was forced to undergo surgery.

- It's very sad. She has started the year very well. I met her before I went to Australia and she is doing well, says Sembrant.

Nildén is reported to be out of football for three months. So the 24-year-old Swede will have to spend the next few days rehabilitating.

- It will probably go perfectly, says Sembrant.

The Swedish national team, with Linda Sembrant in the squad, meets Australia on Saturday morning at 04.45 Swedish time.

#swewnt #swewnt article #amanda nilden #linda sembrant

2 notes · View notes

grayintogreen · 2 years

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

And now for the final two Somnovem in my preview for the prologue of you can't deny high noon. It's been fun! I really wanna tell you who everyone is, but I'm resisting the urge because some things need to be a surprise.

Next week I'll give a sneak peek from Chapter One featuring the slightly extended version of that Lucien monologue I posted... and after that I'm probably gonna have to start digging deeper for previews. I'm hype for this fic can't you tell?

SPURIUS JUVENTUS HEAD ALCHEMIST (ARCANE SCIENTIST)

Spurius, despite living with his head fully elsewhere most days, heard every word that the Cognouza Ward said about him. Their vocabulary was lacking given the repetition of the same words over and over and that alone was basis to ignore it. If they’re going to whisper behind his back, then at least be creative about it.

Peculiar was the common one. Intense was less common, but that was his favorite. Intense. Definitions: Of extreme force, degree or strength; having or showing strong feelings or opinions; extremely earnest or serious.

That one felt true without being rude about it.

Intense would describe his current focus on his latest alchemical equations. The world was falling apart around him and yes, he understood- even he couldn’t ignore the clattering of chairs and the clinking of glass beakers hastily tossed down and the occasional breaking glass and sizzle of something eating into the floor because someone got panicked- what a waste. He’d gotten overwhelmed by it all and did the counting exercise that Balbus had taught him and when he reached the end, silence had prevailed.

And then he’d immediately forgotten why everyone was panicking in the first place, so thrilled with the peace without having to tune out the chattering of lesser alchemists.

One of said lesser alchemists lingered awkwardly like an automaton at rest as he resumed his work, caught in the rabbit snare of interrupting him and risking a tantrum or just leaving him be until he finished. It wasn’t becoming of a Somnovem to throw fits, but Seneca, for all of his sternness and scolding, told him he had one of the most brilliant minds of them all and that alone kept him here among more placid members (except no one in the Somnovem was truly placid, except perhaps Seneca and Tacitus), instead of being replaced by someone with a bit more control.

Seneca always said he was a better dreamer than the others, which was a compliment until he tacked on you’re innocent, which felt like it was half an insult.

Spurius Juventus could create things that would make the Genesis Ward shake in their boots and he was gleeful in what he could do with those things if he felt so inclined. He was hardly innocent.

”He just means your dreams are more pure,” Claudia had told him once. ”Like a child’s.”

He told her that didn’t exactly make it better.

But such was the unfortunate curse of being regarded as the youngest Somnovem, even if that was technically untrue. Cassia, at thirty-eight, was the youngest. He was fifty and therefore older than her, the Felice twins, and even Valerius (who still insisted on calling him kid), but for a full elf, fifty was nothing. He was treated as the baby.

Agitating.

The alchemist in the corner had vanished and Spurius regarded the change in his scenery with mild consternation and finally looked up from his work. A new figure had replaced them- tall for an elf, ghastly pale from the same albinism that turned his eyes to red (the same red eyes that gave the Somnovem their symbol) with long white hair that hit mid-back and the age-lines that suggested a lengthy tenure in this world. He was dressed in the flowing red robes of his station that, on him, looked like gore splattered across the snow.

Spurius leapt to his feet in shock, sending his chair clattering to the floor. The sound sent shockwaves up his spine but he breathed through it. “Master Seneca.”

“You’re running late, Spurius.” For once, he didn’t sound disappointed or scolding. He sounded… serene in a way he so rarely was. Seneca was on constant guard, always waiting to defend himself after spending so long in the debate halls being laughed at for his theories and ambitions. Those same debates had closed the Cognouza Ward off from the rest of Aeor and left him actively paranoid that one day a bill would come due and the rest of Aeor would decide he and the other eight dreamers were too dangerous to live.

