riri Ი𐑼

ㅤ˚༘࿐ㅤ. ✿ㅤ ‿︵ DON’T BLAME IT ON ME! ╱ ferran torres 𝑥 𝒻!reader 𝄞 warnings: suggestive yet romantic + making out in a pool, tease!ferran, scratches on the back? just a big mess of feelings and vibes 😭

the air smells like chlorine, summer and the faint sweetness of sunscreen. the sky transitions into a dark blue, almost purple hue, but ferran’s face in front of you is as clear as day. the dry air burns your throat, the tension around your shoulders is tight.

💌 thank you so much for requesting sorry it took a few days, i wanted to post it for feely’s birthday!! hope you enjoy 🩷

also i thought of this birthday idea because in r10 when no one except hugh went to his party i felt bad, my poor baby 😢😢

patrick feely x reader

its patrick's 18th birthday and to celebrate you surprise him at his farm and hang out with him the whole day, also throw him a party with the core 10!

- fourth of july

the early morning sun peaks through the curtains of patrick’s bedroom, at the feely farm. you sneak past his parents bedroom and slip through his door, and head for his bed. 

patrick stirs in his sleeping sensing your presence “hmm baby, is that you?” he says slowly opening his eyes. 

“hi pa” you wrap his warm body into your arms, sliding into his cozy bed. 

“i missed you” he groaned embracing you tighter. 

“i missed you too baby” you whisper peppering kisses all over his face, "happy birthday”  

in his own way of responding, he nuzzled his head into your neck taking in your scent, he does this often as he doesn’t always communicate through words. 

after 30 minutes or so you somehow got yourself out of your boyfriend's bed and into the kitchen, using the recipe gibsies mam taught you when you were little, you poured pancake mix into the pan.  

you manged to make 6 pancakes before feely came out of the shower, with wet hair and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing off his tanned skin and trail of hair disappearing underneath his clothes.  

he comes behind you and wraps his arms around your waist kissing your neck, “hi baby”  

you nudge his shoulder trying to signal him to get off you so you can finish making the pancakes, however he just clings onto you more. 

you both ate your pancakes sometimes feeding each other and after wards fed all the animals in the barns.

then you spend a while on the grass chasing each other around the land, laughing and not giving a care in the world. 

paddy feely comes outside looking for patrick and he drags you behind an oak tree, looking down at you, taking in your appearance you are wearing a red flowy checkered dress and have a single braid in your hair, he smiles lopsidedly at you.  

pulling you towards him he brushed his finger over your lip, teasing you softly “mmm you’re so beautiful, it hurts” 

you and feely sneak into the barns and lay down on the hay as he tickles you repeatedly until your full-on belly laughing, he notices a piece of straw in your hair after he gently takes it out, he begins to kiss you again because he just can't help himself. 

“pa, you have lip gloss all over your face!” you begin attempting to rub it off his face, when suddenly a hand wraps around your wrist, he starts kissing inside your wrist with his rosy plump lips. 

“i don’t care baby, leave it on” he whispers against your ear. 

later in the evening, when his parents had left the house for the rest of the week. you invited the core 10 over for a surprise party for patrick.  

claire and gibs were dancing in the middle of the living room like always, johnny was slumped on the sofa with a drunk shannon sat on his lap, he was speaking with hugh but playing with her curls, twisting them around his finger absentmindedly. 

liz and katie were also on the sofa talking to each other, and joey and aoife were making out near the bathroom. 

you and patrick were dancing around drunk and laughing together. “thank you so much for today, i don’t deserve you”  

“your so welcome pa, i love you” you pull him in close and kiss him gently. 

he tightens his grip on your waist and bites your bottom lip, “you know i love you, but i think i could show you just how much i do” he grabs your hand and tugs you towards his bedroom. 

taglist!! (let me know if you want to be added!!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a/n: i will never pass up the chance to write clingy, touchy joao !!!

boyfriend joao who physically cannot handle not being close to you. whether it's intertwining pinkies under the table or pressing his lips to your shoulder, the comfort he gets from just being able to be with you is unparalleled and you weren't surprised by this at first, after all, the two of you were dating. but what did turn out to shock you was how much he would say through each of these touches.

ꨄ - DOING IT WRONG.

WARNINGS:: a lot - THIS IS FLUFF -> PURE ANGST.

WRITERS NOTES:: uh so this is the last post before all the summer ones so i’m excited for that i’ve already written 3 and i js need to post mg drafts and this is it i guess

TAGS:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli

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PROLOGUE:: late 2023 - 📍barcelona

the air feels electric tonight. the kind of thick, buzzing atmosphere that makes your skin prickle and your heart beat a little faster. the stands are a living organism, colours, chants, drums, flags, moving together in this chaotic harmony that’s so loud it drowns out your thoughts.

but not him. never him.

he’s easy to spot, even from here. hair slightly damp under the floodlights, that way he stands with one hand loose at his side, scanning the pitch.

and then, like clockwork, his eyes find you.

it’s ridiculous how fast your chest warms up. he doesn’t grin big, doesn’t wave or do anything dramatic, but you can tell by the way his mouth twitches into that tiny, crooked half smile. it’s the same look he gives you in your kitchen at 1am when you’re both too tired to speak but neither of you want to go to bed yet.

you grip your scarf tighter. the smell of fireworks, beer, and fried food mixes with the autumn air.

when he scores, it’s instinct, he turns toward your section, points just slightly, almost like he’s testing if you’re even watching. but you are. you always are.

the crowd roars around you, and you swear, just for a moment, that the world is small enough to fit inside the curve of his smile.

