luz 💋🌟

chronically mexican, fangirl occassionally

[sgfgmichaelrry]

𐙚⋆.˚ introducing ... Luz !

19. she/her. mexicana. enfp. scorpio sun. eng/esp. pre-law + theatre kid. frank langdon's girl (i can fix him, i can!) + peter parker's wife. currently listening to 5sos, karol g, y djo. chivahermana y mancity.

requests are open since i'm heading back to school and will have more time to write in my apartment! see you on a post soon! besos y abrazos

[xfloricita]

✷┆ 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ or, in which, he admits during an interview who he'd like to go on a date with

𝐰𝐜: 2.9k+

the one downside of being an athlete was having to constantly deal with the press. from interviews during halftime, press conferences after the game, talk shows and radio show appearances, podcasts, newspapers and online article pieces—it was tiring.

having to always make sure that to speak simply and clearly, that your words couldn’t be misinterpreted, that your sentences couldn’t have double meanings, and that your opinions were never, truly shared.

because the last thing he ever wanted was a controversy. he didn’t want to say after a loss anything that might have the media view him in a negative light—especially when frustration and annoyance bubbled up in his chest, ready to dictate his words.

he didn’t want to say anything when a reporter was more of a critic—telling him things that he already knew and already thought—and make him lose his edge, spewing words he shouldn’t say in front of cameras with microphones all angled towards him.

which is why he was why he couldn't believe that his agent thought it would be a good idea to go to a talk show.

he knew that he had surged in popularity after a successful season with las chivas, which only increased when he was called up to play for the national team.

the fans found him to be endearing. he wasn’t afraid to be funny, to talk and get excited about things he enjoyed, nor was he afraid to show some personality outside of playing football.

but, being on a talk show for almost an hour? all while talking about himself, answering questions, without a script or anything to prepare himself for?

he didn’t even know what kind of talk show he would be on until his agent finally told him a few days later. and when he found out, he wondered if it was too late to back out.

the talk show was different from the ones he’s been on. while previous ones would stick to asking him football questions, this one wasn't afraid of straying away from that. the worst part was that he couldn't even prepare himself because this show had a wheel of random questions that the host had the opportunity to ask him.

for a week he became restless with anticipation. he watched clips of the show on youtube, tiktok, on the tv, and wherever else you could watch the show. all with the futile attempt of getting a better grasp of what could be asked of him.

he knew that each episode resulted in the guest to spin a wheel where the host had written out many questions. the bad thing for him was that, in every show, the questions differed. which meant that he had no idea what kind of questions will be written for when he appears.

the other bad thing was that the questions all varied. some were silly, such as "what was the strangest thing you had to autograph?" and "if you were an animal, what would you be and why?". others, were tame, such as "what was your favorite gift that a fan had given you?" and "if you could have any other career, what would it be and why?"

however, there were also personal ones. ones of which made him the most nervous to answer. these questions were meant to create a buzz in the media, to create headlines and to becoming a trending search across social media platforms. these questions dug into the lives of the guest, while these ones were the ones that made the show so exciting to the audience.

he's seen enough episodes of the show to see which ones he would like to avoid, and which ones he prayed wouldn't be written on the wheel.

but, even then, it wasn't like he had to answer the question. there was a rule that if he didn't want to answer the question it landed on, he would have to spin twice and answer two other questions.

though, the more he watched, the more he became a fan of the show. he laughed at the host's jokes, became interested in some of the celebrities confessions and answers, and before he knew it, he was watching all of the previous interviews. that was when he came across your's.

he recognized you immediately, but, of course he had. everyone in mexico knew your name just as much as they knew your face. you had just become one of the most famous mexican artists of all time, your face plastered all over the country. you were on billboards, tv commercials, and on many newspapers highlighting your achievements and impressive stats.

radio stations played your music on repeat and you were trending every other week. that increased tenfold when your new album released recently, and armando would be lying if he hadn't been listening to it on repeat since the day it dropped.

safe to say, he watched your interview at least a hundred times. he tried to justify it by saying that he just wanted to know more about the talkshow, but in reality, he had developed a huge small crush on you.

he had the opportunity to meet you a few weeks ago at a chivas games, and when you smiled at him, he felt the air escape his lungs. you were enchanting, and being in your presence felt like a blessing.

he didn't know how he managed to talk to you in that short time, nor how he managed to get you to follow him on instagram afterwards (he definitely didn't freak out when he got the notification). all he knew, was that the next time he ever met you, he was sure he was going to explode.

as the interview inched closer, the idea of not having to answer some of the questions gave him comfort. and when the day of the interview arrived, he sat in the star guest room with his leg bouncing up in down and his lip in-between his teeth.

a screen was positioned in the corner of the room as he watched the host talk to the audience on the other side of the cameras. they laughed at her jokes as she continued to do the intro of the talkshow, making hints towards who the guest will be for tonight.

they went to commercial break shortly after, and he was in awe watching as everyone quickly began to prepare the set. that was when he heard a knock on his door and a person telling him to come out and get ready.

he followed them out the room, and when the commercial break ended, armando watched the host get ready to introduce him. he sucked in a deep breath.

the host began to speak once the cameras began to roll. she talked about pop culture moments in the mexican media before bringing attention to la liga mx and the upcoming world cup. she talked about tense moments between players, joked about the scores of some the games, the teams who qualified, all before clapping her hands together, a bright smile on her lips and saying,

"y ahora, me gustaría presentarles a un jugador que ha estado recibiendo mucha atención últimamente. desde hacer gestos de manos de anime después de cada gol y hasta ser apodado después de un insecto, me gustaría presentarte la estrella delantero de las chivas, armando 'la hormiga' gonzález!"

her hands gestured towards the curtain that he walked out from. he waved at the cameras and at the audience who cheered loudly for him. he smiled at them and at the host, who clapped her hands excitedly.

he stretched out his hand to shake, "gracias por invitarme."

"gracias por venir," she said before signaling him to sit down on the couch closest to her desk.

when the noise and crowd quieted down, she began to talk, "antes que empezamos, he querido hacerte una pregunta. puedo?"

armando swallowed hard, hands flat on his lap, a nervous smile tugging on his lips, "sí, claro. pregúntame."

"bueno," she stated, before throwing the audience a mischievous look, "recientemente, hiciste una entrevista hablando de cómo obtuviste tu apodo de 'la hormiga'. sí?"

he nodded, the host tilted her head to make him tell the story. he licked his lips anxiously before retelling the story.

when he got to the part of when he couldn't pronounce "hormigas" correctly when he was toddler, the crowd laughed and he let out a soft chuckle. the host grinned and nodded along, and when he was done, she finally asked her question, "ahora, mi pregunta. todavia tienes miedo a las hormigas?"

he laughed at her question alongside the audience. he shook his head, "no. cuando descubrí que la mayoría de ellos no muerden, y los que solo muerden cuando estás cerca de su colina, lo superé rápidamente."

she raised an eyebrow at him, teasingly saying, "estás seguro?" before taking out a large ant stuffed toy with a chivas jersey on it, his number and last name printed on the back.

he laughed, taking the stuffed animal and shaking his head. the rest of the interview went just as smooth. she asked questions about his football career and fun moments as rising football star, questions about his interests and favorite animes, and before he knew it, it was time to spin the wheel. the one thing he had been dreading for weeks.

she turned to the camera, explaining the concept to any new viewers as a crew member brought in two wheels. one with the regular questions and the other in case he decided to do the two-question deal. he knew that the second wheel had more daring questions, some of them even were things he had to do, like make a prank call or to do karaoke. all of which he was not interested in doing, and hoped in avoiding.

when it was time, he found himself standing besides the host and in front of the first wheel. his eyes glanced over at the options, already picking out the ones he didn't want the arrow to land on.

the host went first. he watched the colors mix into each as it spun, and as it slowed down the crowd cheered at what it landed on.

"hijole! empezando fuerte, ahorita! ok," she stated before reading aloud the question, "'alguna vez has enviado mensajes directos a una celebridades? y quién era?'. hmmm, pues, no tengo que decir por qué... ok, sí lo he hecho y fue diego luna. tu turnito!"

the crowd clapped and whistled at the host's confession before the cameras turned to armando. all he had to was answer two questions and avoid the second wheel and the interview was over.

he grabbed the wheel and spun it. then it landed. he let out a sigh of relief as he read, "'cuál es el animal más grande contra el que crees que podrías ganar en una pelea? y por qué?'"

the crowd laughed and he stared at it, thinking it through before saying, "pienso que con un puerco puedo."

the audience roared with another wave of laughter, the host laughed along before asking, "un puerco? no son peligrosos?"

he shrugged, "tal vez. pero son el animal más grande contra el que estoy seguro de que puedo ganar."

the host laughed again before doing her last turn. the crowd oooh'd at the question and she laughed at it. "este es mi programa, por qué estoy recibiendo todas estas preguntas embarazosas?"

he laughed but he later regretted it when it was his turn. he felt his face pale, ears tinting pink, heart pounding in his chest, when he saw the question he got.

"'a qué celebridad llevarías a una cita y por qué?'" the host read out loud with a smug look on her face. the crowd cheered, some sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for his answer.

his eyes glanced over at the small, second wheel which was covered in a sheet, as he weighed his options. he could answer this question or potentially have to spin two more times on a wheel that had more dares than questions.

the host noticed his hesitation and found it that it was the best time to introduce the second wheel. she talked to the crowd about before taking off the sheet.

his eyes read over the options, and the more he read, the more he realized that he had to answer the question he originally landed on. he was not risking having to eat a ghost pepper or send a suggestive text to one of his teammates, nor was he risking having tweet something obscene on twitter.

he gulped when he realized what he had to do. then, without thinking too much, and without the thought of lying crossing his mind, he said your name.

the gasps and awww's in the crowd didn't help the heat rising to his cheeks. the host placed a hand over her mouth before a large grin formed on her face.

she repeated your name and nodded, "creo que ese es el sueño de todos los mexicanos. quién no querría tenerla como cita?"

the crowd cheered in agreement, drowning out the thumping of his heart in his chest. then the host turned to him, the same mischievous look on her face from earlier, "por qué ella?"

he felt his heart jump to his throat, and before he could stop the words from escaping him, he said, "creo que ella es una persona muy interesante. la conocí hace un tiempo y me gustó mucho hablar con ella. también es muy bonita y talentosa y me gustaría saber más de ella.”

the crowd swooned and he could hardly look at the cameras after his confession. he knew for a fact that his teammates would never let him live this down, nor could he open any social media platform from the moment this episode aired because he knew that this confession was going to spread like wildfire.

he didn't even want to think about this potentially reaching you. he prayed that it didn't, even though he knew that it was only a matter of time.

the host said a few words but none of them reached his ears. the episode ended soon after, and with a handshake, a wave and smile to the audience and to the cameras, the interview ended.

the next week, he avoided social media. he spent majority of his time outside the internet, afraid of what he had done. he knew that his fans and yours were crazy after his confession after some of his teammates had showed him some of the stuff they had seen online.

he felt embarrassed. he didn't know why he couldn't just lie or say something that didn't suggest that he had a crush on you, but what could he do? the episode went live and hundreds of thousands had seen it the second it dropped. even more had seen It once they saw that he had practically confessed his love to you. it didn't help that some of his friends and teammates began to send him edits of his confession and edits of the fans 'shipping' him and you.

at this point, he was sure that you were aware, but he didn't like to dwell too much on that. instead, he tried focusing on the end of the chivas' season and preparing for the world cup.

he was in the middle of training at verde valle, preparing for one of the last games for las chivas, when he felt his phone buzz. at first, he ignored it. lately his phone had been blowing up with his 'confession' that he decided to mute all of his notifications on every platform.

however, when he was finally on break, he noticed that these notifications still went through. curious, he glanced at his phone and he felt his heart stop. it was a message from instagram from you.

hesitantly, he opened the chat and saw that you had sent him a video. he clicked on it with his brows furrowed.

the video played and it was a clip of you during an interview with another talkshow host. he noticed immediately how beautiful you looked, your eyes glinting underneath the bright lights, your smile enamoring, your voice addicting. he almost didn't pay attention to anything the host was saying until the host asked you about the confession and armando felt his face flush. he watched you laugh when the host asked what you thought about.

then you turned to the camera and with a smile and a flustered look on your face, "pensé que era muy tierno. y si hablo en serio, me sentí tan mareado cuando vi la entrevista por primera vez. no pensé que se sintiera así por mí."

the host looked at you with a brow raised, before tentatively asking, "lo que estás diciendo... parece que estás enamorada de él, no?"

you laughed and he felt his heart jump, "enamorado suena muy fuerte. pero un crush si tengo."

armando didn't hear the hear the rest of the interview after that. and when the clip ended quickly after, he was back in your chat with his heart racing like he just played all ninety minutes of a game.

a second later, a message appeared from you.

"también me gustaría tener una cita contigo."

his fingers rapidly found his keyboard, "cuándo estás en guadalajara?"

"la semana que viene. cuándo estás libre?"

he bit his lip to suppress a smile, "viernes por la noche. está bien?"

"es perfecto. no puedo esperar <3"

yeah, he was definitely going to explode the next time he sees you.

return to intro • football mlist • armando gonzález taglist

✷┆ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ btw, i mean diego luna the actor (y mi primer amor). not the football player, but it doesn't really matter who you imagine. also, perdona, no sé por qué es la segunda vez que no escribo una cita entre tú y él. les prometo que no fue a propósito :( <3

thank you for reading ! comments, likes, & reblogs are very appreciated - flori <3

please don’t feed my work into ai or plagiarize it !

✷┆ 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sigmacapy @user44306776 @sillysugarplum @yeri-sub @bluerellic @nym-blogs @muneqita @socialdesires @nesrynnn @neovincible @ninazzem @keonhyeonz @c4miik @shiningmila @emilyblogsstuff @mizll0e @paleheartcyclone @adarkhorserunninginafantasy @keniasa @dinonuggets-blog @lolaheartfield @loveekimi @chosomydear @tomatodude @plrlvssnz @sgfgmichaelrry @am0iur @itzlvs34 @l3sli30 @tpwkcami @captainhischier @kloufrens @stqrs-thoughts @lmaooo17 @palepyremyth @3-smi @tali05 @ahhahahaheehee @longanizasblog @winniiiwwtxsy @yushinyangs @joskcfifif @amoreris @ilovedilfsandharry @byekitti @yoyoyomama557 @itsnotashes @laordhavenercy @yunakwi @bortiz514

[xobunni0]

down for me ⋮

brian gutiérrez × f!reader 𐙚

⌗ smut w slight plot . oral (f) receiving . face sitting . jerking him while ur ontop . celebrating your boyfriends goal just how he wants, with pussy on his face. ૮ ◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ა

an: his beard is growing back 😩 and bai i literally wrote this the same night he made that penalty GOALAZO and forgot to post it.

everyone had watched Brian make his goal during the penalty shootout. you’d stood there with your hands clasped tightly near your chest, practically holding your breath, your lip caught faintly between your teeth because that was your boyfriend.

your boyfriend. and, he looked almost unfairly good when he was focused. eyes set on the ball, jaw tight, sweat glistening along his neck, the tension visible in his shoulders. you’d watched him take his position, watched the referee signal, watched Brian take that final breath before sending the ball straight into the back of the net.

the stadium erupted. and you swear your heart nearly did too.

the second the ball hit the net, you already knew what kind of celebration he’d want.

you knew him too well.

you knew the way his eyes would find you in the crowd before anything else. you knew the little tilt of his head, the slight smugness that would creep onto his face when he realized you were watching him.

and sure enough his eyes found yours. even from the stands, you could see the faint smile at the corner of his mouth.

after the game, you managed to get him away for a few minutes. the team hotel was only a short drive away, and Brian had insisted on taking you back himself, still wearing his post-match clothes, hair damp from his shower, adrenaline clearly still running through him.

the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, he looked at you.