Cassia had said that was a pointless fear- they’d sooner let them flee to the Astral Sea and be done with them entirely. Killing them would just be a waste of effort and resources if they were just going to end up killing themselves.

Augusta had nearly choked her for that one. Spurius remembered having to hide under a table to avoid getting involved in the ensuing scuffle.

“Am I?” He stammered, genuinely surprised. He wracked his brain to remember why everyone had fled. It had seemed important at the time but he had been busy and he had forgotten almost as soon as the warning bells ceased.

Seneca strode forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. They were night and day side by side- he was dark-skinned with a fuzz of darker hair that he kept as short as possible so it stayed out of his way and big glasses without frames because he liked the way they looked. (Cassia, who needed her glasses, always looked at him with disgust at the playacting.)

Compared to Seneca, he truly did feel like a child.

The old elf began to steer him towards the door and Spurius didn’t protest the handling, too surprised to even twist to get away like he normally did when someone touched him unexpectedly. He was easily startled by sudden movements, living as he did in his own head. “Yes, my boy. Balbus has seen a vision and Calpurnius has confirmed it with his spies. Something great and terrible is soon to befall Aeor. It is time for us to take our leave of it.”

Spurius choked on air. “You mean… It’s really time?”

He loved his experiments and his equations, but as much as he hated the reason why he was a better dreamer than the rest (or at least the why as his brothers and sisters in the Somnovem saw it), he longed for the freedom of the Astral Sea just as much as Seneca did. That was why he had been chosen- he had always hoped for a world where his imagination wasn’t limited by what he had on hand and had listened to Seneca’s sermons as if he were a god on high back when he could still preach them.

He was the first to be chosen as one of the Dreaming Nine as Seneca’s devoted protege. The rest came after, stolen from the Genesis Ward’s collection of pet scientists or found among the rabble. Every one of them had stood with Seneca in the Praesidis Ward when no one else would and argued for his ideas, sometimes vitriolically.

And when he asked them to move into Cognouza with him, they had agreed, even when the doors were barred and they were left in practical exile. They hadn’t minded, of course- let the fools with their closed minds have their limited futures. The true power was beyond flesh and resided in the aether of the Astral Sea where anything was possible.

Spurius hungered for it as all of them did for reasons that were solely their own. Even Cassia, the one with the worst attitude about all of it who claimed she only came here because the Genesis Ward had limits on what they were willing to experiment with, dreamed as purely as the rest of them.

Well. Not as purely as him. Maybe once they were home that would no longer seem like a cheap barb. Once there, he might even be more powerful than Seneca in time.

Wouldn’t that be a surprise?

#wip wednesday #you can't deny high noon #life in the margins of redemption

2 notes · View notes

dyclerc · 3 years

Text

Ok but HOW ABOUT THE PAULO SUPPORT

#juventus fic #paulo Dybala #love them #my team

4 notes · View notes

iwriteficsandtragedies · 4 years

Text

The Set Up

Warnings: none

Request: Can I please request Fede being nervous around his sister’s really good friend? Like he wants to ask her out since they’re both into the same things (playing guitar, they both have dogs, etc..) and she has this way of being herself that just floors him and he’s never been nervous around anyone ever. Thanks so much!!!

__________________________

“If you stare at her any harder, you’ll burn a hole through her skull.” Federico’s sister’s voice shook him from a daze.

“I’m not staring.” He was staring. He couldn’t stop staring at Jade, who was placing their order across the café.

“She’s going to notice.” Gaia gave him a gentle shove. “She’ll be back in a minute, you should ask her out.”

“And you should mind your business.”

“Ah, thank you lovely.” Gaia greeted her friend when she returned with their coffees. “Unfortunately,” she said, rising from her seat, “I’ve got to run. I completely forgot about a conference call I’m supposed to be on shortly. No, no, you stay, drink your coffee. Fede’s not that bad.” She winked at him as she hugged her friend goodbye.