SEPTEMBER 2023 - 📍barcelona

it isn’t fireworks at first.

more like a spark that keeps catching, stubborn against the wind.

you meet him because you have to. preseason media day, women’s and men’s squads mingling for a few joint shots. you’re in the middle of lining up for photos when someone bumps into you.

‘perdón,’ a voice says, soft but quick. you look up and there he is, joão félix, hands up in mock surrender.

he’s taller than you expect, quieter too. he gives a small smile before sliding into his spot, not saying anything else.

you figure that’s the end of it.

over the next month, he’s just… around.

always in the periphery at the training grounds. leaning against a wall, laughing with teammates, occasionally letting his eyes wander your way.

you don’t talk much. when you do, it’s clipped, about the weather, the pitch, some light joke. he’s polite, almost guarded.

but then there’s the morning he offers you his water bottle when yours rolls too far under the bench.

the afternoon he asks how your ankle’s holding up after a rough tackle.

the way he doesn’t push when you give short answers, just nods like he gets it.

the shift

you start noticing him more.

the way he stays out after training to do extra touches. how his hair curls damp with sweat. the way his portuguese slips out when he’s frustrated.

he’s not trying to impress you, at least, not obviously. but you catch him looking sometimes. the kind of look that lingers a fraction too long.

your first real conversation outside of football happens by accident.

you’re both stuck waiting out a sudden downpour in the tunnel. you talk about music, food, the ridiculous prices in the city. he mentions a café near his place, ‘best espresso in barcelona,’ he claims.

you don’t go with him. not yet. but you think about it later, lying in bed, wondering why his voice stuck in your head.

the slow build

it’s weeks before you exchange numbers.

he doesn’t ask directly, he sends you a clip from training via the team group chat with a casual, ‘send me your number so i can forward it.’

texts start short and rare. a meme here, a comment about your match there. but then it’s good lucks before games, congrats after wins, small updates about his day.

it’s not romantic.

not yet.

but it’s something.

the first time you hang out outside of football, it’s not even planned.

you’re walking back from the grocery store, hoodie pulled over your head, and you hear someone call your name from across the street.

joão.

he’s leaning against his car, sunglasses on despite the cloudy evening.

‘what are you doing here?’ you ask, shifting your bag from one hand to the other.

‘thought i’d grab something to eat,’ he says, eyes flicking to the bag in your hand. ‘looks like you beat me to it.’

you end up back at your apartment, splitting a carton of strawberries you hadn’t planned to share.

he sits on your couch like he’s been there before, watching some random cooking show with mild interest. it’s easy. too easy.

after that, it’s little things.

he starts showing up more, always with a reason, but never a good one.

‘just in the area.’

‘needed to borrow a charger.’

‘thought you might want this pastry from the café.’

you never call him out on it.

and you never tell him you’ve started keeping extra coffee pods because he only drinks one specific blend.

the first time you see him play in person is from the stands after your own training session wraps early.

you’re not sure if he spots you until you catch him glancing up during a stoppage, a quick grin flashing before he refocuses on the pitch.

after the match, he texts you one word:

you?

you send back a photo of your view from the stands.

he replies with a thumbs up and, two minutes later, ‘wait there.’

he walks you home that night.

doesn’t try anything, doesn’t even touch you, just matches your pace and asks about your day.

‘you never told me you were coming,’ he says, kicking at a loose pebble on the pavement.

‘wasn’t sure i would.’

‘hope you do again.’

you don’t answer, but the corners of your mouth lift despite yourself.

the almost moments

they start stacking up.

his hand brushing yours when you pass him your phone.

your leg pressed against his under the café table, neither of you moving away.

his jacket draped over your shoulders after training when the wind picks up.

still, no one makes a move.

maybe because you’re both too careful, too stubborn, or too afraid to break whatever this is.

it’s a thursday night, way too late for either of you to be awake, but here you are, sat on the floor of his living room, empty takeout boxes between you.

he’s telling you some ridiculous story about a teammate’s pre match ritual, and you’re laughing so hard your sides hurt.

and then, out of nowhere, he says,

‘you don’t laugh like that with anyone else.’

you freeze for a second, trying to decide if it’s a question or a statement.

‘how would you know?’ you tease, but your voice is softer now.

‘because i watch you,’ he says without hesitation.

after that, something shifts.

the air between you feels heavier, charged.

he starts noticing things, too many things.

who you’re texting during team lunch.

which teammate’s instagram story you react to.

why you’ve been smiling at your phone all morning.

one afternoon, you’re sat in the training facility café with a few of the women’s team, scrolling through your phone, when his shadow falls over the table.