“I like when my boyfriend scores.” you teased lightly, pulling him in closer by the waistband of his shorts.

he stared at you for another second before his expression softened into that familiar, cocky little smile. “yeah?”

the kiss came first, hard, needy. his hands slid under your shirt, hands roamed further, clothes were discarded quickly, leaving a pile right at your feet.

he eased you back until you rested against the bed. Brian slid right between your parted leg. the weight of him was perfect. Brian lay nestled between your thighs, head turned just enough that his cheek pressed soft and heavy over the damp cotton of your panties, his beard stubble grazing the inner part of your thigh.

he hadn't said a word in minutes, he just breathed and each exhale warmed you right through the fabric. you barely moved, just your fingers running slow through his hair, brushing back and forth the few strands that fell forward.

your legs curled loosely around him, your calves resting along the curve of his back. his arms wrapped under your hips, holding you flush against him. he always held you close and tight like this. your nails traced lazy circles behind his ear, dragging softly across the edge of his neck.

"Brian..." you murmured, he didn't lift his head, just made a low hum in his throat and nuzzled deeper, his cheekbone shifted slightly as he smiled faintly and you felt it pressing against you.

you tilted your hips up just a little, not even meaning to, but your body knew what it wanted, his mouth and that quiet hum he made when he was turned on.

your panties were damp now, he pressed his mouth gently to you, not even kissing it, just breathing through it, and your thighs tensed. the second you tensed, his lips did too, dragging a kiss across the damp cotton.

Brian didn’t ask. he never did when he was in this kind of mood. he knelt between your thighs without a word, his fingers sliding up your inner thigh slow, knuckles brushing light over your skin. then one hooked into the thin band of your panties and pulled it aside dragging the damp cotton to the edge of your lips.

“you like watching me play this much?” he muttered.

the cool air hit your pussy, and your hips twitched. his eyes flicked up to your face as he caught the twitch, then without another second of hesitation, he leaned in with a hum, as he pressed his lips to the top of your slit, just a soft peck, then another, and another, trailing down.

“Just look at you.” he nuzzled in, spreading you with his thumbs, tongue barely poking out.

“Brian…”

he looked up, eyes full of adoration. “That goal deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

the tip of his tongue flicking your clit once slow and lazy, you gasped. “shit! Brian.”

he continued dipping his tongue lower, dragging it in a long, smooth stroke from your opening all the way up to the swollen little bud at the top.

“You’re already so worked up.” he said, kissing between every lick.

“just for me?”

you nodded, eyes closing shut, hips tilting up toward his face. he took that as a invitation, both hands now gripping the tops of your thighs to hold you in place, his mouth opening wide to press a wetter, deeper kiss right against your pussy, tongue sliding in slow. he moaned into you, actually moaned.

“so soft.” he breathed, and this time his tongue circled your entrance before pushing inside. he fucked you with it, slow and devoted, pulling back every few seconds to suck your folds into his mouth.

you whimpered, thighs trembling as he flattened his tongue against your clit again, applying slow even pressure and dragging it side to side, “Ahh fuck- Brian.”

he was lost between your legs completely.

you gasped, as your hips jerked, thighs tightening instinctively around his head while his tongue went deeper. you could feel him moaning into you, he buried his face deeper, nose pressing snug against your pussy as his tongue worked fast and messily up and down, side to side.

his eyes never left yours, even as his tongue slipped lower then up again, swirling, his jaw working as he gave your clit a flick, then another, before flattening his tongue against it and sliding up slow. you whimpered, your back hitches off the bed. his lips sealed around the bud, sucking it in with a wet pop, then drawing it into his mouth, rolling the tip of his tongue over it in tight circles.

your hands went to his hair, you held him there and he groaned in approval, with the faint tickle of his beard stubble brushing the inside of your thigh

“How did I get this lucky?” he rasped against your pussy, pulling back just enough to breathe, face glistening, lips slick. his arms tightened around your thighs as he dragged you down further, pulling you flush against his mouth again.

and then he reached up, one big hand on each thigh and pulled them tighter around his head, locking himself in.

“squeeze me baby.” he murmured, as he looked up at you a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was right on the edge of laughing from how fucking good you tasted.

you obeyed. you wrapped your thighs tighter around his head, he loved it. he moaned deep, then he pulled back just a breath, just enough space to suck in air, and you could see his mouth parted open, tongue still out.

his hand moved between your thighs, thumb spreading you wider as he leaned in and let a thick line of spit drop straight from his tongue onto your pussy.

it hit wet and warm, mixing with your slick, rolling down in a messy strip over your folds, and he groaned as he watched it, like the sight of it alone was enough to make him cum, “fuuck” he breathed.

he went back in, he started tongue fucking you again, deeper this time, with messy open mouthed licks, sloppier, tongue lapping up his own spit and your arousal.

Brian’s mouth was shining, chin coated, cheeks flushed a red that spread to his neck. his chest fell with each breath, the slight veins on his pelvis leading down to his cock standing straight up, flushed dark, twitching slightly with every movement.

then he stopped. your breath hitched as his mouth left you, you loosened your thighs from around his head, he sat up slightly, his slick mouth glistening, tongue dragging over his bottom lip as he licked the taste of you from his face as he looked at you.

“sit on my face.” he said.

you knew exactly what he meant. you’d done it before, many times, he loved it, craved it, the sight of you above him, your pussy hovering just over his mouth before you lowered yourself onto his waiting tongue. but still, you propped yourself up on an elbow and gave him a half-teasing, half-genuine concern.

“but Brian… what if I’m too heavy? what if I hurt you?”

his brows lifted for a second he just blinked at you then he huffed, scoffing like you’d said something silly, before flopping backward onto the bed exactly where you’d just been. he looked up at you with a reassuring look, then reached one hand to pat his chest, “come here.” he said simply, ignoring every bit of hesitation, because you both knew it was nonsense.

“I want it. sit that pretty pussy on my fucking face.”

you looked at that stupid grin and that messy handsome face of his. you swallowed hard, thighs twitching, your body couldn't help but obey him. you crawled forward, your knees pressing into the bed one by one as you straddled his waist, your slick pussy dragging light across his stomach.

you shifted higher, hands reaching forward to grip the headboard for support, and he gripped your waist with both hands, guiding you into place. his fingers tightened as you climbed higher still, knees bending over his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his face.

you paused hovering, your pussy just inches from his mouth. he looked up at you, eyes half-lidded.

you bit your lip, and he gave your hips a soft tug just enough to bring you down, slow, slow until the warmth of your pussy pressed against his mouth again and he groaned, deep and throaty, eyes closing shut.

his tongue thrusted up into you from below, mouth opening wide to fuck up into you like this was his reward for making that goal. your head fell back, thighs trembling again as you settled your weight fully on his face. he moaned at that, gripping your ass, pulling you down harder.

you rocked your hips slowly at first, but the way his mouth opened wide, tongue already lapping greedily made you give in fully. you started to ride him, every grind of your hips dragging your clit across the bridge of his nose, slick folds gliding over his lips and tongue, the angle was perfect his nose nudging your clit with every downward push, his mouth wide open to take you, tongue thrusting up, flicking, then pressing flat.

you moaned shakily, head falling back as you arched, your hips grinding, he groaned under you, the sound muffled, his hands slid up your sides like he wanted to touch every inch of you at once.

they found your breasts, palms wrapping around them and squeezing, thumbing your nipples until they peaked. he pinched, rolled them gently, his big hands practically covering your chest, and you gasped again, thighs clenching tighter around his head.

he could cum just like this, you knew it. the view from beneath; your tits bouncing with each grind, your face tight in pleasure, your pussy riding his mouth like it was made for it. he was hard beneath you, but didn't care about being touched.

then smack, his right hand came down hard on your ass, followed instantly by the left. the sting spreading across your skin. you whined out squirming, but his hands were already back on your waist, steadying you, guiding you back "that's it." he murmured, against your pussy.

"make me fucking feel it."

your hands slipped higher on the headboard, gripping tight, letting your full weight press down, your thighs trembling as you rode his mouth harder now, grinding in deep slow circles, not lifting off anymore, just working yourself against his face. his nose rubbed your clit just right with every movement, his tongue buried deep between your folds.

you looked down, his eyes were closed, brows furrowed slightly, his jaw flexed, tongue moving, lips glistening, his whole face slick. his hands had dropped from your waist, now wrapped around your thighs, then your ass, squeezing, fingers spreading you open so he could lick you even deeper.

he didn't care about anything, but pleasing you.

he was smiling, the corners of his mouth curled up even with his tongue buried deep inside you.

you shifted your weight just enough, careful not to lift off his face, just leaning your upper body back a little, head tilting over your shoulder, and that's when you saw it. his cock, hard and flushed, resting against his stomach, twitching in the open air. a bead of precum at the tip, glistening, the whole shaft stiff. he hadn't touched himself once.. not a hand, not a grind and yet he was that hard, leaking, just from having you ride his face.

you reached behind you, fingers brushing down his stomach until you wrapped around the base of his cock, you stroked slow, just a single glide of your palm up to the head and back down.

under you, Brian's tongue stopped against your pussy as his hips twitched "shit baby- no." he breathed against you, "you don't have to."

but his body said otherwise. you felt the twitch of his cock in your hand, the soft groan as he moaned into your pussy, and the way his hand flew to your thigh, fingers digging in like he didn't want you to stop. he was trying to put your needs first, trying to let you just enjoy this but the way his hips bucked upward told you all you needed to know.

so you kept going.

you pumped him slow, then faster, wrist curling around his tip to tease the leaking head, smearing precum down the shaft. his thighs flexed beneath you, muscles tight as he kept licking messier now, more quick. his tongue dragged out to swirl your clit.

Brian suddenly brought his hand down with a sudden smack right onto your pussy.

you yelped loud and sharp.

your eyes snapped down and met his stupid handsome smug face, his grin wide even as his mouth glistened with your slick. he laughed into your pussy right where he was buried between your legs.

"Brian!" you gasped. but you were laughing too, breathless, the sting still tingling between your thighs.

you bent back again, hand never leaving his cock, stroking him faster now, watching his jaw clench, his moans deepen, his hips jerk up into your fist even as he stayed focused on your pussy.

"till I cum baby." he mumbled into you, tongue circling your clit with desperate flicks.

this. this is what you loved most about your boyfriend. the way he wanted you in every way, the way he laughed between licks like this was the best moment of his life.

you gripped the headboard tighter, thighs squeezing his head, his tongue and nose perfectly pressed to your clit. his cock twitched in your hand, leaking more with every pump, and all you could do was fuck his face, stroke, and laugh with him.

completely lost in him while he ate your pussy like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. this is how Brian liked celebrating.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

tagged ♡: @beautifulorchids @thestrokeshoe @itsjustashes @yunakwi @dinonuggets-blog @victoriasdreamm @sigmacapy @wowowpx @bookieluvss12 @peterparkernotfound @socialdesires @byekitti @gnarili @sarnghoe @marj4fer @sofilupin @i2mingi @chosomydear @keniasa @unicsworld @sowhat-whynot @pinkasis @longanizasblog @yagiyoshikawa @igualque-un-angel @em1-m4r13 @ayqueguapon @am0iur @moonlightbae34117 @woonsara @strawfersi

[xfloricita]

✷┆ 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐬 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ or, in which, he's a regular at your work and you wanted to know why

𝐰𝐜: 2.6k+

you didn’t want to think anything of it, but a couple of months of showing up at your work you began to wonder.

what was it about this paletería that had the armando gonzález coming back?

you knew that the paletas and the ice cream were good, you helped make a few and tasted all of them after all, but you didn’t think that they were so good that your regular was a famous football player. it also didn’t help that you knew that there were hundreds of other shops around, and you knew for a fact that this one wasn’t the closest to the stadium or the training facility.

so, what made this one different?

was it the different flavors that were offered? was it the cute, colorful vibe of the shop? was it because it was family ran or that it wasn’t constantly full of people and curious, wandering eyes?

well, if you were being honest, it didn’t really matter to you what made him come back every day or so. for all you knew, it could’ve been due to superstition or because of one factor: he just really liked these paletas.

still, you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy seeing him. sometimes you even caught your self waiting for him. ears perking up every time the front door’s bell rang, eyes flickering to the door or to the clock that ticked closer to the his usual arrival time.

you tried hiding the disappointment whenever it wasn't him, or whenever he didn't show up. but, you also tried to rationalize that these "feelings" were inappropriate. he was just another customer and you were just a part-time worker.

it was not right for you to start "crushing" on your very handsome, football-playing regular. he was famous, for god's sake! and you worked at a paletería barely making enough to pay for your school's tuition.

besides, the entire country knew his name. your co-workers hardly knew yours.

you huffed at these thoughts. now was not the time to mull over what you potentially felt for a customer of yours. instead, you should be focusing on getting these orders right and figuring out you will be having for dinner later.

it was getting closer to the end of your shift. the outside had began to darken and the lampposts began to lighten up the streets. lesser customers came in, leaving the shop to just you and your coworker.

he hadn’t come in yet, and as the clock continued tick away, you started to believe that this was going to be one of those days where he wasn’t going to show.

you tried not to let that disappoint you so you prepared the store for close. your coworker went out to take out the trash and you began to lift the chairs onto the tables before you began to mop the floors.

then, the bell chimed and your head snapped towards the door, the chair underneath your grasp left forgotten.

there he was. hands shoved into his hoodie’s pockets, the bill of his cap obscuring his eyes, a nervous smile tugging on his lips.

he lifted his head and his eyes met yours momentarily before glancing away. you didn’t notice his face turning a light shade of pink in the process.

you smiled politely, “buenas tardes.”

he raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “buenas. eh… ustedes todavía están abiertos?”

you blinked before looking at him standing in front of the door and then to the bright neon sign on the window next to him. one that spelled abierto in large, bold letters.

you bit your tongue and nodded. you didn’t know what was making him so nervous, but it wasn’t your place to ask… even if it did make you a little curious.

what could possibly make la hormiga nervous?

but the more you stared at him as you walked back behind the counter, the more you realized the nervousness bouncing off of him. from the way he looked anywhere but your face and the way his arms stayed awkwardly by his side.

maybe he’s just introverted?

you almost laughed at the thought. a football player? introverted? yeah right.

“que puedo ofrecerle?” you finally ask, wiping your hands on your apron once you finished washing them.

he walked over to the counter, glancing at the different options on the menu before looking down at your freezers. he lifted his gaze back to you.

“qué me recomienda?”

you should’ve known he was going to ask that. he always did, and would take which ever one you mentioned without complaint. so, you gave him a different one each time.

you hummed, “pues, las de fresas con crema eran muy populares hoy. recomiendo esas.”

“entonces tomaré uno de esas,” he replied without a second thought, taking his hand out of his pocket and reaching for his wallet.

“algo más?” you ask, taking out the paleta and handing it over to him.

he shook his head, “cuánto le debo?”

“es veinticinco pesos,” you tell him. he handed you the coins, his fingers gently brushing against the palm of your outstretched hand.

a shiver ran down your spine but your smile never wavered.