Federico tried to sip his coffee casually. Jade was gorgeous and brilliant, and he’d had a crush on her for so long he couldn’t remember ever not feeling struck dumb around her. “So,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m getting a puppy!” She dug her phone from her purse, flipping through her pictures to show him a photo of a tiny newborn pup, eyes still closed. “I think I’m going to name him Huckleberry.”

“Like the book?”

“Mm hmm. Isn’t he cute?”

“Adorable. I should get another one.”

“No, you should get two. Make it an even four.” Her eyes were the brightest green. He swore they sparkled when she laughed. “What?”

He was staring again. “Oh, just… nothing. Thought I saw a… bug.” He cleared his throat. “Gaia said you were starting piano lessons?”

“I’m terrible.” She tapped her fingernails lightly against her cup. “Probably worse than you are at guitar.”

“I’m not that bad,” he protested. “I’m better than the last time you heard me play.”

“Oh?” She took a sip of her coffee, licking the foam away from her lips. “You’ll have to give me a concert.”

Federico summoned all the courage he could. “You should come over tonight.” He said the words quickly, practically spitting them out before he lost his nerve. “I’ll play for you.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Jade cooed. “We should get dinner first, though. There’s a place close to your house. Meet me there at seven?”

“It’s a date.”

“Is it?” Federico realized what he’d said and felt his face blush red. Even his ears felt hot. Jade just smiled. “Are we going on a date, Fede?”

“Um… well… if that’s what… if you…” Her smile remained. “Yes?”

“Good.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip. “That wasn’t so hard was it?” He tried to stammer out a response, but as was usually the case with Jade he couldn’t find his tongue. She got to her feet, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “See you at seven.”

#federico bernardeschi #federico bernardeschi fanfiction #federico bernardeschi imagine #federico bernardeschi one shot #federico bernardesci fic #football fic #footballer fic #football one shot #footballer one shot #football imagine #footballer imagine #football fanfiction #footballer fanfiction #juventus fic #italy nt fic

33 notes · View notes

applejuicefruit · 1 year

Note

What about a fic of Dušan being overprotective w the reader while partying?

Love your stories, girl! ❤️❤️

Posting this on Tuesday because I’m seeing him playing today with Juventus!!!

dusan vlahovic x reader

Protective

It wasn’t very often that you and Dusan went out partying, mostly because of his trainings and matches and also because you hated parties. You more an introvert person, preferring to stay at home and watch a movie instead of being in a crowd of full sweated people who drunkenly danced on each other.

Dusan loved partying, it was almost in his DNA and he also knew how much you hated it so he never forced you to go with him when he had free weekend. But tonight was Dusan’s best friend birthday and he wanted the both of you to go, it was a must. So you had no choice but to attend his birthday party and wait for the night to be over so you could lay in bed with Dusan.

You arrived at the club and the moment you opened the door you were surrounded by thousands of people who probably had no idea of what was going on. Too drunk or too high.

“Are you okay?” Dusan asked you, making sure the loud music or the people weren’t making you uncomfortable.

“Yes” you said.

And with that Dusan placed a hand on your hips leading you to the table where all of his friends were staying. He wanted to make sure to have you close, in case something happened he knew you were close to him.

The club started getting fuller of people and you became a little bit uncomfortable but you didn’t say anything, Dusan was having fun with his friends and teammates and you didn’t want to be a Karen so you simply told him that you would go to the toilet.

Once you got out of the room you took a breath of fresh air, you were still in the building and the music was still pretty loud, even in the corridor, but you weren’t stuck in a crowd of people or with the nauseous smell of alcohol.

You went to the toilet and simply washed your hands and when you got out you decided that you would go to the rooftop and relax a bit.

It was nice, it had a nice view of the city and you could see all the stars in the sky, it was peaceful. There were only a few people, most of them chatting and the other were simply busy on the phone.

Dusan got worried when he saw you were gone for more than ten minutes so he excused himself and looked out for you.

He saw you on the rooftop sat on a bench facing the sky, not wanting to disturb you he remained hidden in the corner still watching you, making sure you were okay. He knew you were uncomfortable in those places so he wanted to give you the time to relax and feel comfortable again, knowing that later that night you would have talked with him.

“Can I sit?” a man asked you pointing out the spot on the bench next to you. You simply didn’t pay attention so you nodded.