‘didn’t know you were here,’ he says, looking at you but not smiling.

‘didn’t know i had to tell you,’ you shoot back, eyebrows raised.

his jaw ticks.

‘guess i just thought you might want to.’

your friends exchange looks, all silently screaming what is going on here.

that weekend, you both end up at the same rooftop party.

you’re halfway through telling a story to someone from the physio staff when you catch sight of him across the crowd, some girl leaning in close, laughing at whatever he’s saying.

you try to ignore it, focus on your drink, but it’s impossible.

he catches your eye eventually, and the smirk he gives you isn’t playful. it’s challenging.

you don’t speak for the rest of the night.

the next day, he shows up at your door.

‘are you mad at me?’ he asks, leaning against the frame like nothing happened.

‘why would i be?’

he shrugs, but there’s something sharp in his gaze.

‘because you looked like you were going to kill me last night.’

‘you’re imagining things,’ you say, brushing past him into the kitchen.

he follows you.

‘maybe. or maybe you don’t like seeing me with someone else.’

you spin around, glare sharp enough to cut through the air.

‘you think you can read me that well?’

he grins, slow, infuriating.

‘i know i can.’

TRAINING SESSION - 📍barcelona

training’s over, but you’re still on the pitch, sat on the grass tying and untying your laces like it’s life or death. the sun’s dipping low, and the whole place smells like cut grass and sweat.

you hear his voice before you see him.

‘you planning on sleeping out here?’

you don’t look up. ‘maybe. beats the traffic.’

he drops down beside you, too close for it to be casual. your knees knock, and you tell yourself it’s just because the pitch is big and the bench is far away.

‘you’ve been avoiding me,’ he says, eyes on the empty stands.

‘haven’t.’

‘you have.’

you sigh, tug the laces tighter. ‘you’re imagining things again.’

he laughs under his breath, but it’s not amused. ‘you’re bad at lying.’

it’s late, nearly midnight, and the training facility is empty. the hum of the floodlights is the only sound.

you’re sitting on the edge of the bleachers, knees tucked up, staring at your hands. the day’s weight presses on your shoulders, missed passes, sharp words, the tiny cracks between you and him that keep widening.

he approaches quietly, boots crunching on the gravel.

‘you thinkin?’

he sits beside you without asking, close enough that your arms brush. the electricity between you is impossible to ignore.

‘about what?’ he asks, voice low.

you don’t answer. the truth is too messy, too heavy.

he hesitates, then says, almost in a whisper, ‘i’ve been thinking too.’

your heart ticks faster. you glance at him. his usual confident smirk is gone, replaced with something raw, vulnerable.

‘about us?’ you finally ask.

he swallows. ‘yeah. about us.’

there’s a long pause, one of those silences that stretches and stretches until it feels like it might snap. then he reaches for your hand, fingers brushing yours.

‘i don’t want to pretend anymore,’ he admits. ‘i don’t want… to just drift around each other. i can’t.’

you look down, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart.

and then, finally, it happens, the first proper kiss. not rushed, not careless. slow, searching, all the tension and longing of the past months spilling into it.

you cling to him, and he holds you like he’s scared if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

when you finally pull back for air, he presses his forehead to yours.

‘we’re… ours now,’ he murmurs.

you nod, because for the first time in months, it feels like something is real, something that belongs only to the two of you.

mornings are slow. you wake up tangled in each other’s arms, sun spilling over the blinds. he’s already awake half the time, tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder while you try not to think about the day ahead.

coffee becomes a ritual. he insists on making yours exactly how you like it, never forgetting the little things, the caramel drizzle, the way you stir it twice, not once. you tease him, call him obsessed, and he just smirks, sliding the mug across the table.

you steal moments between training sessions. stolen kisses in empty hallways, fingers brushing under the table, the quiet comfort of someone who knows you completely.

weekends are chaotic but intimate. you walk the city streets hand in hand, laughter spilling between you, sometimes arguing about silly things like which gelato flavour is best. he lets you win half the time, and you catch him watching you with that soft, unreadable look that makes your chest tighten.

texts are constant, little threads that tie you together even when schedules separate you.

‘just saw a dog that reminded me of you.’

‘i’m counting the minutes until i see you.’

‘i might be late, but i’m coming.’

everyone notices, but you don’t care. the world shrinks to just the two of you when you’re together.

it’s perfect, fragile, fleeting, but perfect.

MAY 2024 - 📍barcelona

he finds out on a rainy afternoon. the call from the club manager is curt, professional, almost like he’s delivering bad news about someone else entirely. joão’s loan at barça is ending sooner than expected.

he sits on the edge of the empty locker room, phone clutched in his hand, staring at the floor. the words echo in his head. ending, moving, leaving…

he texts you, hands shaking: we need to talk.

you meet him at your usual café, rain streaking the windows. he looks exhausted, but the tension in his jaw tells you it’s more than just fatigue.