“que tenga un buen tarde,” you say, cheeks warm.

he replied the same, then he hesitated for a second, his eyes staring right into yours. there was a softness in them that you recognized, a hopeful glint shining in his irises that made you tilt your head slightly at him.

he opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the back door opening loudly drowned out his words.

your turned your head to see your coworker had returned from the outside. she ignored your gaze and went to go wash her hands, completely unaware of your customer. when you turned back around, his eyes were trained on her.

“qué estaba diciendo?” you question. you watched how your words made his shoulders stiffen and his eyes return back to you, ears turning red.

“oh! no, no fue nada,” he answered hastily, almost embarrassed, “eh… pues, ya me voy a ir. hasta luego. adiós.”

you blinked and he was already out the door, quicker than you’ve ever seen him.

your coworker walked up to your side, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. she began to clean the counters while you looked at her intensely.

she was very beautiful, you noted. and if you remembered correctly, she also had a side gig of being a model. she wasn’t famous, since she hadn’t been modeling for large brands yet, but you believed it was only a matter of time before she was on a runway in paris.

then the realization hit you: did the armando gonzález have a crush on your coworker?

when your shift was finally over and the shop was fully closed, you went home and made your dinner. during this time you began to think back to all the times you worked with her, and how many of those times he showed up.

oddly enough, he showed up more times if she was working.

you wanted to believe that that was it. that that was the reason why he kept showing up to your work. but then another thought appeared: did he also show up when she worked with your other coworkers?

as far as you knew, you were the only one who recognized him and who has talked to him on multiple occasions.

did your coworkers even know about him? have they ever seen him, or even talked to him?

you shook your head. all of this was pointless and, quite frankly, useless information. so what if one of your customers had a crush on your coworker’s? could you blame him when she happens to look like a model?

besides, on the chance that he did like her, what could you do? if you tell her, how could you prove it to her? and if it was all a misunderstanding? you didn’t even want to think about the embarrassment.

so, the next day when you worked with her again, you pretended not to act surprised when he showed up. he asked you the same question as always, this time you told him “la de arroz con leche.”

two days later you were scheduled with her again, and he showed up. again.

and each time he’d ask you the same question, you’d hand him a new flavor, he’d pay you, and then he’d look like he was going to say something, then glance at the back to see her. when he saw that she was there, he’d leave without saying another word.

at this point you were surprised you didn’t realize it sooner. his feelings were becoming more clearer and clearer the more you worked with her. it was so obvious you pitied him.

you tried to stop taking his orders and allow her a chance to talk to him. to help him a little since he clearly wanted to talk to her. but every time you did, he’d just get a simple, vanilla ice cream cone with nothing more to their conversation. he even spoke less when he talked to her.

she even remained oblivious to who he actually was.

you didn't know what to do, or even if you should do something. you didn't want to mess with your coworker's potential love life, nor did you want to play match maker. so, you did absolutely nothing. you continued working like normal, taking orders and working the night shift per usual.

but, as school became more serious, you decided to take a week off to focus on the end of the year exams. you didn't know if you should be thankful that you could focus on tests that could dictate whether or not you fail or class, but you didn't know how many more awkward interactions you could.

it was getting ridiculous that you began to think that he didn't know how to talk to girls.

either way, you enjoyed your semi-break. you couldn't remember the last time you had an entire week off, or the last time you didn't work so often. you had even been so caught up in studying that you had forgotten all about work and your revelation.

that was, until your roommate decided to turn on the tv and watch a chivas game. you tried to tune out the sounds of the whistle and the commentators talking to quickly and enthusiastically you almost mistook them as rappers. but when you decided to give yourself a break from staring at your textbooks for hours straight, his face appeared on the screen.

you let out a sigh. it should be criminal to look that good with the rain drenching him with no remorse. it was also criminal for the chivas to make the players wear white when it was going to rain. they had practically become see-through. you tried to look away from him, but your eyes were glued to the screen with no shame.

but when you remembered that this was one of your customers that you were ogling at, you turned away and went back to studying, your face hot.

your coworker was so lucky.

the next day you finished your exams and found yourself at work. it was friday and you were beginning to regret taking your coworker's shifts. you should've been relaxing after being tortured by your final exam, but because you felt awful after turning it in, you thought that work would be the best place to keep you distracted. so you took it, besides, she said it was something about modeling, and who were you to get in the way of her career?

however, you should've remembered that fridays were one of your busiest days.

the shop was so full that you were shocked to see that it could hold this many people. you and your other coworker did your best in dividing the chores and making the orders, that when rush hour was over, the two of you high-fived for a job well done.

now that you had a chance to breathe, you started to clean the counters while he began to pick up some of the mess left at the tables. the two of you fell in a comfortable silence before he spoke.

"sabes... había un cliente que venía todos los días, siempre tarde por la noche. aparentemente te estaba buscando."

your hand stopped and you looked up to look at your coworker, "qué?"

he hummed an nodded his head, "sí. venía todos los días. solo pedía una helado de vainilla. es un poco raro, no? lo conoces?"

your mouth opened and then closed, before opening again, "es un regular. eh... cómo sabías que me estaba buscando? y no a otra?"

"un regular? nunca lo había visto, y soy bueno con las caras," your coworker replied with a brow raised, "de todos modos, lo sabía porque escuché de los demás que solo habla contigo. y cuando no estabas aquí toda la semana, miraba a toda la tienda tratando de encontrarte. siempre parecía triste cuando no te veía."

you didn't know how to feel, but your heart beat rapidly in your chest while butterflies fluttered in your abdomen. he couldn't be telling the truth, right? the last time you saw him, he seemed to be very interested in your other coworker. but she had been working all week... so it couldn't be her that he was looking for.

could it be that it was you this entire time?

you didn't know what to say, or what to think. thankfully, you didn't have to because the bell chimed which got both of your attention.

but, you gratitude only lasted a short while. at the entrance stood armando gonzález, dressed like how you always saw him. from the corner of your eye, you saw your coworker give you a look, a smirk toying on his lips.

"voy a tirar la basura," he said as he left you all alone with him. you wanted to curse him as he left, but nothing left your lips.

so, with as much confidence that you could muster up, you turned to look at him. his brown eyes were already staring right back at you, slightly widen like he couldn't believe that you were actually here.

"buenos tardes—"

"—estás aquí," he said at the exact time as you spoke.

you let out a quiet laugh, "sí, sí estoy aquí."

he blinked, pink dusting his cheeks, "perdón. es que... no te he visto en un tiempo y pensé que habías renunciado."

you smiled softly, and word split out without you getting the chance to stop them, "no te haría eso."

you saw the way his eyes widened and how his face turned a dark shade of pink. you looked at him mortified.

the two of you stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"perdón! no quise decir eso... eh... que puedo ofrecerte?" you manage to ask, flustered. you couldn't wait to go home and forget about this entire day.

a second later he responded but with a smile tugging on the corners of his lips, "que me recomiendas?"

you were happy that he didn't seem to be upset, so you answered like usual, "las de jamaica saben muy bien."

he nodded and asked for one. you gave it to him and then asked, "algo más?"

"una cita contigo?"

you looked up from the cash register and at his eyes in shock. a smile crawled its way to his face as his eyes looked at you pleadingly. you felt your face flush, but the same smile making its way to your lips.

who were you to say no?

return to intro • football mlist • armando gonzález taglist

✷┆ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ no se xq pero me gusta imaginar q hormiga es un poco timido y awkward lol also last night’s game when he got angry for being subbed out 🫦 had me feeling like that one sabrina carpenter gif

ALSO ! this is for you anon, from this ask !! i hope i didn’t make you wait too long & that this was worth the wait !

thank you for reading ! comments, likes, & reblogs are very appreciated - flori <3

✷┆ 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sigmacapy @user44306776 @sillysugarplum @yeri-sub @bluerellic @nym-blogs @muneqita @socialdesires @nesrynnn @neovincible @rubyselene @keonhyeonz @c4miik @shiningmila @emilyblogsstuff @mizll0e @paleheartcyclone @adarkhorserunninginafantasy @keniasa @dinonuggets-blog @lolaheartfield @loveekimi @chosomydear @tomatodude @plrlvssnz @sgfgmichaelrry @am0iur @itzlvs34 @l3sli30 @tpwkcami @captainhischier @kloufrens @stqrs-thoughts @lmaooo17 @palepyremyth @3-smi @tali05 @ahhahahaheehee @longanizasblog @winniiiwwtxsy @yushinyangs @joskcfifif @amoreris @ilovedilfsandharry @byekitti @yoyoyomama557 @itsnotashes @laordhavenercy @yunakwi @bortiz514

please don’t feed my work into ai or plagiarize it !

[sgfgmichaelrry]

CAPTURED AT THE RIGHT WRONG TIME ✧.* Brian Gutiérrez x f!reader

𐙚⋆.˚ roommate!reader & ChivasPR!reader. fluff. angst to be resolved. your honor, they're idiots in love. some dialogue in spanish. WC: 3.1K 𐙚⋆.˚ a/n: have had this idea cooking for a while but i had an itch to get it done before i move back to school. i'm undecided if i want to write a part two or not, but lmk :P

The rhythm of your fingers tapping against your laptop joined the soft hum of Luis Miguel’s voice, the acoustic orchestra framing your attention on the catalog of unedited photos flooding from your SD card. Your back rested against the arm of the couch, becoming acutely aware of the springs pressing into your muscles, as your knees kissed your chest, your wide screen propped against your knees, as your eyes fleeted past raw images from a Chivas practice the day prior. Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing the warm skin of your cheeks, squeezing briefly as if to recharge your brain, yet to no avail. A yawn crept from your lips as you flicked your hand towards your mouth, fingers later brushing up to swipe the fatigue from your eyes. 

Your phone vibrated against the cushions of the couch, face down so as not to distract yourself (which had only gone so well), with your nightly reminder urging you to start getting ready for bed. Unfortunately for you, the momentum of the Chivas’ season meant carrying the brunt force of the team’s publicity and social image, in tow with photographing practices, creating content, and sending emails from sunrise to sunset. As such, your sacred bedtime routine had been reduced to a mere suggestion dedicated to the offseason. As your finger swiped the notification off your homescreen, your eyes caught a glance at the late hour, brows furrowing at the reckoning of an early morning practice tomorrow that would demand your presence. Eagerly, you hoped that tomorrow would be a rather monotonous day of routine passes for the players, enabling you to find an empty spot, put some headphones in, and set up camp for an editing day–realistically, however? You could only keep your fingers crossed as you flipped your phone back over, craning your head back to your monitor before opening your task tab, crossing off a few items before braving the next project.

In a whirl of emitted blue light, burning jasmine wax, and a whirring laptop fan, the front door of your apartment creaked at the hinges, posing a reminder to call your dad for potential fixes to that problem. Your head whips towards the announced presence, eyes fighting to keep their attention glued to the Photoshop tab before flitting towards the sudden thud on the opposite loveseat, your roommate’s practice bag thrown haphazardly on the leather with his sneakers toed off. Your gaze travels towards the man guilty for the thrown accessory, noticing the locks of brown curls brushed messily on your roommate's head, framing the dark hues beneath his lash line. With a glance at your watch, you return your gaze to follow Brian’s frame moving languidly through the living room, adopting the seat next to your camera, before popping a curious eyebrow towards him. “D’y’all have midnight practice tonight?” 

You watched as his head cocked only the slightest from where it rested against his fist, flashes of green slicing through the lush of his lashes, before the corner of his mouth quirked up, indicating the faintest chuckle. “If only,” his voice rasped, clearing his throat as he readjusted himself on the cushion, adjusting his knees to face towards you. You organized the disarray of SD cards, cables, and flash drives, clearing away the space as if to clear a path for conversation, reflecting on the long day you were certain both of you had. With a brief huff of air, Brian recounted, brushing his palm down his face. “Diego wanted to check out this bar after team dinner, but we ended up staying, and by the time I realized it was too late, I had to drive him and Armando back to their apartments.” Your bottom lip pursed out, admiring the sincerity of his favor to his friends, before curling into a smile just shy of a smirk.

Your eyes twinkled with mischief, and Brian caught a faint reflection of candlelight in your pupils. “Ten bucks says he’ll be late to practice tomorrow, todo boracho,” you proposed, nodding your head towards your camera gear. Brian’s lips parted into a grin, the apples of his cheeks pushing against the subtle bags appearing beneath his eyes. “I’ll take you up on that,” he shrugged, casual confidence rolling off his shoulders even through the lethargic movement. “I’ll throw in an extra ten if he’s hungover and makes sure we know it during drills.” A stifled laugh tumbles through his lips before the words come out, your eyes glancing at the sound before meeting his gaze again, the base of your neck itching to warm at the stumble. 

The curl of your lip tucks beneath your teeth, your mind circulating possible scenarios for tomorrow before Brian takes you out of your thoughts, waltzing toward his practice bag. “Do you have anything that needs to be washed?” He throws his question over his shoulder, hands working to unzip his duffel and pull out his practice gear. “Got a few jerseys I gotta wash for the week, and I don’t want to waste a load.” Instinctually, you snort, shaking your head as you redirect your stare to the side and cover your mouth with your hand. The smile curling on your lips gives away the naughty interpretation once Brian turns to face you, his furrowed eyebrows relaxing into a pair of rolling eyes. “Sorry, Freudian slip,” your voice highlighted by a giggle, unknowingly crashing into Brian’s chest, his heart fluttering at the sound. “Freak,” he shook his head, seemingly dismissing your reaction, yet he hoped the action would recalibrate his dissolving composure.

“But seriously, I just did laundry, so I’m good. Gracias,” your laugh settled into a small smile. You moved to arrange your equipment in your bag before your ears caught the sound of Brian’s feet carrying him to the small laundry unit, recognizing a peculiar weight in one of his steps, faint in the way the pace lingered briefly. You furrow your brows, tongue poking your cheek, before looking over at your roommate, noticing the shift in his hips as he stops in front of the machine—his right side sinking as his left leg relaxes. “Something happen at practice today?” Your voice emerged from across the space, nursing sympathy and concern through each syllable. “We’ve got ice packs in the freezer.”

Brian’s curls were the last thing to stop moving as he turned to face you, closing the machine door before selecting a cycle. He shook his head, lips pouting in a frown as he shrugged. “I think I just overworked it and tried to walk it off,” he nodded toward his left foot. “But it’ll be fine by tomorrow. We’re just doing the kid’s clinic in the afternoon.” Brian watched the rise of your eyebrows, acknowledgment painting your features with your lips pursed, before squinting your eyes, the shade of your irises flickering through your lashes. The muscle in your shoulders released from their tight embroidery, momentarily relieved at a later morning promised tomorrow. Yet, the tension traveled to the faint wrinkles on your forehead at Brian’s dismissive nature. “I feel like that’s more the reason to ice it. Kids are brutal.”

With an attempt to refute, Brian’s words got swallowed by a grunt, his strides towards the couch thwarted by a minute limp, and the pressure in his ankle shot through his bones. Consequently, you sprang from your spot on the couch, urging Brian to assume his previous spot, before pattering to the kitchen, accepting his silence as a surrender. The cool of the freezer pricked your fingertips as you rumaged to find the frozen gel packs you invested in after *several* encounters with a stubborn Brian in the past year you’ve lived with him, and your rhythm felt familiar as you closed the door with your hip. With a roll of KT tape acquired in your other hand, you approached the displeased soccer star with the cooling remedy, his frustration sewed closely into the lock of his jaw–as if admitting a need for help was fatal. Your eyes cast a glance at his lips, roughened by his teeth’s constant assault on the skin, before correcting your sight to his left leg, which sat on the ottoman. The moment hummed in your chest before traveling to the petite scar on the side of your knee, rekindling you to a version that existed before the flashing cameras and Photoshop settings. It felt rehearsed, the smooth passes of your hands rolling down his sock and pressing faintly against the swollen skin, familiar in the way that you once had bruises littering your legs from long practices.