“I’m Rick” he introduce himself and you were a bit speechless. Was he trying to flirt with you or was he just being nice?

“Y/n” you said, not showing too many emotions.

Dusan was seeing everything from a distance. He was contemplating on wether he should intervene or letting you handle the situation. He knew you were capable of handling hard situations but he also knew you didn’t do well with new people and that you tend to be a little overwhelmed.

“Are you here alone?” Rick asked you but you shook your head no, clearly a sign that you didn’t want to talk but he didn’t get the hint.

“Well…I don’t see anyone here” he said, his hand on your thigh touching you.

“Don’t touch me” you said, your voice breaking a little.

“No baby I would never hurt you…don’t be scared, I think we should go somewhere else-“ he said but he was interrupted when Dusan came from behind.

“She said to not touch her, are you deaf?” Dusan asked very irritated with that man.

“Calm down man she’s definitely asking for it” Rick stood up facing a very angry and protective Dusan.

Dusan stood in front of you, shielding you from the man.

“Say this to my girl once again and you won’t be waking up tomorrow” Dusan said, not shouting and with a very calm voice, it was kinda scary.

“Dusan…” you called for him, grabbing his hand trying to calm him down.

“Fine I get it, that whore is yours-“ the man didn’t even finish his sentence that Dusan punched him in the face, leaving the man all bleeding on the floor.

“Say that again! Try! C’mon, are you scared now?” Dusan bursted out screaming completely mad while you tried to calm him down.

Rick didn’t say anything and he stayed on the ground holding his bleeding nose in his hands.

“Let’s go home baby, this party isn’t worth our time…” Dusan said, his voice completely changing when he was speaking to you, a calmer and sweeter voice.

You were too stunned to speak so you simply nodded and held his hands that were dragging you out of the club.

“Baby…what were you doing on the rooftop?” Dusan asked you softly when you were both in his car.

“I just…I felt uncomfortable with all of those people but I didn’t wanna say anything because you were having fun so I simply left…I’m so sorry I didn’t want to cause any drama” you said fully crying while Dusan held your hands.

“You didn’t cause anything baby, I’m happy you’re okay…you’re safe with me okay? I will always keep you safe” Dusan said wiping your tears away “now we’re gonna go home and watch your favorite movie okay?” he asked you smiling and you nodded, laughing a little.

The drive back home was silent, Dusan caressing your thighs and you watching out of the window.

In that moment you felt a sense of protection around you, knowing that if you were with Dusan nothing bad would have happened to you.

#dušan vlahović #dusan vlahovic imagine #dusan vlahovic x you #dusan vlahovic imagines #dusan vlahovic angst #dusan vlahovic fluff #dusan vlahovic x reader #dusan vlahovic one shot #dusan vlahovic #juventus #juve #football fan #football imagine #football one shot #football blurb #football drabble

129 notes · View notes

fabiochampioraro · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Men's Football RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Paulo Dybala/Gonzalo Higuaín Characters: Paulo Dybala, Gonzalo Higuaín Additional Tags: Smut, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Sexy Times, Paulo being a good boy, Established Relationship, Riding, Fluffy Smut, Gonzalo is a perfect daddy guys Summary:

The second Paulo heard the referee's whistle end the match, his eyes wandered over the field to find the man wearing the shirt with his favourite number 21 on it. He was incredibly happy and relieved, they'd just won the round of sixteen’s match against Udinese with a score of 4:0, which was very good, even more seeing that Paulo had scored twice goals himself.

#Dybain #Gonzalo Higuain #Paulo Dybala #cutie #juve #juventus #my fics

2 notes · View notes

mariomandzho · 5 years

Note

28 with Mario :)

It took an embarrassingly long time to start and finish this fic and I’m not even sorry. Wait, yes I am. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy –– as always, take my interpretation with a grain of salt because I am rusty as hell and writing is like pulling teeth right now.

PROMPT: ‘You’re like a giant cinnamon roll,’ starring Mario Mandzukic, Luka Modrić, Dejan Lovren, Šime Vrsaljko and Domagoj Vida.