‘what is it?’ you ask, voice tight.

he avoids your eyes, staring at the table. ‘my loan… it’s over. sooner than expected. but we both knew it.’

you try to swallow the sudden pit in your stomach. ‘so… you’re leaving?’

he finally looks at you. his eyes are heavy, conflicted. ‘yeah. and i don’t know how we’re supposed to do this.’

the words hang between you like a storm cloud.

for the first time since you became lovers, the air feels heavy, charged with fear and helplessness. small arguments start to creep in, over texts, over missed calls, over trivial things that suddenly feel monumental.

he snaps at you for being late after training. you bite back, saying he’s always distracted anyway. the tension is subtle at first, a tiny crack in the foundation of what felt unbreakable.

every night he lies awake, thinking of how to hold onto you, while you stare at the ceiling, feeling the distance grow even when he’s right there.

the first real fight isn’t even about the loan, it’s about time, priorities, everything you thought you shared.

and that’s the start. the first real crack. the beginning of the slow, painful unravel.

the weeks drag on. the matches blur together, each one a reminder of the distance creeping in between you.

he’s distracted on the pitch, missing passes, sighing when you text him mid-game. you’re exhausted, trying to balance training, media, and the gnawing feeling that you’re losing him even before he leaves.

fights become more frequent, sharper. one night, after a loss, he storms into your apartment:

‘you don’t understand how hard this is for me!’

‘and you think it’s easy for me?’ you snap back, voice shaking. ‘i’ve been trying to hold everything together while you—’

he cuts you off, anger flashing. ‘don’t act like this is all my fault!’

it’s not one thing, it’s everything, the loan ending, the pressures of football, the guilt, the fear.

you try to talk, to reach him, but he’s already pulling away, leaving words unsaid and space between you that grows too wide to cross.

finally, a week before the season ends, he sits across from you in silence. no fight, no argument, just the crushing reality.

‘i think… maybe we need to let go,’ he murmurs.

your chest tightens. ‘…you mean now?’

he nods. ‘before it gets worse. before we hurt each other more.’

tears blur your vision. ‘but i don’t want to.’

‘i know,’ he says, voice breaking too. ‘me neither.’

and just like that, your perfect, fragile world shatters. lovers no more. the season continues, but for both of you, it feels like the sky has fallen.

END OF 23/24 SEASON - 📍barcelona

you hate him. you hate him for leaving. you hate him for moving on, for smiling, for existing in a world where you can’t touch him anymore. every memory of him, the way he laughed, the stupid coffee he made just right, the mornings that felt like yours, it’s poison now.

you train until your legs scream and your lungs burn, just to feel anything other than the ache in your chest. you snap at teammates for nothing, push everyone away, and laugh bitterly when they look at you like you’ve lost your mind. every victory feels hollow. every laugh you overhear, every glance in the locker room, twists like a knife: why him? why can’t it be easy for you? why can’t anyone love you for you?

you drink alone, late at night, replaying every match, every argument, every “almost” that became “never.” the anger coils in your stomach until it’s all you can feel. and he knows. he knows in the curt texts you send, in the silence when you cross paths. but he can’t fix it. and watching him move through the world, still alive and breathing, while you’re collapsing under the weight of everything you had… it kills you.

every day is a fight, against yourself, against him, against the world, and you don’t know how to win.

EUROS 2024 - 📍barcelona.

you can’t sleep. every night, your thoughts crawl like spiders across your brain, him, the season ending, the way he left, the way you let yourself fall for him. the euros are happening, but it feels meaningless. every time portugal plays, every highlight, every mention of joão on the pitch, it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

you watch the quarter final from your apartment, lights off, phone buzzing with updates. france vs. portugal. you try to care about the game, but your heart is caught somewhere between anger and grief.

and then it happens. the penalty. slow, agonizing, every second stretching into forever. he runs up. you can almost hear your own pulse. he kicks, and misses.

you feel it in your chest before your brain can even process it. anger, heartbreak, bitterness, it all mixes together, a storm you can’t escape. how could he mess this up now? you think. how could he fail when everything else is already broken?

you’re screaming at the screen, slamming your hands on the table, shaking. part of you wants to throw the phone, part of you wants to crawl under the table and disappear.

and through it all, the realization settles like ash in your lungs: you’re worse than him. you’ve let the grief, the heartbreak, the anger consume you. your life feels raw and hollow, each moment a reminder that the person you loved is failing and surviving and moving on, while you’re unraveling completely.

this isn’t just about football. it’s about everything you lost, everything that went wrong, and the fact that there’s no one left to save you, not him, not yourself, not anyone.

you can’t stop thinking about him. every memory, every word, every laugh twists inside you until it’s unbearable. you see him on the pitch, on the screen, and it’s like a punch to the stomach, the same person who held you, kissed you, made you feel safe, now thriving while you’re crumbling.

you replay every argument, every mistake, every “almost” that became “never,” until your chest aches and your hands shake. the bitterness burns in your veins. you hate him for leaving, for failing, for being alive and breathing while your world collapses.

you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t focus. training feels pointless, interviews feel suffocating, and every teammate’s smile, every laugh, feels like it’s directed at mocking your pain.

and the worst part, he doesn’t even know the depth of it. he sees your curt texts, your silence, your avoidance, but he doesn’t know the full weight of the fire inside you. he can’t fix this. no one can.

you’re left in the dark, screaming into emptiness, the agony gnawing at you until it feels like you’re being eaten alive from the inside. every step, every breath, is heavy with loss and rage.

and you realize, this isn’t just heartbreak. this is destruction. and there’s no coming back from it.