“Is that okay? Does it hurt when I press here?” Compassion wrapped your voice with a pretty bow, your hands delicate as you tried to gauge the severity of his pain. Unbeknownst to you, Brian’s eyes shined under the gentle lamplight, wide at the tender care you were demonstrating. His pupils traced the way your fingertips danced along the meticulous carve of muscles, enamored entirely by your tranquil demeanor; even in this rather compromised position–his body admitting defeat, and you looking up at him with those worried eyes. 

He wondered what it would be like to come home to your care every day-

He blinked once, twice, eyelashes fluttering as his mind worked with haste to recalibrate. It was moments like these–intimate, domestic, even–that threatened the fibers of composure Brian was so desperate to cling to. Yet it was dangerous, threatening the balance of friendship and kindness with each lingering gaze of his beautiful eyes, so he fought the adamant part of his brain to fix his sight on anything else in the apartment (though not that successfully).

Brian was brought out of his trance when your head turned to look at his face, confused by his sudden deposition. “Brian?” The soft purr of your voice crashed into his swirling thoughts, pulling his focus from the plump swell of your bottom lip to meet your eyes. “¿Mande? Oh, um-” He cleared his throat, yet not without feeling the slightest tinge of warmth begin to paint his neck a dusty pink. “No,” he shook his head, brown strands following the movement. “I mean, I feel some pressure, but nothing worth crying over. Estoy bien, no te preocupes.” His voice was dangerously dismissive, his hand waving as his lips curled into a thin line. There were many things Brian was: a talented futbolista, an amateur comedian, and a terrible singer. Yet there was a more staggering thing that Brian was currently–totally nervous at this proximity.

Your eyes narrowed, blinking a bit, before raising your eyebrows and exhaling a chuckle through your nose. You rolled your eyes dramatically, lashes kissing just beneath your brow bone, before you returned your hands to the swell of muscles before you, decisively adjusting the frozen gel onto Brian’s leg. “Is it a thing for like, all men to be scared of help?” The ghost of a smirk froze on your lips as you worked in silence of Brian’s speechless state, adjusting the KT tape to support the pressure. Your head cocked up to catch sight of his stunned silence, eyes crinkling as your lips spread in a smile, smoothing over the last piece of elastic before wiping your hands on your sweatpants.

“Solo bromas, Brian.” Your hand ruffled his mess of curls before tossing the KT tape towards his practice duffel in case his leg bothered him on the pitch tomorrow. You adjusted yourself on the couch, scooting away from Brian’s side in a moment that filled his lungs with relief, yet weighed his chest with your sudden absence. Your hands reached for the metal of your laptop at the end of the couch, certainly cooler from earlier’s bout of overheating, while, unknown to you, Brian’s lips fought back a frown at the warmth dissipating from where you had previously occupied. “Do you want to see some of the shots I got yesterday?”

Brian’s jaw released the taut string of muscles as you opened your laptop, green eyes wide and tracing over the wallpaper you made with precious photos of your life–some candids of friends, occasional snapshots of the sky, but mostly collections of Chivas-adjacent pictures. He found it admirable, your artistry and passion, and more commendable how your creativity reflected in the ordinary–making collages for teammates’ birthdays, elevating your apartment with decor, or even the very nature of your work. Your laptop illuminated with your assortment of tabs, pages flashing wildly like a wicked reflection of your busy mind, as you clicked on a folder of successful edits, eager to show him your work regardless of his response. 

Your fingers zoomed into a moment captured between Brian and Armando, the pair accomplishing just about anything but routine passes, yet the boyish expression on their faces made it impossible not to replicate a smile. “Mira, me gusta esta,” you buzzed with an air of excitement, swiping to a photo that captured the joy of the game–a familyhood forged by discipline and diligence. As your eyes gleamed with a certain passion, Brian could not bring himself to look at your work, for the real work of art was the way your smile shone with pride, and the way your face lit up at the fond recollection of these sweet memories. “What do you think, Brian?” “Yeah, they’re beautiful,” his voice murmured, eyes tracing the minute details of a woman who works tirelessly for a team that she considers family; darkened bags that threatened to overwhelm her waterline, lips toughened by repetitive anxious biting, and eyes that glittered merrily, with only a faint hint of exhaustion. His chest fluttered at the recognition of these features. He reckoned with a fact that he had yet to swallow up until that moment–a roommate wouldn’t really notice these sorts of things, and a good roommate certainly wouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to press his lips against hers, as if to swallow all the worries she fears to speak of. Yet, he noticed in the most mundane of moments.

Your head turned slowly to face Brian, your gaze reluctantly peeling away from the glowing screen that had captivated your attention moments before. The warmth of his gaze was palpable, instantly heightening the electricity that hung in the air like a tangible thread between you. The stillness enveloped you both, charged with an unspoken tension that felt as if it could burst forth at any moment. It was a precious hushed moment, thick and laden with possibility, where neither of you seemed willing to disrupt the delicate cocoon of proximity that cocooned you in a world of your own.

The soft huff of Brian's breath brushed teasingly against your nose, an intimate reminder of how close you were, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the wild thrum of your heart was loud enough for him to hear. His eyes, deep and searching, traveled down to the delicate skin of your lips and then back to meet your own gaze, a flicker of something unspoken igniting between you. He murmured your name, each syllable dripping like honey, warm and inviting. “Brian,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper, fragile as if raising it any higher would shatter the intimate bubble you both found yourselves enveloped in.

In a mesmerizing, fluid motion, his hand slid from where it rested casually in his lap, moving to set your laptop aside before cupping your cheek with a gentle warmth that sent shivers down your spine. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, soft and reverent, before trailing down to your bottom lip, a featherlight touch that ignited a spark of longing deep within. As he lowered his head slightly, he hesitated, eyes searching yours for permission. The heartbeat of anticipation thrummed louder in your ears until, with a subtle nod from you, he understood it was time to leap into the unknown.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender yet electric, a brief yet passionate exchange filled with feelings that needed no words. It was a connection that seemed to set your very veins ablaze, each moment stretching out in slow motion, as a world filled with silence collapsed around you, leaving just the two of you in that perfect instant. Your palm instinctively pressed against his chest, fingertips curling into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, as if anchoring him to you, grounding this fragile moment. But as quickly as the kiss began, you found yourself pulling back, brows furrowing in contemplation. You shook your head gently, eyes closing tightly as you pressed your lips into a thin line, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have— we can’t,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with doubt. The weight of the moment felt suffocating as you retreated from the intimate chaos of the crime scene, your cheeks aflame with lingering warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of the surrounding air. You averted your gaze, unable to meet Brian's eyes, fearing the depth of understanding and disappointment that would surely reflect back at you. You shuffled from your spot on the couch, nerves propelling you into action as you hastily gathered your equipment and belongings. Each click of the gear being packed into your work backpack felt like a heartbeat, echoing the turmoil within you. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation you were desperate to avoid.

Without daring to glance back, you moved towards the door, every step amplifying the tension that hung like a thick fog in the room. “Please. I’m sorry,” Brian's voice pierced through the silence, laden with a mixture of yearning and hurt. You let out a huff, a shaky breath escaping your lips as your mind raced. Your bottom lip trembled involuntarily, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The door loomed ahead, a stark barrier between the two of you. “Good night, Brian,” you said, the words feeling heavy and final. Silence hung in the air as you heard no response; you could sense the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down on him. He remained rooted to the couch, staring blankly as you shut the door behind you, closing off the world you had shared for just a moment. Once the door clicked into place, a wave of frustration washed over him. He sank into the couch, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes, as if trying to erase the memory of the kiss that had ignited something undeniably profound yet frightening between you. He mumbled some frustrations under his breath, words laced with disbelief and longing.

likes, comments, & reblogs always appreciated ✧.*

[sgfgmichaelrry]

Reblogging because I’m flopping 🫩🫩

[sgfgmichaelrry]

CAPTURED AT THE RIGHT WRONG TIME ✧.* Brian Gutiérrez x f!reader

𐙚⋆.˚ roommate!reader & ChivasPR!reader. fluff. angst to be resolved. your honor, they're idiots in love. some dialogue in spanish. WC: 3.1K 𐙚⋆.˚ a/n: have had this idea cooking for a while but i had an itch to get it done before i move back to school. i'm undecided if i want to write a part two or not, but lmk :P

The rhythm of your fingers tapping against your laptop joined the soft hum of Luis Miguel’s voice, the acoustic orchestra framing your attention on the catalog of unedited photos flooding from your SD card. Your back rested against the arm of the couch, becoming acutely aware of the springs pressing into your muscles, as your knees kissed your chest, your wide screen propped against your knees, as your eyes fleeted past raw images from a Chivas practice the day prior. Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing the warm skin of your cheeks, squeezing briefly as if to recharge your brain, yet to no avail. A yawn crept from your lips as you flicked your hand towards your mouth, fingers later brushing up to swipe the fatigue from your eyes. 

Your phone vibrated against the cushions of the couch, face down so as not to distract yourself (which had only gone so well), with your nightly reminder urging you to start getting ready for bed. Unfortunately for you, the momentum of the Chivas’ season meant carrying the brunt force of the team’s publicity and social image, in tow with photographing practices, creating content, and sending emails from sunrise to sunset. As such, your sacred bedtime routine had been reduced to a mere suggestion dedicated to the offseason. As your finger swiped the notification off your homescreen, your eyes caught a glance at the late hour, brows furrowing at the reckoning of an early morning practice tomorrow that would demand your presence. Eagerly, you hoped that tomorrow would be a rather monotonous day of routine passes for the players, enabling you to find an empty spot, put some headphones in, and set up camp for an editing day–realistically, however? You could only keep your fingers crossed as you flipped your phone back over, craning your head back to your monitor before opening your task tab, crossing off a few items before braving the next project.

In a whirl of emitted blue light, burning jasmine wax, and a whirring laptop fan, the front door of your apartment creaked at the hinges, posing a reminder to call your dad for potential fixes to that problem. Your head whips towards the announced presence, eyes fighting to keep their attention glued to the Photoshop tab before flitting towards the sudden thud on the opposite loveseat, your roommate’s practice bag thrown haphazardly on the leather with his sneakers toed off. Your gaze travels towards the man guilty for the thrown accessory, noticing the locks of brown curls brushed messily on your roommate's head, framing the dark hues beneath his lash line. With a glance at your watch, you return your gaze to follow Brian’s frame moving languidly through the living room, adopting the seat next to your camera, before popping a curious eyebrow towards him. “D’y’all have midnight practice tonight?” 

You watched as his head cocked only the slightest from where it rested against his fist, flashes of green slicing through the lush of his lashes, before the corner of his mouth quirked up, indicating the faintest chuckle. “If only,” his voice rasped, clearing his throat as he readjusted himself on the cushion, adjusting his knees to face towards you. You organized the disarray of SD cards, cables, and flash drives, clearing away the space as if to clear a path for conversation, reflecting on the long day you were certain both of you had. With a brief huff of air, Brian recounted, brushing his palm down his face. “Diego wanted to check out this bar after team dinner, but we ended up staying, and by the time I realized it was too late, I had to drive him and Armando back to their apartments.” Your bottom lip pursed out, admiring the sincerity of his favor to his friends, before curling into a smile just shy of a smirk.

Your eyes twinkled with mischief, and Brian caught a faint reflection of candlelight in your pupils. “Ten bucks says he’ll be late to practice tomorrow, todo boracho,” you proposed, nodding your head towards your camera gear. Brian’s lips parted into a grin, the apples of his cheeks pushing against the subtle bags appearing beneath his eyes. “I’ll take you up on that,” he shrugged, casual confidence rolling off his shoulders even through the lethargic movement. “I’ll throw in an extra ten if he’s hungover and makes sure we know it during drills.” A stifled laugh tumbles through his lips before the words come out, your eyes glancing at the sound before meeting his gaze again, the base of your neck itching to warm at the stumble. 

The curl of your lip tucks beneath your teeth, your mind circulating possible scenarios for tomorrow before Brian takes you out of your thoughts, waltzing toward his practice bag. “Do you have anything that needs to be washed?” He throws his question over his shoulder, hands working to unzip his duffel and pull out his practice gear. “Got a few jerseys I gotta wash for the week, and I don’t want to waste a load.” Instinctually, you snort, shaking your head as you redirect your stare to the side and cover your mouth with your hand. The smile curling on your lips gives away the naughty interpretation once Brian turns to face you, his furrowed eyebrows relaxing into a pair of rolling eyes. “Sorry, Freudian slip,” your voice highlighted by a giggle, unknowingly crashing into Brian’s chest, his heart fluttering at the sound. “Freak,” he shook his head, seemingly dismissing your reaction, yet he hoped the action would recalibrate his dissolving composure.

“But seriously, I just did laundry, so I’m good. Gracias,” your laugh settled into a small smile. You moved to arrange your equipment in your bag before your ears caught the sound of Brian’s feet carrying him to the small laundry unit, recognizing a peculiar weight in one of his steps, faint in the way the pace lingered briefly. You furrow your brows, tongue poking your cheek, before looking over at your roommate, noticing the shift in his hips as he stops in front of the machine—his right side sinking as his left leg relaxes. “Something happen at practice today?” Your voice emerged from across the space, nursing sympathy and concern through each syllable. “We’ve got ice packs in the freezer.”

Brian’s curls were the last thing to stop moving as he turned to face you, closing the machine door before selecting a cycle. He shook his head, lips pouting in a frown as he shrugged. “I think I just overworked it and tried to walk it off,” he nodded toward his left foot. “But it’ll be fine by tomorrow. We’re just doing the kid’s clinic in the afternoon.” Brian watched the rise of your eyebrows, acknowledgment painting your features with your lips pursed, before squinting your eyes, the shade of your irises flickering through your lashes. The muscle in your shoulders released from their tight embroidery, momentarily relieved at a later morning promised tomorrow. Yet, the tension traveled to the faint wrinkles on your forehead at Brian’s dismissive nature. “I feel like that’s more the reason to ice it. Kids are brutal.”

With an attempt to refute, Brian’s words got swallowed by a grunt, his strides towards the couch thwarted by a minute limp, and the pressure in his ankle shot through his bones. Consequently, you sprang from your spot on the couch, urging Brian to assume his previous spot, before pattering to the kitchen, accepting his silence as a surrender. The cool of the freezer pricked your fingertips as you rumaged to find the frozen gel packs you invested in after *several* encounters with a stubborn Brian in the past year you’ve lived with him, and your rhythm felt familiar as you closed the door with your hip. With a roll of KT tape acquired in your other hand, you approached the displeased soccer star with the cooling remedy, his frustration sewed closely into the lock of his jaw–as if admitting a need for help was fatal. Your eyes cast a glance at his lips, roughened by his teeth’s constant assault on the skin, before correcting your sight to his left leg, which sat on the ottoman. The moment hummed in your chest before traveling to the petite scar on the side of your knee, rekindling you to a version that existed before the flashing cameras and Photoshop settings. It felt rehearsed, the smooth passes of your hands rolling down his sock and pressing faintly against the swollen skin, familiar in the way that you once had bruises littering your legs from long practices.