The scent of sharp, citrus cologne wafted through the apartment and hung heavy in the air wherever you went. As you padded across the living room to the front entrance, you considered pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off the beginning pangs of a migraine caused by the pungent fragrance, calling out to Mario as you did so, “is it necessary to pour the entire bottle of cologne on yourself?”

“No,” he shot back at you assuredly, his voice deep and gravelly. “Just half.” You heard the bottle release another spritz and internally groaned as another knock sounded against the door.

Electing to ignore your juvenile boyfriend, you swung open the front door and beamed at the two men standing on the other side. Šime and Dejan were both waiting patiently in the hallway, donning their brightest smiles and ugliest Christmas (or non-denominational) sweaters – as per the request of your invitations. “Welcome, you two! We’re glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dejan promised, a wry grin planted upon his unusually handsome profile. “Free booze and domaćica? Pfft.”

“And Mario wouldn’t let us,” Šime added.

You nodded cheerily – remembering how Mario had awkwardly (perhaps even shyly?) suggested the holiday party, and threatened to sucker-punch those who wouldn’t attend. You stepped aside so they could enter, “let me take your coats. Mario, come and be social, Dejo and Šime are here and they brought a gift!”

As you eyed the shiny bag, equipped with a bright red bow, dangling in Dejan’s fingers, Mario waltzed across the wooden floorboards and greeted his teammates with friendly shoves and their usual ‘locker room’ talk. “What is this, a super bowl party? Get over here,” Šime joked, pulling Mario into a warm yet cursory embrace. “You wouldn’t believe how many liquor stores were closed today–”

Mario snorted, “On a Sunday? Go figure–.”

“We drove around for half an hour before Dejan remembered he had something in the fridge. So, enjoy.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you commented whole-heartedly, “I’ll go put this to chill in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable, there’s eggnog in the living room and Dejan, would you be a doll and set up the radio for us?”

“Is the eggnog spiked?”

“Yes. And there’s wine, beer, and drinks in the portable fridge on the balcony!”

“Count me in.” He flicked his thumb over his shoulder and gestured for Šime to follow. Once they were out of ear shot, you heard Mario’s familiar footfalls behind you on your way to the kitchen.

You glanced behind you, watching as Mario folded his arms across his muscular figure and leaned against the granite island. There was something dark and slightly humorous in his eyes that unnerved you. “What?” You snapped.

“What, what?” His dark brows rose into his hairline, feigning innocence.

“You know what. Why are you giving me that look?” If you glanced quickly, you might’ve mistaken it for his bedroom look; but this, this was far more dangerous.

He simply smirked. Yes, this was uncharted territory. “You just gave Dejan and Šime full range of our alcohol and sent them to ‘fix’ the radio. Grave mistake, sweetheart. Get ready for your ears to bleed.”

You considered his words for a moment before you moved aside to set the wine Dejan brought in a chilled container. Mario had a point, even if it irked you to admit it. After a beat of silence passed, you released a girlish chime of laughter and leaned your hip against the countertop. It was only a matter of time before Croatian pop music began to rattle the walls, or worse, they would find the Ariana Grande album you stowed away for Mario’s nieces for Christmas. All in all, you only hoped whatever they played wasn’t pornographic. “What have I done?”

Mario shrugged as he fixed the last remaining buttons on his navy blue dress-shirt. “Only time will tell, but, I should probably rein them in.”

Your brow furrowed for a moment as you watched him meticulously slip a button through a linen hole. “Wait a minute – where’s your ugly Christmas sweater? I laid it out on the bed for you.”

“I saw it,” he admitted curtly. “But I didn’t like it.”

“So? It’s an ‘Ugly Christmas – or non-denominational – Sweater Party’! You can’t wear a button up.” Although you had to admit, he looked particularly sharp in it. The dress shirt hugged his athletic physique perfectly, and accentuated his broad shoulders. “Who cares if you look ridiculous in it? We all look ridiculous.”

He rose a cautionary brow. Mario obviously did not want to be lumped together with people who looked ‘ridiculous’ by choice. “I didn’t have any shoes to correspond with it.”

You rolled your eyes incredulously and held up a hand, “Come on. We’re getting you into that sweater if it’s the last thing I do.”