JOAO’S PRESEASON 2024 POV - 📍madrid

he’s on the other side of the world. pre-season with atletico, then the permanent move to chelsea. he’s living a new life, wearing a new jersey, stepping onto new pitches. but none of it matters. not really.

he knows, somehow, that you’re spiraling. he’s seen glimpses online, curt replies, photos where you look hollow, interviews where your voice barely hides the edge of anger. he wants to call, to fly back, to fix it all.

but he can’t. he’s miles away. he’s tied to obligations, contracts, transfers, a life that doesn’t have space for the person he left behind.

he remembers your laugh, the mornings wrapped in blankets, the way you made him feel like he belonged somewhere. and now, all he can do is watch helplessly, knowing there’s nothing he can do to stop the bitterness consuming you.

he misses you more than he can admit. he hates himself for leaving, for letting things fall apart, for moving on while you’re left alone in the wreckage. and the guilt gnaws at him every day, a quiet, constant pain that he can’t escape.

he loves you. he always will. but he can’t reach you. not anymore.

24/25 SEASON - 📍barcelona.

august hits like a punch you can’t recover from. he’s gone, permanently, chelsea-bound, and you feel it in your chest every second. the pitch feels emptier, the locker room colder. every routine reminds you that he’s no longer there, and you’re left picking up the pieces alone.

training is mechanical. your legs move, but your heart doesn’t follow. every pass, every sprint, every drill feels like a reminder that part of you is missing. you snap at teammates for nothing, a wrong call, a laugh too loud, a glance that reminds you of him.

interviews are the worst. questions about the season, about goals, about your performance, you answer with clipped words, smiles that don’t reach your eyes. you feel everyone staring through you, sensing the bitterness you’re trying to hide but failing at.

september is worse. every news clip, every social media post, every fleeting mention of him in the football world twists like a knife. you tell yourself you’re overreacting, but the anger simmers in your veins anyway. you isolate yourself more, dinners alone, skipping team outings, ignoring calls.

october brings mistakes on the pitch. small ones at first, a missed pass, a misjudged tackle, but each one magnifies the anger inside you. you replay every memory of him, every kiss, every laugh, every promise, twisting it until it burns. the bitterness grows until it’s all you can feel.

by november, late nights have become routine. you drink alone to quiet your mind, but the memories only scream louder. arguments you had, moments you can’t reclaim, they haunt you. teammates notice, but you push everyone away. you want no one to see this, no one to interfere, no one to know how much it hurts.

december arrives, and the spiral feels uncontainable. every smile you see, every laugh you hear, every small victory of others feels like a reminder of what you’ve lost. the season ticks by, but you’re stuck, trapped in bitterness and regret, while he’s out there living a life that doesn’t include you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

january hits, and the bitterness has taken root. every training session feels heavier, every drill a reminder that nothing feels right without him. you snap faster now, at coaches, at teammates, even at yourself. mistakes pile up, small at first, then glaring. you see the disappointment in eyes that used to cheer you on, but you push them away before anyone can ask.

february and march are worse. late nights become darker, lonelier. you drink to silence the screaming memories, but they only come back sharper. every laugh, every glance, every touch you remember of him is a sting that won’t fade. the team notices, whispers circulate, but you refuse help. you tell yourself you don’t need anyone. you just need him, but he’s gone.

april arrives, and the spiral is consuming you. performances are inconsistent, focus slipping. small injuries, fatigue, even minor setbacks feel catastrophic. you lash out at anyone who comes near. friends and teammates try to reach you, but you push them away, everything is sharper, every word a potential wound.

may, the season’s end, brings no relief. the matches blur together, each one a mirror of your inner chaos. every cheer from the crowd, every camera flash, every mention of joão somewhere out there feels like salt in an open wound. you’re exhausted, bitter, angry, hollowed out by a season long spiral that has no end in sight.

and through it all, you know it. the world keeps moving. matches end, seasons finish, players transfer, life goes on. but you? you’re stuck. trapped in the fire of what you lost, what you can’t have, and what you’ve become in the process.