“Is that okay? Does it hurt when I press here?” Compassion wrapped your voice with a pretty bow, your hands delicate as you tried to gauge the severity of his pain. Unbeknownst to you, Brian’s eyes shined under the gentle lamplight, wide at the tender care you were demonstrating. His pupils traced the way your fingertips danced along the meticulous carve of muscles, enamored entirely by your tranquil demeanor; even in this rather compromised position–his body admitting defeat, and you looking up at him with those worried eyes. 

He wondered what it would be like to come home to your care every day-

He blinked once, twice, eyelashes fluttering as his mind worked with haste to recalibrate. It was moments like these–intimate, domestic, even–that threatened the fibers of composure Brian was so desperate to cling to. Yet it was dangerous, threatening the balance of friendship and kindness with each lingering gaze of his beautiful eyes, so he fought the adamant part of his brain to fix his sight on anything else in the apartment (though not that successfully).

Brian was brought out of his trance when your head turned to look at his face, confused by his sudden deposition. “Brian?” The soft purr of your voice crashed into his swirling thoughts, pulling his focus from the plump swell of your bottom lip to meet your eyes. “¿Mande? Oh, um-” He cleared his throat, yet not without feeling the slightest tinge of warmth begin to paint his neck a dusty pink. “No,” he shook his head, brown strands following the movement. “I mean, I feel some pressure, but nothing worth crying over. Estoy bien, no te preocupes.” His voice was dangerously dismissive, his hand waving as his lips curled into a thin line. There were many things Brian was: a talented futbolista, an amateur comedian, and a terrible singer. Yet there was a more staggering thing that Brian was currently–totally nervous at this proximity.

Your eyes narrowed, blinking a bit, before raising your eyebrows and exhaling a chuckle through your nose. You rolled your eyes dramatically, lashes kissing just beneath your brow bone, before you returned your hands to the swell of muscles before you, decisively adjusting the frozen gel onto Brian’s leg. “Is it a thing for like, all men to be scared of help?” The ghost of a smirk froze on your lips as you worked in silence of Brian’s speechless state, adjusting the KT tape to support the pressure. Your head cocked up to catch sight of his stunned silence, eyes crinkling as your lips spread in a smile, smoothing over the last piece of elastic before wiping your hands on your sweatpants.

“Solo bromas, Brian.” Your hand ruffled his mess of curls before tossing the KT tape towards his practice duffel in case his leg bothered him on the pitch tomorrow. You adjusted yourself on the couch, scooting away from Brian’s side in a moment that filled his lungs with relief, yet weighed his chest with your sudden absence. Your hands reached for the metal of your laptop at the end of the couch, certainly cooler from earlier’s bout of overheating, while, unknown to you, Brian’s lips fought back a frown at the warmth dissipating from where you had previously occupied. “Do you want to see some of the shots I got yesterday?”

Brian’s jaw released the taut string of muscles as you opened your laptop, green eyes wide and tracing over the wallpaper you made with precious photos of your life–some candids of friends, occasional snapshots of the sky, but mostly collections of Chivas-adjacent pictures. He found it admirable, your artistry and passion, and more commendable how your creativity reflected in the ordinary–making collages for teammates’ birthdays, elevating your apartment with decor, or even the very nature of your work. Your laptop illuminated with your assortment of tabs, pages flashing wildly like a wicked reflection of your busy mind, as you clicked on a folder of successful edits, eager to show him your work regardless of his response. 

Your fingers zoomed into a moment captured between Brian and Armando, the pair accomplishing just about anything but routine passes, yet the boyish expression on their faces made it impossible not to replicate a smile. “Mira, me gusta esta,” you buzzed with an air of excitement, swiping to a photo that captured the joy of the game–a familyhood forged by discipline and diligence. As your eyes gleamed with a certain passion, Brian could not bring himself to look at your work, for the real work of art was the way your smile shone with pride, and the way your face lit up at the fond recollection of these sweet memories. “What do you think, Brian?” “Yeah, they’re beautiful,” his voice murmured, eyes tracing the minute details of a woman who works tirelessly for a team that she considers family; darkened bags that threatened to overwhelm her waterline, lips toughened by repetitive anxious biting, and eyes that glittered merrily, with only a faint hint of exhaustion. His chest fluttered at the recognition of these features. He reckoned with a fact that he had yet to swallow up until that moment–a roommate wouldn’t really notice these sorts of things, and a good roommate certainly wouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to press his lips against hers, as if to swallow all the worries she fears to speak of. Yet, he noticed in the most mundane of moments.

Your head turned slowly to face Brian, your gaze reluctantly peeling away from the glowing screen that had captivated your attention moments before. The warmth of his gaze was palpable, instantly heightening the electricity that hung in the air like a tangible thread between you. The stillness enveloped you both, charged with an unspoken tension that felt as if it could burst forth at any moment. It was a precious hushed moment, thick and laden with possibility, where neither of you seemed willing to disrupt the delicate cocoon of proximity that cocooned you in a world of your own.

The soft huff of Brian's breath brushed teasingly against your nose, an intimate reminder of how close you were, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the wild thrum of your heart was loud enough for him to hear. His eyes, deep and searching, traveled down to the delicate skin of your lips and then back to meet your own gaze, a flicker of something unspoken igniting between you. He murmured your name, each syllable dripping like honey, warm and inviting. “Brian,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper, fragile as if raising it any higher would shatter the intimate bubble you both found yourselves enveloped in.

In a mesmerizing, fluid motion, his hand slid from where it rested casually in his lap, moving to set your laptop aside before cupping your cheek with a gentle warmth that sent shivers down your spine. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, soft and reverent, before trailing down to your bottom lip, a featherlight touch that ignited a spark of longing deep within. As he lowered his head slightly, he hesitated, eyes searching yours for permission. The heartbeat of anticipation thrummed louder in your ears until, with a subtle nod from you, he understood it was time to leap into the unknown.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender yet electric, a brief yet passionate exchange filled with feelings that needed no words. It was a connection that seemed to set your very veins ablaze, each moment stretching out in slow motion, as a world filled with silence collapsed around you, leaving just the two of you in that perfect instant. Your palm instinctively pressed against his chest, fingertips curling into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, as if anchoring him to you, grounding this fragile moment. But as quickly as the kiss began, you found yourself pulling back, brows furrowing in contemplation. You shook your head gently, eyes closing tightly as you pressed your lips into a thin line, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have— we can’t,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with doubt. The weight of the moment felt suffocating as you retreated from the intimate chaos of the crime scene, your cheeks aflame with lingering warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of the surrounding air. You averted your gaze, unable to meet Brian's eyes, fearing the depth of understanding and disappointment that would surely reflect back at you. You shuffled from your spot on the couch, nerves propelling you into action as you hastily gathered your equipment and belongings. Each click of the gear being packed into your work backpack felt like a heartbeat, echoing the turmoil within you. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation you were desperate to avoid.

Without daring to glance back, you moved towards the door, every step amplifying the tension that hung like a thick fog in the room. “Please. I’m sorry,” Brian's voice pierced through the silence, laden with a mixture of yearning and hurt. You let out a huff, a shaky breath escaping your lips as your mind raced. Your bottom lip trembled involuntarily, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The door loomed ahead, a stark barrier between the two of you. “Good night, Brian,” you said, the words feeling heavy and final. Silence hung in the air as you heard no response; you could sense the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down on him. He remained rooted to the couch, staring blankly as you shut the door behind you, closing off the world you had shared for just a moment. Once the door clicked into place, a wave of frustration washed over him. He sank into the couch, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes, as if trying to erase the memory of the kiss that had ignited something undeniably profound yet frightening between you. He mumbled some frustrations under his breath, words laced with disbelief and longing.

likes, comments, & reblogs always appreciated ✧.*

[xobunni0]

tell me you’re that somebody ⋮

armando gonzález × f!reader 𐙚

⌗ requested. smut with plot. model!reader. spanish dialogue heavy. wc 6k. forced arranged meeting. reader don’t really like him at first. awkward first meeting. sex that is oddly intimate for two people who don’t know each other. SHE WANT THAT COOKIE SO BAD. he’s a sweetie.

an: this one tickled me real good!! my first long fic lmk..

the notifications had started as a joke. you laughed every time another fan account appeared on your feed.

“They’re actually serious?” you muttered, shaking your head.

the edit had been surprisingly well made. your picture from a paris campaign placed beside his after a champions league match.

you’d tapped the heart without thinking. cute edit. that should’ve been the end of it. instead, it became the beginning. within hours, the edit had picked up traction. more accounts reposted it. more people made edits. more comments flooded beneath every one of your posts.

supporters spammed his username underneath your photos, while your own was plastered beneath his. every new post either of you uploaded somehow turned into the same conversation that the two of you would make an undeniably attractive couple.

soon there were “proof” threads dissecting your social media activity, as if that somehow confirmed a relationship that didn’t even exist.

it became impossible to ignore. every notification seemed to mention him. every comment section looked the same.

at first, you laughed. then it became mildly irritating. but you never actually shut it down. part of you figured it would disappear on its own. internet trends came and went all the time. give people a week or two and they’d find something else to obsess over.

so instead, you kept scrolling. you rolled your eyes at the more delusional theories, laughed at the creative edits, occasionally even liked one if it genuinely made you laugh.

you weren’t encouraging it.. but you weren’t stopping it either. you’d managed to ignore it for almost two weeks. almost.

every notification was the same.

…. mentioned you in a comment

…. tagged you in a post

…. added you to a reel

with an irritated sigh, you tucked a pillow under your arms, phone balanced in one hand as another notification appeared.

“PLEASE FOLLOW HIM ALREADY.”

you rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

you weren’t going to follow him. just… see who this supposed ‘boyfriend’ actually was.

you tapped the tagged username. his profile loaded almost instantly.

a blue checkmark, millions of followers.

the name display simply read:

‘Armando…’

“so your name’s Armando.” you murmured to yourself. you scrolled cautiously, making absolutely sure your thumb stayed well away from the like button.

your feed filled with match day photos, pictures with teammates, and the occasional professionally shot portraits.

it wasn’t difficult to understand why people found him attractive. he was handsome, there was no denying that. he also had one of those smiles that looked genuine.

one photo caught your attention, a stadium unlike the others. the red and white striped jersey recognizable. your eyebrows lifted. you tapped it.

“he plays for them?” you blinked in surprise.

you continued scrolling. one finger hovering awkwardly so you wouldn’t accidentally follow him.

every couple of posts, your eyes drifted to the comments. there were thousands. thousands. your name appeared so often it almost stopped looking like your own.

you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“fuck, just leave him alone.”

another post. more comments. another. even more. someone else claimed to have “inside information.”

you let out a long, defeated groan.

“This is actually insane.”

your thumbs twitched over the keyboard. for one second, you imagined replying.

we have literally never met.

delete

please stop tagging him.

delete

you guys made this up yourselves

delete

none of it would matter. if anything, responding would only make matters worse.

so, with every ounce of self control you had, you backed out of the comment section. then his profile, then instagram entirely.

you tossed your phone beside you.

“I’m never opening those comments again.”

meanwhile, Armando remained blissfully unaware. his days looked the same: morning practice. more training. rest. home.

he wasn’t the type to sit around scrolling through social media, and when he did open instagram it was usually to answer a few messages, repost something from the club, before locking his phone again.

so while the internet had practically decided he was in love with a woman he’d never spoken to… he had absolutely no idea.

it wasn’t until after training had wrapped up, he sat in the locker room unlacing his cleats, one teammate snorted. “Armando.”

he looked up, “¿Qué?”

the phone was shoved in front of him.

an edit. you and him.

he blinked. “¿Qué?”

the room burst into laughter.

“Tu novia.”

“No tengo novia.”

“Pues ya tienes..”

another teammate chimed in. “Le dio like.”

he frowned. “¿Quién le dio like a qué?”

“tu novia.”

he took the phone. your profile appeared. verified. photoshoots. fashion week clips. magazine covers.

he recognized you immediately. “Es famosa… y modelo.”

he scrolled for a moment before handing the phone back.

“¿Y?”

“¿Cómo que ‘y’?”

the teammate grinned. “La gente cree que andan.”

he laughed under his breath. “como crees. el internet se inventa las cosas”

Armando, somehow, remained completely unfazed by the whole thing. if anything, he seemed almost oblivious to it.

he kept reposting club posts, match day photos, the occasional picture with teammates after a win. no subtle hints. no comments feeding the rumors. nothing.

you, on the other hand, were reaching your limit. every interview now came with at least one question disguised as another.

“Any athletes catch your eye?”

“Have you met anyone special recently?”

you smiled politely every time. changed the subject. but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone from your team decided to “manage the narrative.” and you were right.

the conference room at your agency was far too quiet. your publicist sat across from you with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with herself.

“We’ve been monitoring the engagement.”

you already didn’t like where this was going.

“We think it’d be a good idea for the two of you to meet.”

your head snapped up. “What? no.”

she smiled patiently. “No?”

“No.”

“No?”

you leaned forward. “Why?”

“It’s simple.” she folded her hands together. “it’s just an invitation to watch one match.”

you blinked.

“If I go.. they’ll think we actually are together.”

“We’re not asking you to fake date him.”

your frustration finally got the best of you. your palm smacked hard against your thigh.

“I don’t even watch league football.”

“We know.”

“I’ve never met him.”

“We know.”

“I don’t even know what his voice sounds like.”

“we know. but.. his club’s media department coordinated with us.”

you opened your mouth. then closed it for a second.

“you… contacted… his club?”

she nodded. “It wasn’t difficult.”

you rubbed both hands over your face.

“consider the invitation okay?”

you let your head fall back against the chair. she smiled sympathetically before her phone rang. excusing herself as she stepped into the hallway to answer it, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

for a long moment, you considered simply not going. but that wasn’t how it worked. everything had already been arranged without you. with a defeated sigh, you grabbed the itinerary from the table:

- a private flight.

- VIP entrance.

- meet him after the match.

- fifteen-minute introduction.

* photos only if both parties agreed. *

you stared at the last line.

“Only if both parties agreed.”

at least someone had remembered to ask. you muttered under your breath as you slipped the papers back into the folder.

“I hope he’s as annoyed by this as I am.”

miles away, after finishing an evening training session, Armando glanced over the message his club’s media manager had sent him. the message was short and clear; a model would like to meet him for a moment after the game, if he was comfortable with it.

he frowned faintly. he wasn’t sure she’d like to meet him was the right way to phrase it.

still, he replied complying with the same gentle politeness that came easy to him.

the next morning, you were already on your flight.

you’d accepted the club’s invitation days earlier, mostly out of curiosity. if anything, they only reached out because of the online attention surrounding you and one of their players became impossible to ignore, assuring you there’d be private transportation, a VIP entrance, and no obligation beyond simply enjoying the match and photos only if both parties agreed.. exactly what you wanted.

by the time you arrived at the hotel, your bags had already been brought up to your room.

the first thing that caught your eye wasn’t the city view outside the window. it was the jersey hanging neatly from a hook on the back of the door. his jersey. a gift from his club. the thought behind it was genuinely sweet. they had wanted you to feel welcomed, included. it was a nice gesture, and you appreciated it more than you would ever admit.

but you also knew yourself. you weren’t going to be caught walking into that stadium wearing his name across your back.

not because you disliked it. quite the opposite. because you already knew exactly what people would say. one picture of you in his jersey and suddenly everyone would have “proof.”

the club escorted you through a private entrance just as promised, away from the crowds already gathering outside the stadium. a few staff members greeted you politely before leading you to one of the hospitality suites overlooking the pitch.

comfortable, quiet, and far enough from the cameras. perfect.

by kickoff, the stadium was alive. thousands of supporters cheered in unison, chants echoed around. even from inside the suite, you could feel the buzzing excitement.

the whistle blew. and for the next ninety minutes, you simply watched. he played better than you had expected.

you found yourself smiling without realizing it. it was obvious how much these people adored him. every goal attempt earned applause, every pass drew cheers. the supporters applauded just as loudly as they would a goal.

you could understand why they loved him.

meanwhile, down on the pitch, Armando remained completely unaware. his attention never drifted toward the hospitality suites. for ninety minutes, there was only the match.

the final whistle eventually echoed throughout the stadium, followed by a deafening cheer from the supporters. Armando bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. sweat dripped from his forehead while teammates exchanged hugs and handshakes around him before making their way toward the stands to applaud the fans.

back inside the hospitality suite, a polite knock interrupted your thoughts.