Mario whined your name as you moved to sweep past him, darting a hand out to grasp you by your arm. He tugged you closer, close enough that the scent of his cologne was again nauseating, but you yielded and softened against him, throwing your arms around his neck and granting his rosy-lips a quick peck. “You’ll look cute, I promise.”

“I don’t want to look cute,” He pouted.

You traced your fingertip along the edge of his mouth. It tickled him, and he curled his lip under his teeth. His cheeks were slightly red from the cold, and his gelled hair was wind-tossed. You were completely enamored by him. “That’s hard to believe when you look so adorable pouting. Please, for me?” His gaze shifted, and if it were possible you noticed the edge within him lessen; like a lion backing away from its prey, he audibly exhaled and silently agreed. As his amber-brown eyes sought yours, the doorbell rang and you sighed; the moment had ended sooner than it began. “Change. I’ll answer the door.”

Calling out a brief, ‘I’m coming!’, you pried open the door – smiling as you saw Luka and Domagoj outside. “Hi, you guys! Welcome. I love the sweater, Domo!”

“Thanks, [your name],” Domo grinned, running a hand through your hair and disheveling your straightened locks beyond repair.

Before you could utter a word of protest, Luka leaned forward and pecked both of your cheeks, smiling warmly toward you. “Thank you for having us. Don’t tell Mario, but Ivan had to take a rain-check. We brought gifts, though!”

“Oh, wonderful.” You attempted to fix the tangled mess that was your hair, but to little avail. “We’ll bring these to the kitchen. Might I ask, which Ivan…? Peri?”

“Raketa,” Luka explained.

“May he rest in peace,” you laughed.

“And I brought this for you from Casa de Domo,” Domo interrupted, pushing a punch bowl covered in plastic wrap into your arms. You struggled beneath the weight of the bowl before Mario suddenly came to your rescue and lifted it from your arms. “Made from scratch.”

“Thank you, honey,” you mumbled to Mario, to which he responded with a brisk grunt. “And thank you Domo.” Seeking to find the right words to thank him, you sputtered, “what–what is it, by chance? It smells…”

“Foul,” Mario muttered. To his credit, Domo hadn’t heard him.

“Strong,” you supplied instead.

Domo’s fair brows knitted over his eyes, as if the answer were obvious and the mysterious liquid within did not utterly appall you. “It’s a Fireball cinnamon roll cocktail. With a very special, secret ingredient.”

“Jesus Ch…” Mario cursed underneath his breath, until you reached out and pinched the back of his arm, causing his nose to screw up in distaste.

“Thank you, Domo, again. We really appreciate it. We’ll just put this in the fridge. Dejan and Šime are in the living room, supposedly setting up the music, and there’s drinks, snacks and my special eggnog somewhere.”

“Special?” Luka’s brow rose into his hairline.

“More alcohol than is safe to consume,” Mario supplied. “Straight from her grandmother’s recipe book.”

“Wonderful. We’ll make ourselves useful in the living room. Can I help you with anything?”

“Absolutely not!” You cried. “Our treat. Go, our house is yours and we want you to make yourself comfortable.”

Mario whistled and pointed at Domo, “not too comfortable. This isn’t the pig-stye you call bedroom.”

“It’s not that messy, asshole. And your mom didn’t seem to mind it last time she was there,” he added, flicking Mario the bird.

Once Luka and Domo had turned on their heel, you crooked your finger at Mario, indicating for him to follow you back into the kitchen before he could leap at Domo. “Can you go five minutes without being rude to our guests?”

“Rude? This–this is an abomination to alcohol. Why would anyone mix sweetness and spice?”

“It obviously meant a lot to him to have made it from scratch.” You peeled back the plastic wrap, expecting it to bubble like a cauldron, and gave the mixture a quick sniff. You immediately jumped backward, as if you’d been burned, and clamped your eyes shut as they began to water. “Oh, my God.”

“What?” Mario’s brows pulled together out of concern. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a gentle squeeze, “what is it?”

“I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes. Literally.”

“Liar. It can’t be that bad.”

“You try it.”