JULY 2025 - 📍switzerland.

the stadium feels like it’s closing in. every cheer, every shout, every flash of the cameras is a hammer against your chest. you’ve carried the whole season, the spiral, the bitterness, the loneliness, straight onto this pitch, and now it all comes down to a single moment.

the score is tied. penalties. your stomach twists, your hands shake. you remember joão, a shadow at the back of your mind, his missed penalty in 2024 flashing through your head like fire. you tell yourself it doesn’t matter, but it does. it matters too much.

you step up. the ball feels impossibly heavy under your foot. the world goes quiet except for your own heartbeat, pounding so loud it drowns everything else. you kick.

and it misses.

the net swallows it, or maybe it bounces off the post. either way, it doesn’t go in. the stadium erupts in a mix of cheers and groans. your teammates collapse, some in shock, some in disbelief. you stand frozen, chest tight, stomach twisting.

guilt, rage, bitterness, they all hit at once. you’ve carried the spiral all season, but this… this is the pinnacle. your own failure, mirrored against joão’s missed penalty, feels like fate mocking you. everything you’ve felt all year, the isolation, the anger, the heartbreak, crashes down like a tidal wave.

you want to scream, to hit something, to make the pain tangible. but there’s nothing to hit, nothing to say. the applause, the cameras, the congratulations for everyone else, it’s all a reminder that you’re alone in this, that no one can fix what’s broken inside you.

and as you walk off the pitch, the weight of the season, the spiral, and the mirrored heartbreak presses down harder than ever. you’re bitter, broken, and empty, and there’s no one to reach for, not joão, not the world, not yourself.

AUGUST 2025 - 📍barcelona.

the summer air feels heavy, sticky with heat and regret. the 24/25 season is over, euros 2025 is over, and everything you’ve been holding, the bitterness, the anger, the heartbreak, has calcified inside you.

you see the news: joão has joined al nassr. it hits like a punch to the gut. he’s somewhere else now, building a new life, a new career, a new world that doesn’t include you. you want to scream, to cry, to throw something, but you’re too exhausted. the spiral has hollowed you out. there’s nothing left to throw. nothing left to fight.

you replay the euros penalties endlessly. the miss, the fall of your team, the cheers and groans of the crowd, it all blends together into a single, suffocating knot in your chest. you hate yourself for letting it matter so much. you hate him for being alive and breathing while you’re broken. you hate that the world keeps moving while you’re stuck in this endless loop of grief.

friends have drifted away. teammates barely recognize you. every conversation feels like a minefield, every glance a potential wound. you’re alone. truly alone.

and yet, through it all, a small, jagged part of you still aches for him. still remembers the early days, the laughs, the touches, the warmth. but it’s a ghost. a shadow you can never reach.

you realize something painful and irrevocable: some losses aren’t meant to be healed. some spirals don’t have endings. joão is gone, permanently, and you’ve become someone shaped entirely by the wreckage he left behind.

the world moves on. he moves on. you remain, bitter, broken, and unforgettable only to yourself, carrying the weight of a season, a year, a life that was never meant to be fixed.

and that’s it. the story ends not with a reunion, not with forgiveness, not with peace, but with the raw, agonizing permanence of what’s lost, and the cold reality that some pain is forever.

EPILOGUE:: present day - 📍barcelona.

same stadium. same floodlights. same endless noise.

but no him. the number 14 that he once wore, under a different name.

you knew that before you even came tonight. his name isn’t on the sheet, his face isn’t on the big screen, his boots aren’t touching this pitch anymore. but you came anyway, scarf looped around your neck like a bad habit you can’t break.

at first, you tell yourself you’ll watch the whole match. just sit, cheer, pretend the hollow feeling isn’t there. but the chants hit you harder than you expect, louder, heavier, pressing into your ribs until it’s like you can’t get enough air.

so you leave.

the bathroom is cold under the flicker of the fluorescent lights. the air smells faintly of bleach and damp concrete. your footsteps echo off the tile, too sharp, too loud.

you grip the sink with both hands, lean forward until your forehead almost touches the mirror. you look… wrong. too pale under the harsh light, too tired, eyes ringed with sleeplessness that no amount of concealer can hide.

the crowd outside erupts, a muffled explosion of joy that seeps through the walls and floor. you don’t even know if it’s for your team.

your breathing gets uneven. you try to slow it, but every inhale just feels heavier, like there’s no room for it in your lungs.

you sit on the closed lid of the toilet, scarf still wrapped tight. you tell yourself you’ll leave in a minute. then another. then another.

your phone buzzes once in your pocket, you don’t look.

the cheers outside fade, replaced by scattered footsteps and the clang of plastic seats being folded back up. the match is ending. people are leaving.

you stay.

the bathroom hums with that low, constant fluorescent buzz, and you stay until it’s the only sound left. until the stadium is empty. until you’re not sure if you could get up, even if you wanted to.

like Magui and Lando broke up and now she wants to get with Joao again knowing he's in a relationship because he shows her off and they meet up and all this stuff he started following her again and this stuff that make the people think there dating and reader is just watching it unfold like wtf I'm your gf not her. and her and Joao did break up for a bit and Magui got what she wanted and posting cryptic Stuff till reader wrote a sad song off Olivia new album you can choose and that makes Joao text her and all this stuff but happy ending plssss

like make Magui the bad guy in this

You Were Supposed To Choose Me

A/N: Thank You So Much For Requesting. I Hope You Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.

The first time you noticed something was wrong, it was a follow. It was a single follow, a single click, a single notification, and one ex girlfriend.