“They’re ready for you.”

you looked up.

“The room’s set. you’ll be meeting him there.”

you nodded once, smoothing out the wrinkles in your outfit before following the club staff through the private corridors that overlooked the pitch.

down below, the players were still lingering on the field. you paused for only a moment as the staff member waited beside you. that was all it took. one of Armando’s teammates glanced toward the suite level.

his eyes widened. he immediately smacked the shoulder of the teammate beside him.

“¿Qué?”

“Voltea.”

within seconds, another head turned. then another. until most of them had followed the same line of sight.

a grin spread across one player’s face.

he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ya llegó tu novia.”

Armando looked up, still trying to catch his breath.

“¿Mi… qué?”

another teammate laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. “Sí vino.”

“¿De qué están hablando?” Armando asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

he turned, following every pointing finger until his eyes landed on the hospitality level.

and then he saw you. exactly like the pictures. only somehow prettier in person.

you stood one hand resting against the railing as you looked down toward the pitch. you were speaking quietly with your agent.

another nudged Armando with his elbow.

“Entonces..” he teased, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “¿Todavía nos vas a decir que nunca la habías conocido?”

Armando didn’t answer. he couldn’t. he was too busy watching as a member of the club staff gently motioned for you to continue down the corridor toward the private meeting room.

the teasing only got worse. Armando was still staring toward the corridor where you’d disappeared when someone slung an arm over his shoulders.

another bumped his shoulder teasingly. and the group burst into another fit of laughter.

Armando couldn’t help it. an embarrassed smile spread across his face as he shook his head, trying and failing to hide it.

Armando let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before the reality of the situation suddenly hit him. the smile slowly faded. he looked down at himself. his jersey was plastered to his back with sweat. grass stains streaked across the front. his hair clung to his forehead, damp, and he could still feel sweat running down the back of his neck.

his eyes widened. “No puedo conocerla así.”

the laughter somehow grew even louder.

“Si ya te vio jugar noventa minutos exactamente así.”

“Es diferente.” Armando muttered.

he turned toward one of the club staff members hoping they’d atleast give him a fresh jersey. the staff member smiled with a small nod. he let out a breath, far more relieved than he wanted to admit.

management began ushering him toward the tunnel. he was handed a towel.

“Que te vaya bien.”

“Y de una vez pídele su número.”

Armando was unable to stop himself from laughing. he lifted the towel, quickly wiping the sweat from his face and neck before dragging it through his damp hair.

his palms smoothed down the sides of his jersey, then immediately realized how pointless that was. they were still sweaty.

he let out a quiet sigh. he’d played in front of tens of thousands of people. he’d taken penalties with entire stadiums screaming. he’d dealt with big crowds and high pressure matches. yet the thought of meeting one woman, one he’d never even spoken to had his stomach twisting into knots.

he took one last breath as a staff member held open the door leading toward the private meeting room.

Armando nodded, suddenly very aware of how fast his heart was beating.

for the first time all afternoon he felt more nervous walking into that room than he had walking onto the pitch.

“Be nice.” your agent’s voice was barely above a whisper as you waited in the private meeting room.

you gave her a look. “I am.”

the skeptical hum earned a small eye roll from you. before you could argue, the handle turned and the door clicked open.

Armando stood just inside the room, having clearly changed into a fresh club jersey. his hair was still damp from the quick shower he’d managed to take, a few strands curling against his forehead. he looked cleaner than he had on the pitch, but there was no hiding the slight flush in his cheeks or the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

he looked nervous. that surprised you.

from the way he’d carried himself during the match, you’d expected someone overflowing with confidence. instead, he looked like he’d rather take another ninety minutes on the field than the next fifteen inside this room.

a soft smile spread across his face as he stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Armando.” his voice was warm, steady despite the nerves.

you accepted the handshake. his hand was warm. firm. gentle enough not to squeeze too tightly.

“Qué bueno por fin conocerte.” he said. “Aunque… creo que el internet se encargó de eso.”

despite yourself, a small laugh escaped.

“Supongo que sí.”

the tension eased just enough for him to smile wider.

he hesitated. “¿Te puedo dar un abrazo?”

you looked at him for half a second before nodding once.

it was brief and awkward. neither of you wanted to overstep. your hand rested lightly against the middle of his back. the fabric of his clean jersey was cool beneath your fingertips, probably from the air conditioning still lingering after he’d changed.

his arm settled carefully around your shoulders, leaving enough space that he could pull away the second you wanted him to.

when you separated, your eyes met for just a moment longer than either of you intended.

he really was more handsome in person. he features were softer somehow. kinder. there wasn’t an ounce of arrogance in his expression.

meanwhile, Armando was trying to look anywhere else but your face.

he cleared his throat. “Gracias por venir.”

“me invitaron.”

“Ya sé.” a sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “Pero igual.”

silence settled between you again. neither uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.

your agent stepped in briefly “We’ll leave you two for a few minutes.” before you could protest, both your agent and one of the club representatives stepped outside.

the door clicked shut. you were alone.

Armando rubbed the back of his neck. “Entonces…”

“Entonces.”

he laughed quietly. “Esto se veía menos incómodo en mi cabeza.”

“¿Te imaginaste todo esto?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Solo porque todos no paraban de mandarme fotos editadas de nosotros.” he admitted, laughing at himself.

“Mis comentarios tampoco han estado mucho mejor.”

“Ya vi.”

“¿Los viste?”

he nodded. “Me dio curiosidad.”

that earned another laugh from you.

he noticed immediately. and Armando noticed the bracelet around your wrist. simple, elegant.

you noticed the athletic tape still wrapped around his wrists. tiny details. the sort people only noticed when they were trying not to stare at each other’s faces.

“Tengo una pregunta.” he said.

“¿De verdad te gusta los videos que nos están haciendo?”

you groaned.

“Entonces, ¿eso es un sí?”

“Me dio risa.”

he laughed. “Mis compañeros llevan más de una semana sin dejar de hablar de ti.”

“Te veías nervioso allá afuera.”

“Lo estaba.”

“Has jugado frente de mil personas.”

“Preferiría volver a hacer eso.”

“¿Que conocerme?”

“Sí.”

his honesty caught you off guard. “¿Por qué?”

“Porque de futbol sí sé.” he smiled awkwardly. “No tenía ni idea de qué decirte.”

the admission felt so genuine that your guard lowered almost without you realizing.

“Yo tampoco sabía qué decirte.”

“no se te notó tanto.”

“Tengo práctica.”

he tilted his head. “¿Por modelar?”

you hummed in response.

he chuckled. “Necesito unas clases.”

“Pensé que los futbolistas tenían más confianza.”

“Nos hacemos.”

that made you laugh again. there it was. that same laugh from earlier.

Armando smiled without meaning to.

you caught it, and for a second, neither of you spoke.

your fingers suddenly brushed as both of you reached for the same bottle of water sitting on the table.

your hands touched for barely a second. warm fingertips against cool skin. both of you pulled away just a little too quickly.

“Tú puedes tomarla.” you said.

“No, está bien.”

“¿Seguro?”

he nodded. “Tómala tú primero.”

you shook your head with a small smile.

“Qué educado.”

“Mi mamá me educó bien.”

“Se nota.”

his eyes lifted to yours again. this time, neither of you looked away immediately.

the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. just two strangers trying to make sense of the versions of each other they’d seen online with the people standing in front of them. neither of you matched the internet’s fantasy.

a sharp knock made both of your heads turned toward the door.

a member of club management stood outside, looking as though they were already running behind schedule. "los necesitamos en diez para las fotos".

neither of you had a chance to answer before they were already waving you into the hallway. the corridor buzzed with staff carrying camera equipment, sponsors walking back and forth, everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going except the two of you.

management stopped outside your hotel room and simply told you two to wait in there.

you frowned. the door swung open. you were gently but unmistakably ushered inside. Armando stumbled a step after you.

the door clicked shut behind you.

“¿Cómo que espérense aquí?” you muttered.

the room suddenly felt much smaller than it had in the meeting room.

Armando looked around awkwardly before deciding the safest thing to do was stay out of your way.

he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting lightly on his knees, hands clasped together.

his eyes wandered around the room without meaning to. your makeup was scattered across the vanity, left exactly where you’d abandoned them while getting ready. an open suitcase sat on the floor, clothes folded on one side and hastily tossed onto the other. a pair of heels rested beside the bed.

then his eyes caught something hanging neatly from the hook on the back of the door. his jersey. still perfectly hung up. still unworn. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he’d had a feeling.

you remained by the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest. jaw tense.

“No pueden hacer esto.” the words came out with a dry laugh that carried more frustration than amusement.

“No pueden nada más… encerrarnos aquí porque la gente cree que esto es lo que queremos.”

Armando looked up at you. his expression softened immediately. “Ya sé.”

“Están tratando de sacar fotos.”

“Ya sé.”

“Están esperando que pase algo.”

“Ya sé.”

you let out another disbelieving laugh, pacing a few steps before stopping again. Armando didn’t argue. didn’t defend the club, didn’t try to convince you otherwise. he simply agreed.

for some reason, that only made you feel guiltier.

“No tenemos por qué hacer esto.” he said quietly after a moment. “Si no quieres las fotos… puedo decirles que no.”

your emotions and tension you’d carried all day finally snapped.

“Yo nunca quise conocerte.” the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

the room fell silent. Armando’s smile disappeared slowly.

he swallowed hard. his eyes dropped to his clasped hands for a second.

“Está bien.” there wasn’t any anger in his voice. only understanding. he nodded once to himself, almost as if accepting something he’d already suspected.

“Creo que…” he searched for the right before giving up halfway. “Creo que todo esto ha sido demasiado para ti.”

he glanced toward the closed door.

“No debieron obligarte a esto.”

your shoulders remained tense. “Ni siquiera te conozco.”

“Ya sé.”

“Y de repente todo el mundo espera que sonriamos por algunas foto.”

“Ya sé.”

“Yo no pedí nada de esto.”

“No.”

another silence.

he rubbed his palms together, then looked back up at you. there wasn’t hurt in his eyes.

“Puedes…” his voice was almost hesitant.

“Ven.” he patted the empty space beside him on the bed before quickly correcting himself.

“¿puedes venir a sentarte?”

he offered a tiny, almost embarrassed smile.

“No espero que te caiga bien.” his fingers fidgeted together.

“Ni siquiera tienes que hablar conmigo.” a small shrug.

“Pero… estar ahí parada, toda enojada…”

he smiled gently. “debe ser bien cansado.”

the honesty in his voice caught you off guard. he wasn’t trying to change your mind. he just looked like he hated seeing you upset.

“Te lo prometo..” he added quietly, “no espero nada de ti.”

“Solo quiero que te sientas un poquito más tranquila.”

for the first time since being shoved into the room, you really looked at him.

he wasn’t sitting back confidently. he wasn’t trying to invade your space. if anything, he’d made himself smaller, leaving nearly the entire bed empty as though making sure you wouldn’t feel cornered.

he looked almost nervous that he’d said the wrong thing. your arms remained crossed. but your grip loosened slightly.

eventually, you let out a slow breath. he was right. standing there with your arms crossed, carrying around anger that wasn’t even directed at him, was exhausting.

you pushed yourself away from the door. Armando instinctively shifted another inch toward the edge of the bed, making even more room for you. instead, you lowered yourself onto the mattress right beside him.

you looked at him, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes looked over your face as he watched you.

but as you leaned over, tilting your body just enough so your shoulder brushed his, you finally cracked.

you didn't give him a chance to speak. you leaned in, closing the small gap and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was desperate, tasting of everything you’d been suppressing for the last few hours.

when you pulled back just a few inches, you caught the look on his face. Armando looked genuinely stunned, his eyes wide, his breath hitched in his throat.

"me dijiste que nunca querías conocerme." he murmured, his voice low.

"Te mentí.” you whispered, your voice breathy and honest.

the surprise in his expression melted instantly. he didn't need to be told twice. his hand slid upward, fingers resting firmly at the nape of your neck, as he pulled you back in.

this time, the kiss was tender yet he began to kiss you deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a wet, sloppy kiss, his breath coming in ragged hitches. a release of all the pent up energy from the day.

with a soft groan, Armando shifted his weight, guiding you backward and leading you down onto the mattress.

"¿Estás segura?" he asked, his voice low as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress.

were you really about to let a football player you barley know fuck you raw like this? the obvious answer was yes.

you nodded eagerly, heart pounding.

he moved slowly, peeling the fabric from your shoulders, down your arms, letting it pool at your feet. each inch of exposed skin earned a kiss, warm lips trailing along your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. “No sabes lo bonita que te ves.” he murmured, unhooking your bra with careful hands. it slipped away, and he lowered his mouth to one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking over the peak while his hand cupped the other, thumb circling. you arched into him, a soft moan escaping.

his kisses continued downward, tenderly against your stomach, hips, until he knelt, easing your panties down your thighs. he pressed his lips to the soft skin there, sucking lightly, leaving faint marks as his hands caressed your legs. "Dime si quieres que pare." he whispered against your skin, but you shook your head, urging him on.

rising, he tugged off his jersey, then freed his cock, it bobbed stiffly, already leaking at the tip. he stroked it once, eyes locked on yours. his body covered yours, gently, as he positioned himself between your thighs, keeping eye contact, he slowly slid the fat head of his cock up and down your slit, coating it thoroughly in your wet arousal.

you whimpered as the head of his cock eventually met your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing making you softly gasp.

Armando's eyelids closed, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continued to slowly drag the tip up and down your pussy lips with wet noises.

slowly the head of his cock nudged your entrance. waiting for another eager nod from you before pushing in slowly, filling you inch by inch. his thrusts were painfully slow at first, as if he was savoring every second inside your tight pussy.

"te sientes tan bien..." he breathed against your ear, as he maintained that gentle pace. his hands cradling your face as he moved within you. "Nunca había estado con alguien como tú."

your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. the way his cock stretched and filled you made you forget why you even disliked him in the first place, made you forget every comment under your posts that had made you roll your eyes at his name. now there was only this, his body moving against yours with such care that your heart ached.

Armando's thrusts grew slightly more paced, he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as sweat beaded on his brow. without warning, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours while his cock remained buried to the base inside you. the kiss was sweet in a way that neither of you had planned, just casual sex suddenly felt dangerously close to making love. his mouth moved against yours with the same tenderness his body showed, swallowing your soft moans as he held himself deep.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes were glassy. "No puedo... no puedo más." he whispered, his hips beginning to move again slightly sloppy but more paced. his cock fucked into you perfectly, each thrust hitting that sweet spot that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Armando gasped, pulling out suddenly. his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking once, twice before thick ropes of cum landed across your stomach in messy spurts. he groaned at the sight and feeling of his fist pumping his shaft. his warm cum streaked across your skin.

you looked down at the mess then back up at him, lips parted. he didn’t even last.