Mario dipped a finger into the mysterious brew and sampled it. You watched as a smirk toyed upon your lips as he belched and coughed, sputtering as he set the punch bowl down. You knew it had to be bad; Mario had a higher tolerance for alcohol than most. “Holy shit. What is the secret ingredient, poison?”

You glanced at each other, both your eyes on the verge of watering and throats nearly burning, before busting out into laughter. You moved toward him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, smiling crookedly. “Can we even throw it out? Are we terrible hosts if we don’t serve it?”

“I think we’d be terrible hosts if we did serve it, and possibly accomplices to the crime,” He replied level-headedly. “Look, we’ll say you accidentally tripped and spilled it. Unless Domo wants to lick it off the floor, he’ll know it was a harmless accident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You countered, “Why do I have to be the one that spills it? He’s your friend.”

“Because,” He murmured, running a hand through your hair, “you’re the clumsy one.” He squinted an eye, head canting to the side as he gestured to your hair, “by the way, what happened here?”

“Domo.” His name was more than enough explanation and Mario released a quiet, ‘aaah.’

Mario said gently, “I think it looks pretty. C’mon, let’s find that ugly sweater that I definitely didn’t toss down the trash chute. We’ll match.”

As you reached on your tiptoes to graze your mouth against his, a thought sprang to you, the citrus of his cologne invading your senses pleasantly – sweetness and spice. “You. You’re what happens when you mix sweetness and spice. You’re like a cinnamon roll, Mario.”

“A cinnamon roll? You’re comparing me to Domo’s abomination of a cocktail?”

You nodded. “I’m being serious!”

“As am I.”

“You’re like… those candies. You know, first they’re sour; then they’re sweet.”

A sly grin rounded the corners of his lips. “They’re only sweet when you suck on them, [your name].”

You rolled your eyes and whacked him playfully on the chest using a hand towel. “Gross. Shut up. And go, for the love of God, change! I’m going to be the good hostess and entertain our guests.”

Mario raked a hand through his hair and turned toward the exit, “Fine, but don’t blame me when Dejan suggests playing strip poker and no one is there to stop him.”

“Maybe I don’t want to stop him.”

You winked as he turned back around to shoot you a deadly glare.

Yes – this Holiday party would be one to remember, and it had only just begun.

@marilyn-mandzukic @iceandbone @collapse-the-stars @crazy-for-lovren @living-lovren @letowolfie

#mario mandzukic #croatia nt fic #croatia nt x reader #juventus fanfiction #iceandbone #mf: mario mandzukic

19 notes · View notes

cha-eunwoos-dog-cat-binnie-blog · 6 years

Text

Hairdo, Hairdon’t

*Posted 7/29/18*

Peep the punny title lmfao. Soooo... have you seen Paulo’s hair?!?! This mans was looking so cute at the World Cup and then he ruined it. LIke sweetie, I couldn’t even recognize you on Instagram. But I still love it. And him. Anyway, that turn of events has sparked this so please enjoy! Like, Reblog, Request, Message Me. Do anything please, I am feeling lonely on a Sunday (which is something that should never happen).

*Warning - Explicit Language*

“Life is too short to have boring hair.” ~ Anonymous

Rolling over in bed, you half expected your arm to land on something solid, but all you felt was a soft and fluffy blanket. You groan at the lack of contact and rub the sleep from your eyes, yawning. You open your eyes, staring at the empty space next to you.

He wasn’t there. You brush off your boyfriend’s absence and set out to start your very productive day. Paulo was probably already up for one of his training sessions for Juventus. Crawling out from underneath your covers, you sneak a peek at the full-body mirror in front of you.

Yikes, you thought, looking at your reflection. Maybe it’s a good thing that he isn’t here. Your hair was sticking up, shooting in all different directions, and you could see bags beginning to form under your eyes.

I guess that’s a big fat “no” to allnighter FIFA and Netflix marathons from now on.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After cleaning up and slipping on one of Paulo’s hoodies, you head down to the kitchen. Pinned on the fridge was a handwritten note from the man himself.

mi corazón,

i left early for training but didn’t want to wake you. you look so cute while you’re sleeping. like a little puppy. i left some pastries in the toaster oven and made a smoothie that’s in the fridge for you. but leave the ice cream for when i come back so we can finish watching Netflix.

love dybala<3

You laughed at his choice of words. A puppy? Despite seeing how horrible you looked waking up, he still loved you, and he claimed that you looked just as pretty in the morning as you did dressed up. You didn’t know whether that was a badly worded compliment or an insult.