You tried not to think about it people followed people all the time it didn’t mean anything. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Then came the likes. Then the comments. Then the pictures. Then the rumors.

And suddenly it felt like the entire internet was talking about João and his ex except for the two people who actually mattered. And that was you and him.

“You’re overthinking.” João barely looked up from his phone. The words stung as you sat across from him in your apartment.

“People literally think you’re dating again.” “They think a lot of things.” “Joao.” He sighed. “Nothing is happening.”

The conversation ended there but your doubts didn’t. A week later it got worse. The ex posted a picture it was nothing inappropriate but it was coffee cup and soccer field and a pair of shoes.

But fans immediately started connecting dots. Because João had posted from the same training center that morning.

The comments exploded. “They’re definitely seeing each other again.” “I knew it.” “She’s back.” You stared at the screen. Then stared at João’s latest post and back again at hers. Your stomach twisted.

“Tell me honestly.” Joao looked up from dinner. “What?” “Why did you start talking to her again?” He froze for like half a second. You noticed. “She’s just a friend.” The answer came too quickly it almost felt rehearsed. You hated that it hurt. “Then why does it feel like I’m competing with her?”

His expression softened immediately. “You’re not.” “Then why am I feeling like this?” For the first time, Joao didn’t have an answer.

The breakup happened three weeks later it wasn’t because of cheating or any scream and definitely not because either of you stopped loving each other. It happened because you were exhausted. Exhausted from feeling second place and feeling insecure. You were tired from pretending everything was okay.

“You don’t trust me.” Joao looked heartbroken. “I do.”“No, you don’t.” “I trust you.” Your eyes filled with tears.“But I don’t trust this.” “I don’t know what else you want me to do.” The words broke something inside you. Because you wanted him to choose you not her or the rumors or the attention. Just for once you wanted him to chose you. Instead he looked defeated and you looked exhausted. And somehow that was worse.

The internet went insane. Fans noticed immediately how there were no more pictures of comments or even stories.

Meanwhile the ex seemed happier than ever. Posting cryptic captions and smiling in every picture she posted. Leaving just enough clues for people to speculate. And every time another rumor appeared online, it felt like another knife twisting in your chest.

Three months later. You released a song. The kind of song people listened to while staring at their ceiling at 2 AM. Especially the bridge. “I kept waiting for you to choose me. But you were too busy proving you could have anyone. And maybe that’s the saddest part. You never realized I was already yours.”

The internet immediately lost its mind. Everyone knew what it meant but no one said it but the message was heard.

Joao heard it at two in the morning. Alone in his apartment. He listened once then again and again. By the fourth time, he couldn’t breathe properly because suddenly he wasn’t hearing a song. He was hearing every conversation he’d dismissed. Every tear he’d ignored and every moment you tried to explain how you felt. And worst of all? You never accused him of cheating not even once. You were just begging him to understand and he never did.

His text came at 3:17 AM.

Joao: Are you awake?

You stared at it then ignored it but five minutes later.

Joao: Please.

Ten minutes later.

Joao: I listened to the song.

You almost cried instead you just locked your phone.

The next day there was another text then another. For weeks text kept coming in. They weren’t demanding or angry but pleading.

Finally, one rainy afternoon, you answered.

You: Why now?

The reply came instantly like he’d been waiting.

Joao: Because I finally understand

You: Took you long enough.

Three dots appeared than disappeared and reappeared again.

Joao: I know.

When you finally agreed to see him, neither of you knew what to expect. The second Joao saw you, his eyes watered. That alone almost broke you because this wasn’t the confident football star everyone saw online. This was just Joao the man you loved. But also the man who looked absolutely miserable.

“You look good.” The words slipped out of your mouth. João laughed weakly. “I’ve been suffering.” You nearly smiled. “Good.” That made him laugh harder then his face became serious again.

“I’m sorry.” Just two words but they carried everything. “I know.” “No.” His voice cracked. “I don’t think you do.” Your heart dropped. Joao swallowed hard. “I kept thinking if nothing was happening then it wasn’t a problem.” He looked away. “And I never realized I was hurting you anyway.” Tears burned behind your eyes. “Joao…” “I should’ve listened.” His voice broke.

“I should’ve chosen you.” The exact words you’d wanted to hear months ago. The exact words that hurt the most because you needed them then. Not now but still somehow hearing them now still mattered.

“You really hurt me.” Joao nodded immediately. “I know.” “I felt stupid.” “I know.” “I felt like I wasn’t enough.” That one destroyed him. His eyes immediately filled with tears. “You were always enough.” The answer came so quickly it sounded painful.

“You were always enough.” The sincerity nearly shattered you. For a long moment neither of you spoke then Joao carefully reached for your hand like he was afraid you’d pull away. When you didn’t, his shoulders relaxed only slightly.

“I still love you.” You laughed through your tears. “That’s inconvenient.” A small smile appeared on his face. “Very.” You squeezed his hand. “I still love you too.” The relief that crossed Joao’s face was immediate. Like he’d finally been allowed to breathe.