Armando’s body finally gave in, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and warm against your damp skin. his weight pressed you into the mattress as both of you panted. your arms came up instinctively, wrapping around his broad shoulders and holding him close, fingers threading through his sweat dampened hair.

as you slowly caught your breath, the realization settled over you. Armando was still a stranger.

“Ni siquiera sabes cuál es mi color favorito.” you whispered with a soft laugh.

the words hit him harder than you meant them to. guilt flickered across his face as he fell silent, thinking. you weren’t just a good fuck. he hated realizing how little he actually knew about the person lying in his arms.

you could tell you’d caught him off guard, so you decided to go first.

“¿de qué le tenías miedo cuando eras niño?” you asked quietly, it was a safe question to start with.

your fingertips lazily traced up and down his bare chest. he looked at you, an embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.

“Te vas a reír, pero…” he hesitated before admitting, “las hormigas.”

your smile only grew wider. you didn’t laugh. you just hummed softly, letting your fingers continue their slow drag across his skin. from there, the conversation never really stopped. both of you completely forgetting you still had to take pictures.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

tagged ♡: @chabelitalace @thestrokeshoe @itsjustashes @yunakwi @dinonuggets-blog @victoriasdreamm @sigmacapy @wowowpx @bookieluvss12 @peterparkernotfound @socialdesires @muneqiita @byekitti @marj4fer @sofilupin @i2mingi @chosomydear @keniasa @unicsworld @longanizasblog @pinkasis @sowhat-whynot @yagiyoshikawa @igualque-un-angel @em1-m4r13 @amoreris

[xfloricita]

✷┆ 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ or, in which, your dad is club ámerica's manager, and a certain rojiblanco couldn't help but have eyes for you

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k+

you were always a problem child growing up. when your parents told you not to put your hand close to the fire, you did it, even when you ended up with a burn. when you were told not to climb that tree, you did and ended up with a broken arm.

you were so stubborn that you would go to extreme lengths to prove that you were right, even when you were wrong. you'd even been stubborn enough to pretend that the times you injured yourself didn't hurt, just so that your parents wouldn't be right.

but if there was something that little you wasn't a contrarian about, was your love for club ámerica. of course, your dad being the team's manager made it easy for you to fall in love with, not only the team, but the sport as well. ever since he had been the manager, you began to play football until you started university to pursue your dream career.

and now, in your twenties, you can say most of your child-like personality has changed. sure, you were still a little stubborn, but at least you were honest about it. but you no longer did things if you knew it would hurt you, and you even began to listen to your parents. something you knew they were happy to discover.

but, your love for football and the team never diminished. whenever you had the chance, you would join your dad at work, sitting in the stands or on the sidelines catching up with your homework as they practiced on the pitch. some of the players and staff have even known you since you were a kid, while others had become new friends of yours.

because of this, you have become a devoted águila, and nothing was going to change that.

even if a certain, blue-eyed chivas player had anything to do with it.

when brian first set his eyes on you, it was love at first sight—as cheesy as it sounds.

he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when he saw you walk past. you looked like from a dream, something intangible, and someone definitely way out of his league. and yet, he still had enough courage to approach you.

you didn’t recognize him at first, how could you? when his pretty eyes were enough to distract you from the fact that he was clearly an enemy.

he was sweet with an accent telling you that he spoke another language as his first. he was cute with a smile that made you flustered, and smooth enough to get you to give him your number without a feeling of regret.

but there was something you forgot to mention that didn’t change from childhood: your deep-rooted hatred towards las chivas.

maybe it was your father’s fault for instilling that into you, or maybe it was the times the you saw las chivas obliterate your team. but you hated las chivas more than anything on the planet. you despised the color red, found goats annoying, and scoffed at any mention of them. you took your hatred seriously, even so that you would mute the tv if they scored, or turned off the tv if they won.

let’s just say, you were the unhappiest person alive in 2017.

and when you found out about the guy who had been stuck in your mind since the day you met him? you felt betrayed, disgusted, and heart broken.

how could he have easily deceived you? and how could someone so attractive play for that team.

life was so unfair.

so, you tried to forget him. besides, there had to be a guy out there who rooted for a better, more successful, team like club ámerica and whose eyes were a lot more prettier than his.

but, he persisted. you thought you blocked his number but a text managed to be delivered.

“quieres ir para un cafe?”

you scoffed, replying back, “no, gracias.”

you thought that would stop him but the texts continued to come and while you considered blocking him once and for all, you never did.

maybe you liked the attention? or maybe… you liked him.

no, that couldn’t be it. you could never like a fan of las chivas, let alone a player on the team.

but the texts kept coming.

“buenos días, cómo amaneciste?”

“viste el partido?”

“ese gol era para ti.”

“si gano, cenas conmigo?”

“te puedo ver después del partido?”

you just rolled your eyes. you tried to ignore them but you couldn’t not respond, so,

“estaba bien hasta que leí tu texto.”

“sí, y estaba animando al otro equipo.”

“es mejor si no metes nada.”

“no, y ojalá que no ganas también.”

“me puedes ver cuando seas un águila.”

the texts never stopped and you found yourself waiting for them. you knew you shouldn’t, but the more you talked to him the more you grew to like him and the more you got curious.

you would be lying if the idea of dating a chivas player didn’t entice you. you came from a family full of americanistas, friends of yours were also fans (even if they weren’t as devoted), and all of your ex relationships were somewhat supporters of the team.

you were pretty sure everyone in your family were águilas, and you couldn’t imagine the look on their faces, including your dad’s, if you ever went out with brian.

you considered it. your dad had been annoying you lately, wondering when you would settle down and start a family, let alone find a boyfriend to “take care of you.” you always argued that you were still young and that that kind of stuff was the least of your worries. besides, you were confident that you didn’t need a man to care of you.

however, no matter how many times you told him this, it's always difficult to change the mind of someone so traditional.

which is probably why when brian texted you, asking if you wanted to go out for dinner like he often did, this time you accepted.

you wondered how his face looked when he saw that you didn’t reject him.

when you were done getting ready, you found yourself inside a fancy restaurant in the center of the city. there was large windows that over looked all of the tall buildings and tables covered with expensive clothes and topped with high quality candles.

you saw him first. he was sat towards the back, looking out the window while his leg bounced nervously. you thought it was cute. you didn't think that a date like this would make him anxious, but you supposed it might be because he was serious about this. you ignored how that made you feel.

his eyes then met yours and he stood up immediately to greet you. a couple of words were exchanged before the two of you sat down.

"te ves hermosa," he stated, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks when you smiled.

"y tu te ves mejor sin esa fea camiseta puesta," you reply, taking a sip of your drink as a smirk tugged on your lips.

he laughed and shrugged his shoulders, "qué lastima. pensé que te habrías visto linda en ella."

you set your drink down, your eyes fixed on him, "nunca me verás con una camiseta de las chivas."

"nunca digas nunca," is all he said before one date led to two, and two then became three, and then three became some sort of relationship.

you didn’t know what to call whatever you had with brian. you weren’t his girlfriend and he surely wasn’t your boyfriend (even though you really wanted him to be)…

but your dad didn’t know that.

apparently a couple of paparazzi had spotted you and brian together on one of your dates. the picture was blurry, but to your dad, it was obvious it was you. who else would be wearing the exact outfit he watched you buy and try on?

“cómo qué estás saliendo con gutiérrez? no sabes que juega con las chivas?” you dad shouted through your phone when he saw the pictures. you rubbed your eyes.

it was too early in the morning for this, and it didn’t help that the guy he was talking about happened to be laying in the same bed as you.

“pa, son las siete de la mañana,” you groan, eyes blinking as you tried reading the time, “no me puedes gritar al rato?”

“no, por eso estoy de camino de tu casa,” he replied gruffly. “necesito hablar contigo en persona.”

you jumped up from your bed, making brian jolt awake from besides you. “qué? cómo qué vienes a mi casa? ahora?”

“sí, ya casi estoy.”

“pero, papá—”

“no quiero oír nada,” he stated firmly, “nos vemos en un rato.”

he hung up and you felt your heart sink. brian turned over to look at you, eyes squinting as he let out a yawn. his hair was a mess, and for a moment you thought about how cute he looked like this.

“qué pasó?” he asked, his voice deeper, “quién te llamó?”

you turned to look at him, eyes wide, “eso fue mi papá.”

“qué?” he choked, now wide awake, “tu papá?”

you nodded before getting out of bed, “él ya casi viene, y tú necesitas irte antes que—”

the doorbell rang and your blood ran cold.

it was too late now to try and sneak brian out of your apartment, and there was no way you could get your dad to leave without him getting suspicious that there was someone at your place. and if he did get suspicious, you were very certain he would know that it was brian who you had over, and you really didn't want to think about how that would go.

so, without another thought, you picked up some of the clothes on the ground and put those on. you didn't say anything to brian when you closed your door, but you assumed that the look you gave him told him what would happen to him if your dad found out he was here.

you walked over to your door and opened it before your dad could ring the doorbell again. when you did he walked right in without even giving you the chance to welcome him in.

"buenos dias a ti también," you mumble as you close your door behind him.

he was already in your living room, looking around before staring outside your window, arms folded over his chest. you rolled your eyes.

"quieres algo? café? té?" you asked as you headed to your kitchen. you prayed that this wouldn't take long and that he would leave soon. this was not a conversation you wanted to have this early.

"un té, por fa," he replied before sitting down at one of your couches. you hummed in response.

as you were making his tea, he began to speak, "sabía que siempre eras rebelde, pero no pensé que ibas a salir con alguien como él.”

you huffed, back still turned away from him, “en serio, pa? eso te enoja? no eras tú el que siempre quería que consiera novio? por qué importa si es brian?”

“a mi no me importa con quién salgas, pero por qué tenía que ser un jugador de las chivas?” he said disappointedly, “ni siquiera me enojaría si tu novio jugaba en mi equipo.”

you sighed before turning around and giving him his tea, “y qué? me gusta brian y eso es todo lo que importa. me hace feliz y me gusta mucho, es amable y—”

“que chingado llevas puesto?”

you stopped. you dad swore often, yes, but rarely at you. you looked at what he was looking at until you saw that you were wearing brian’s hoodie, one with the chivas logo on it and his number, too.

as if you couldn’t make it any more obvious.

“en serio, mija?” he said in disbelief, “por favor, dime que me estás jodiendo. por favor dímelo. no puedo creer que— que mi hija ya se convertió en una chivista.”

you didn’t stop your eyes from rolling, “papá. creo que estás siendo dramático. solo tengo puesto una sudadera, eso no significa nada.”

“oh no? entonces porque lo tienes?” he asked skeptically.

you bit your lip. what could you say? you can’t tell him that you bought since he’ll never believe you. and if you told him that brian left it here? you would never hear the end of it.

then, you heard your bedroom door open and footsteps get close to you. you closed you eyes as you took a deep breath. if your dad doesn’t kill him, you definitely will.

“hola, señor. me llamo brian—”

“se quien eres,” you dad responded sharply and ignoring his hand, “no sabía que estabas aquí.”

“no se suponía que lo supieras. pero pensé que sería mejor si sí.”

you opened your eyes to glare at him, he gave you a smile. you hated that it comforted you.

“solo quería que supieras que no deberías preocuparte por mí. sé que piensas que no soy lo suficientemente bueno para ella, pero te prometo que haré cualquier cosa para hacerla feliz,” he spoke assuredly, “y que no me importa si nunca se convierte en fan de las chivas porque no necesito que sea fan de mi equipo para apoyarme y visa versa.”

your dad stayed silent for a moment. his eyes studied brian before ultimately speaking, “bueno, si hablas en serio, no es que pueda detenerla. ella nunca fue de las que me escucharon, y si realmente le gustas, entonces supongo que solo puedo esperar que la hagas feliz.”

your dad turned to look at you, waiting for you say something. you smiled at him.

“hablo en serio. realmente me hace feliz,” you say with your heart beating in your ears. it was so odd to admit it, especially with brian right next to you, but it felt right.

your dad sighed before nodding his head, “entonces. no tengo más que decir.”

he walked over to you and kissed your forehead. he gave brian one last look before leaving. when the door shut you let out a sigh.

you turned to brian to see that he was already looking at you with a smug look on his face.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “qué?”

“soy tu novio?”

your face flushed but you narrowed your eyes at him teasingly, “es así como me preguntas?”

he grinned, stepping closer to you, then, “quieres ser mi novia?”

you thought about it for a moment, making wait before shrugging, and nodding your head, “puedes ser mi novio.”

he laughed before pulling you in closer. you closed the gap in between by placing your lips against his.

when you broke away for air, you heard him say, “eso significa que ahora usarás mi camiseta?

you pressed another kiss to his lips before pulling away, “perdón, amor. pero sigo siendo americanista.”

he sighed with no heat behind it and kissed your cheek, “al menos conseguí que te pusieras mi sudadera.”

“y eso es lo más cerca que estarás,” you reply, but you knew he wouldn’t want it any other way, and you knew, that maybe, you wouldn’t mind wearing red and white one of these days. of course, as long as you dad didn’t see.

return to intro • football masterlist • brian gutiérrez taglist

✷┆ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ i know nothing about club américa because i'm a hater™ but i loved writing this !!! even if some sentences were hard for me to write </3 so, to make myself feel better: que chingue a su puta madre el ámerica !! y que vivan mis puro pinche chivas !!

requested: i hope you enjoyed this, anon ! i had soooo much fun writing this !!

thank you for reading ! comments, likes, & reblogs are very appreciated - flori <3

✷┆𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐳 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @9irlhood @loveekimi @dinonuggets-blog @tqd4455 @luvlyyyyy @longanizasblog @bluerellic @cestpagrave @hoggy-21 @tali05 @sofilupin @thatsnotaddy @gossip-girl76 @user089167 @sowhat-whynot @natywewe @keonhyeonz @gnariii @love-my-novio @yeri-sub @i2mingi @socialdesires @captainhischier @hyunjinshairband7 @kaeleys @louisggf @eassy-mp3 @athenaluvsu @1-800-simp-69 @3-smi @rons-chickenwing8 @sigmacapy @kaleeee-07 @worldsworstchicana @byekitti @itsnotashes @sgfgmichaelrry @bookieluvss12 @joskcfifif @danielamulato @juleslikesjinshi @adarkhorserunninginafantasy @l3sli30

please don’t feed my work into ai or plagiarize it !