Grabbing a plateful of pastries and the smoothie from the fridge, you settled down in front of the TV. You decided to start rewatching episodes of Glee while waiting for Paulo to come home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two hours in, you started fading in and out of consciousness as an aftermath of the night before. When a slamming door jolted you awake, you didn’t know how much time had elapsed or the show you were watching (or not watching).

You were so dazed from your nap that your vision was blurred. You couldn’t see the man walking across the room from where you were slumped on the couch. But when he hopped over the couch and started hugging you, you freaked out and screamed so loud the neighbors probably heard, because you didn’t know any blond men, and sure as hell didn’t let this man into your home.

You started to struggle and tried to squirm out of his hold, frantically looking for your phone. With a luckily timed kick in what might have been the blond’s stomach, you sprung from his grasp, attempting to reach your blur of a phone on the kitchen counter.

“Ow Y/N what are you doing?”

You faltered in your run to the phone. Oh my god, he knows my name. There’s a stalker in my house that knows my name.

Reaching the phone, you turned back in the general direction of the clearing figure of a man and declared,“I’m calling the police on you, that’s what I’m doing. You can’t just break into someone’s house and assault them.”

“Y/N are you insane? It’s me.”

“I don’t know any me’s.” Your finger hovered over the numbers.

The man took long strides to you and placed his hand over your phone, setting it down on the counter. He leaned in close to your face, his breath fanning out over your skin. He placed his arms around you, pulling you flush against his toned body, making you blush at the close contact.

“It’s me, Paulo.”

Your eyes jerked up to his face after rubbing your eyes to clear your vision. It really was him, but it was no wonder you spazzed out, he had completely dyed his hair a platinum blonde. You felt your mouth open in awe and shock.

“What did you do?!” You yelled, bringing your hands up to his hair, running your hands through his soft locks. “Why did you change it? And why didn’t you tell me, 'cause then I wouldn’t have had to freak out like that. Jerk, it looks like you completely bleached your hair. It makes you look totally different.”

“Well, uh, you know, life is too short to have boring hair” He mumbled. “You don’t like it?”

You could see the disappointment filling his eyes, making you caress his face with your hands. You knew how insecure he got with his looks, him being on a team with men he thought to be much more handsome and manlier. Although he would always be the most handsome and manly to you.

“No Paulo I like it, I do. It’s just..why didn’t you give me a heads up silly. It’s just shocking is all. But it does accentuate your face and it makes you look exotic.” You said jokingly, stirring a deep laugh from him that you can feel vibrating from his chest.

You pulled him in for a hug, determined to cheer him up. You whispered to him about the note, making him chuckle and nuzzle into your neck. Breaking from the embrace, the two of you climbed onto the couch, ice cream in tow and settled down to continue your Criminal Minds marathon. You set up the pillows and blankets before sliding your legs onto his lap. You leaned up close to him, cuddling before you issued one threat.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I swear if you ever change your hair again, you better tell me when and what you’re doing, or I guarantee it’ll be a shitstorm.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed.

“And you better not grow it out, or get extensions because I will drop you if you come home looking like an Argentinean Jesus. And don’t shave your head bald because I will not date a Howie Mandel or a Vin Diesel, no matter how good you are at acting, or how much of a charmer you are. I mean it Dybala.”

“Of course hermosa.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. Satisfied with his answer and his company, the both of you turned your attention to the flatscreen TV for a very “productive” day indeed.

So that’s that! I hope you liked it! I spent my lonely Sunday writing it for you lovely people! And I was nice and made a punny title and actually use the quote in my writing for one. *Gasp* It’ll be a once in a lifetime thing because some quotes just don’t fit in with the writing, but I’ll just figure it out as it goes. So who knows, maybe we will get to see quotes once in a while. Now I gotta catch some z’s because ya girl’s working at the hospital tomorrow! Bye!! ~ Theeny

108 notes · View notes