Months later the rumors were gone. The drama was gone and especially the ex was gone.

And Joao? Joao had become almost ridiculous.

He was posting you constantly on every platform. He was holding your hand anywhere and everywhere. Joao was showing you off every chance he got.

One afternoon you caught him staring at you. “What?”He smiled. “Nothing.” “Joao.” “You know…” You narrowed your eyes. “What?” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The third one?

summary: you overheard your boyfriend talking with his teammate about.. a prettier one?

warnings: angst? fluff. kissing

a/n: thank you soo much for your requests!! I dont really know joao or have watched a lot of videos exposing his character so I hope this wasnt too much out of character!! lmk what are you thoughts, my first angst and I feel like it isnt really but yeah.. its so short too.. sorry!!! send more requests! I take everything!

english is not my first language so excuse any spelling mistakes

—

you and joao have been together for almost a year now. Joao often invited his teammates home, they would stay in the living room etc.

you woke up to loud sounds coming from downstairs, voices and walking sounds.

"yeah no shes way more prettier."

your eyes widened, you recognized joao’s voice. your boyfriend’s voice. was he talking about another girl? your breath hitched. you walked out of your bedroom and sat on the stairs, listening. maybe you misheard.

"right, way more than the third one."

your stomach twisted. your eyes widened again, you were joao’s third girlfriend and everyone knew it. your eyes teared up slowly, you hand went to your mouth to prevent any sounds.

"you should change."

a teammate added. it was enough. you stood up from the stairs and walked down, not even caring about how you looked. when you made your way to the living room, everyone was staring, guilty smile on their lips, you could swear joao hide his phone when you arrived.

"hey amor"

he said carefully, walking around the couch to hug and kiss your forehead softly.

"what were you talking about? am I interrupting something?"

you asked, pushing him away with your hand, palm flatening against his chest, he let you do so.

"strategy, football you know."

you looked toward his teammates who nodded instantly.

"okay.."

you said turning around to walk to the kitchen to make a coffee, joao followed you there.

"meu amor.."

he said as he hugged you from behind, chin going to your shoulder

"something wrong? did we wake you?"

you shrugged

"nothing. get off.. its already hot enough."

you said pushing him away with your back, he let go, pouting.

"okay.. I love you."

he said looking at you. leaning against the counter, next to you trying to catch your eyes.

"yeah.. me too"

you nodded and he walked back to the living room.

—

a week passed of you pushing him away, telling him you were not in the mood.

It was after dinner, you were on the couch, reading a book. He just finished washing the dishes as he flopped into the couch, next to you, his knee touched yours and you directly moved yours away.

"Y/N, amor."

you ignored him, turning the page to next page.

"Y/N. listen to me."

he said grabbing your book, tossing it aside, his hand found your knee, his thumb rubbed slow half moons there.

"whats wrong? its been a week since you ignore me and.. push me away everytime I want to touch you.."

"its nothing."

you said avoiding his eyes, eyes already tearing up.

"Y/N tell me, even if its dumb even if it was a dream, amor tell me. please I cant bare even thinking about another minute with you being mad at me.."

his free hand, slid under your chin so you looked at him. you met his eyes, they searched yours instantly, pleading.

"its just.."

he nodded along, not talking, letting you as much time as you needed. your eyes started to tear up.

"last time when your teammates came home.. you talked about. about me. I know it joao, you want to switch girlfriend."

his eyes widened, a smile tugging at his lips, he tried to hold back a laugh but failed. he brushed a strand of hair behind your eat, his hand staying on your jaw.

"amor.. we werent talking about you— I mean yeah kind off. but not like that. amor I love you more than anything."

"then what were you talking about huh? tell me joao. say it."

"a ring. they helped me choose a ring. a promisd ring."

his eyes softened, his thumb caressing your cheek. your eyes widened and your lips turned up at the corner, you hesitated.

"what? a promise ring?"

he nodded, chuckling and pulling you closer.

"sim, amor. for our one year anniversary. that was supposed to be a surprise but you-"

you cute him off by kissing him, pouring all that week of starving in it.

"Im so relieved.. I thought you were gonna leave me.. dont ever do that okay?"

he chuckled and nodded, leaning in to kiss your lips softly again

"youre my only one and will be forever."

pairing - joao felix x reader summary - after yet another night spent together in secrecy, you finally build up the courage to ask Joao and uncomfortable question warnings - some angst, possibly a toxic relationship? word count - 1k

a/n: just bc ive been listening to chappell roan NONSTOP lately and realised i hadn't written a full length fic in a hot minute !!! hope u guys enjoy <333

There were a lot of people who wanted to know what kind of relationship you and Joao had.

Of course, there were endless amounts of media outlets and gossip pages that seemed to have eyes following everywhere the two of you went. It got to the point where you knew any time you were with him publicly, it would only be a few hours before your timeline was inundated with sensationalised headlines or sneakily taken candids.

꘩ 𝓟atrick 𝓕eely in — 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 ࿐ ⟡ ݁

꘩ 𝓟atrick 𝓕eely in — 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 ࿐ ⟡ ݁