[amoreris]

sub armando gonzalez hcs part 2 18+ below

sub!armando loves your boobs no matter the size, when you two are cuddling he loves to slip a hand underneath your shirt and just hold your breast in his hand while you play with his hair and after a while he’ll pull your shirt up just enough and look at you with those beautiful doe eyes and when you nod yes his mouth is immediately on your boob sucking, licking and kissing your nipple while playing with the other one before he knows it humping your thigh

sub!armando gets so jealous when another one of his teamates talk to you, “armando, no seas así” you say in the passenger seat reapplying your lip gloss as he pouts, when you get home hes extra clingy he hardly lets you out of his sight hes already rock hard and whimpering for you to just touch him and when you finally do you dont stop

sub!armando has a love hate relationship with overstimulation, “mami por favor, no puedo durar más” he moans bucking his hips up into you faster and faster, “esto es lo que querías armando” you say feeling his cum fill you up but you keep going regardless of how sensitive he is you just love seeing his pretty eyes tear up

sub!armando gets so needy for you the minute you get home hes all over you he cant help but get onto his knees and eat you out hes so impaitent he doesnt even bother to take your panties off eating you out through the fabric

sub!armando sends you videos of him jerking off when hes at an away game he’ll sneak into the bathroom during practice and start jerking himself off mirroring how you do while moaning your name the entire time

sub!armando loves eating you out before his game, “por favor mami, lo necesito” he begs before leading you into his empty changing room,“te prometo que será rápido” he says before sliding your panties to the side already on his knees

sub!armando wakes up so hard in the morning it hurts his tip is already leaking with precum, “que paso armando” you say turning to him his face even redder than his cock he cant even becuase talk it hurts so bad hes just looking down and back up at you before you finally get the hint and wrap your hand around his pretty cock

sub!armando loves to cum inbetween your boobs when your wearing a pretty lacy bra he just begs for you to give him a boob job seeing your boobs pressed against his cock drives him crazy

sub!armando hates when your so upset at him you dont even let him touch you, “mami por favor dejame tocarte” he whines infront of you watching your fingers circle your clit as you moan his name

authors note: yay im so happy you guys liked the last one pls give me all your suggestions my reqs are open 😚😚 hope you all like this just as much as the last

[xobunni0]

sitting on his face ⋮

brian gutiérrez × f!reader 𐙚

armando gonzalez × f!reader 𐙚

⌗ requested . pure smut . just a filler while i work on longer reqs . oral (f) receiving . beard era brian 🤤 . short blurb .

an: watching brian’s old Chicago Fire interviews like he’s my dead wife. lovee his english interviews, his voice so deep >.< meanwhile ppl be making fun of his spanish calling him a ‘no sabo’ 😞 dadaman it’s okay we can work on it !!

Brian

you’re trying to hold still, but your hips keep lifting, your thighs tightening around his ears as you settle fully onto Brian's face, thighs spread wide as his beard brushes against your inner thighs with every small shift. the soft scratch against your skin making you gasp each time you rock your hips forward. he loves it. “yeah that’s it ride my fucking face-” he groans. his hands immediately fly to your hips, tugging you down. Brian groans into your pussy as your slick coats his chin and beard, he loves it filthy like this. his fingers dig into your ass, pulling you tight against his mouth, tongue fucking up into you while he thrusts into the air like he can’t take it anymore. his nose grinds against your clit while he fucks his tongue deep, and when you moan and reach down to grab his head, pulling his face harder against your pussy, he moans into you while his beard continues to scratch and tickle your thighs. your breathy laughs turn into moans as you move against his face, using his beard and tongue for your pleasure. Brian's hands grip your ass, encouraging you to ride him harder, to use him completely. his whole face is covered in a wet sheen, lips and beard glistening, messy with spit and your slick, and still he doesn’t stop. his hips jerk up like he’s getting off just from this like he’s the one being fucked and you believe it when he hums, “let me cum like this. fuck.” you finish hard, thighs clenching tight as his tongue never stops, fingers stroking you through it. and Brian doesn’t stop until your whole body’s twitching, sensitive, legs shaking until you’re pushing him back, and even then he chases you, tongue flicking at your clit just once more with a smile against your skin. then he finally pulls back, face slick, breath ragged, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you like he just saw heaven. “love this pussy.” he pants, voice hoarse.

Armando

you hover just above Armando's face, thighs trembling as his warm breath fans over your pussy. your puffy lips part slightly from the position, your clit peeking out. Armando lifts his head slowly, his tongue extending to drag along your slit in one long, stroke. his warm tongue glides from your entrance up to your clit, tasting your slick with each pass. “ven, acércate tantito.” he’d coax, his hands grip your hips gently but firmly, fingers pressing into your skin as he guides you downward. “siéntate. dame todo.” as you lower yourself completely, thighs caging his head, his mouth opens wider to accommodate you. his jaw works slow, tongue flattening against your pussy before curling to dip inside. the wet sounds of his mouth against your pussy fill the room, soft kisses mixed with the slick glide of his tongue through your folds. his hands came up instantly to grip your ass, pushing you down deeper with a grunt, burying himself completely in your pussy. he takes his time, taking every inch of you. his tongue circles your entrance before pushing inside, fucking you slowly. when he pulls back, he focuses on your clit, sucking it gently between his lips while his tongue flicks against the sensitive bud. Armando loved when you rode his face, when your hips moved on their own “Mmmph, así. muévete así.” he’d moan into you, cock twitching untouched beneath you while you grind down harder, whimpering as his tongue fucked up into you and his nose rubbed just right. he loved watching your pussy twitch, watching your hole clench around nothing, and he’d always trail his tongue down slowly at first, teasing, “Armando!” you’d gasp quietly, eyes squeezing shut, already knowing what he was about to do. he’d continue running the flat of his tongue down past your wet slit until he reached your tight little asshole,“no te me pongas penosa ahora.” he’d murmur, before licking a slow, deep circle around it, your soft moans drift down to him as his hands slide from your hips to cup your ass, encouraging you. slowly, he loses himself in pleasuring you, completely focused on earning every gasp and whimper from above him.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

A TRUE EATER EATS ASS! xobunni0 truths.

tagged ♡: @chabelitalace @sowhat-whynot @pinkasis @longanizasblog @unicsworld @keniasa @chosomydear @i2mingi @sofilupin @marj4fer @sarnghoe @gnarili @byekitti @muneqiita @socialdesires @peterparkernotfound @bookieluvss12 @wowowpx @sigmacapy @victoriasdreamm @dinonuggets-blog @yunakwi @itsjustashes @thestrokeshoe @beautifulorchids @yagiyoshikawa

[xfloricita]

✷┆ 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐨𝐧 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ or, in which, you surprise him at one of his games

𝐰𝐜: 2.1k+

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: chi -> gdl

you knew that being in a long distance relationship was going to be tough, but like most things, you underestimated just how tough.

the first couple of weeks without him, you distracted your heart by diving head first into your academics. now that you were attending northwestern university, there was no way you could slack off when all of your courses challenged you and needed your full attention. besides, there was no way you weren’t going to give your 100% after all the hard work it took you just to get there.

but, as the days continued to pass, the more you couldn’t pretend that your boyfriend wasn’t in another country, a little more than a thousand miles away from you. 

it was hard waking up without his arms around you. it was hard coming home to an empty apartment, and it was especially hard only being able to talk to him when the time zones lined up, through a screen.

you really underestimated just how much of a toll this would have on you. so much so that you began to avoid coming home, only doing so when you were headed straight to bed.

you began to spend so much time at the library that the librarian began to give you the keys, trusting you enough to close at night. the local coffee shop you frequented began to memorize your order and had your usual made seconds before you stepped inside. even your job and your friends kept your occupied enough that you were only home to sleep and to wake up.

however, that still wasn’t enough to fill the huge gaping hole in your heart. you missed him a great deal that you couldn’t even throw away his toothbrush. the absence of his shoes by the entrance made your heart ache, the scent of his cologne fading made you feel lonelier, and the lack of clothes in your closet made you frown.

you thought that your school work was enough to distract you, but every time you were proven wrong. sometimes you’d hear his favorite song, or see a commercial on tv about the chicago fire that would make you go straight to your messages with him to text him or to shamelessly read your old conversations.

it got so bad that you almost considered buying a ticket to guadalajara.

it was a joke at first, after being on a phone call with your friends. you were telling them how nervous you were beginning your feel as the midterm exams began to get closer as the semester came to an end. you said that you would rather be in mexico than to take the exams that you would be stressing over soon.

they laughed, one agreed and the other told you, “y por qué no?”

your brows furrowed, “mande?”

“por qué no vas a méxico después de tus exámenes? las chivas todavía están jugando, puedes ir y verlo jugar.”

you opened and then closed your mouth. it didn’t seem too bad of an idea, the only problem was that you’re going to have to save up for a plane ticket and a chivas ticket, both of which were not cheap.

when the call ended, you thought more about it. if you really wanted to go, you can always call brian and he’d figure all of that stuff out for you. or…

you could save up and surprise him. which in your mind, seemed a lot more meaningful.

so, you did just that. you split your weeks up, some days you spent studying for the upcoming exams and the other days you spent working until it was time to close.

in a couple of weeks, you were able to have enough for a plane ticket, and a ticket to a game. all you had to do now was pick which day.

when you got home, you ate dinner and worked on your homework simultaneously. your music played in the background as the sun began to set. then, you got a call.

you quickly answered it when you saw that it was your boyfriend calling you.

“brian!” you exclaim giddily, "como estás, cariño?"

"bien, bien," he replied in the same enthusiasm, "solo quiera saber que estabas haciendo."

you hummed, putting your phone against your shoulder and ear, "ya terminé de comer y ya estoy estudiando. oh! vi uno de tus partidos en el tele ayer, jugaste muy bien, amor."

"oh, sí?" he asked while smiling. you hummed again, "si solo estuvieras allí."

you bit your lip. if only you could tell him that you were planning on it. "te extraño mucho."

"y yo a ti, bebe," then there was a long pause, "y... o sea, ya casi estás en break?"

"sí, casi. todos estamos estudiando para los exámenes en diciembre, y cuando termina eso, tengo dos semanas libres," you reply absentmindedly.

he hummed, "en diciembre están los exámenes?"

"si el diciembre. por que dices?" you ask, unsure as to why he sounded so disappointed.

"oh..." he mumbled, "es que, ya mero termina la temporada de la apertura. y quería que al menos estuvieras en uno de mis partidos... pero entiendo que la universidad te tiene ocupada."

you felt your heart break a little at his words before you comforted him, "oh, mi amor... si podía ya habría ido a uno, pero no puedo dejar a estos exámenes. quizá el año que viene puedo irme por una semana?"

"sí, tienes razón. además, no me gustaría que fallas ninguna de tus clases solo para verme jugar,” he sighed, “puedo esperarme unos meses más.”

the call ended shortly after you changed the subject to something less saddening. he told you about his life in guadalajara and the places he couldn't wait to show you. similarly, you did the same as you told him of new places you discovered that you had to show him when he returned home.

when it was over, you opened your laptop and bought a ticket to a game in december. that phone call only made things clearer; you had to see him, and where better than to one of his games?

with that done, all you had to do was wait for december to arrive. of course, as much as you wanted to for it come quick, you still had your exams to worry about and you definitely could use the time you had to study more.

things after than were going good for the most part. yes, you were getting tired of studying all of the time, and yes, you were getting more anxious as december approached, but it almost meant that you were getting closer to seeing your boyfriend. that alone made these weeks more bearable.

then, it was the first day of exams. you were a nervous wreck. the day before you spent every hour, but when it was time to head to bed, not once could you fall asleep. you were afraid that you didn't know enough about a topic that had been challenging you since your first day and even more afraid that you'd bomb your first major exam at northwestern.

however, a text from brian wishing you luck in the morning made the day easier. you left the testing room with a weight lifted from your shoulders and with a resurgence in confidence. the exam went better than what you had thought, which made you feel better about the next one.

the day before your last exam, you got a call from brian’s mom. she asked you how your exams were going and was upset that you couldn’t make it to one of brian’s games, especially since it could be one of his last for the season.

she was going on and on about how upset brian was about it that you had to tell her about your plan. she was excited, to say the least, and couldn’t wait to see how her son would react to you being there.

the conversation ended with her letting you know that she was open to helping you with the surprise. you thanked her and continued on with your final round of studying.

finally, after months of studying and weeks of testing, it was over. the midterms were all done and you no longer had to stress over topics that made zero sense to you.

now, all you had to focus on was the right things to pack and to get to the airport on time. thankfully, with your mom’s help, you were done the night before you had to leave.

passing tsa went smoothly, and before you knew it, you were on a plane in the sky traveling to mexico. four and a half hours later, you arrived at guadalajara with an excited feeling in your chest.

the first to greet you after you picked up your luggage was brian’s mom. she gave you a big huge and had on a bigger smile. his dad gave you a hug and told you how happy he was to see you while brian’s siblings were eager to surprise him.

they drove you back to the place where they were staying as they waited for the match to begin. when it closer to the time, you and the rest of his family began to get ready. you, of course, wore his jersey.

it was your first time at the estadio akron, and your first impression of it was how impressive it looked. you remembered as a child when your dad would watch football games and how massive the stadiums looked from the tv, but being there in person made it look a hundred times larger.

as you and his family made it to your seats, you felt pride every time you saw someone with brian’s jersey. you were happy that chivas fans have accepted him, and even more that he has become some of the fans favorite player. you couldn’t have been any prouder.

at your seats, brian’s mom got a text asking what section they were at. she replied with a chuckle, showing you the text which only made you smile. you couldn’t wait to see him.

the game began and your eyes immediately searched for your boyfriend. when you saw him, your breath caught and your heart began to beat faster. even though he had no idea that you were here, just being in the same place as him again made you feel whole.

your eyes never left him. you watched him, even when he had the ball and when he didn’t, and saw just how much this sport mattered to him. you loved watching him play, because seeing him like this was mesmerizing. the way he played strategically, always knowing when the ball would be passed or always know where it would go.

and when he scored?

the entire stadium erupted in cheers and thunderous applause. music played, horns honked, and chants echoed throughout the stadium.

you jumped up from your seat and cheered. his mom hugged you and then his sister did as the two of you jumped with your arms around each other.

brian then came running over to the stands, eyes searching for his family. his parents waved him over and he got closer. the fans around you cheered and tried to reach him but he ignored those hands as he got to his parents.

they hugged them, and when they pulled away his eyes glanced at his siblings, and then at you.

his body stilled as your name slipped out of his lips. you nodded, a huge smile on your face as your eyes glazed over. you missed him so much.

he ran to you. arms wrapped tightly around you as if afraid that you’d disappear. you hugged him back, kissing his cheek as he sighed in content.

he then pulled away to look at you, face flushed and hair sticking to his forehead, his smile rivaling yours.

“hola preciosa,” he said breathlessly, eyes scanning your face as if he couldn’t believe that you were here.

“hola, mi amor,” you answered flustered, “te extrañé.”

he kissed you softly before saying, “y yo mucho más. me esperas después del partido?”

“claro,” you nod as he let go of you. he patted his brother on his shoulder and hugged his sister on the way back to the pitch.

before the game continued, he looked back at you with the same smile match never left his face. you looked back, happier than ever to be reunited with him.

the game ended shortly after, but you really didn’t care about who won and who didn’t (las chivas won obviously). all that you that you did care about was being wrapped around your boyfriends arms again, because to you, that’s all that mattered.

return to intro • football masterlist • brian gutiérrez taglist

✷┆ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ i swear im not taking a break on writing smut, im just putting all the effort on this one fic im working on jejeje no puedo esperar a publicarlo para que ustedes vean 😼

requested: i hope you liked this, anon ! i really enjoyed writing it <3

thank you for reading ! comments, likes, & reblogs are very appreciated - flori <3

✷┆𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐳 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @9irlhood @loveekimi @dinonuggets-blog @tqd4455 @luvlyyyyy @longanizasblog @bluerellic @cestpagrave @hoggy-21 @tali05 @sofilupin @thatsnotaddy @gossip-girl76 @user089167 @sowhat-whynot @natywewe @keonhyeonz @gnariii @love-my-novio @yeri-sub @i2mingi @socialdesires @captainhischier @hyunjinshairband7 @kaeleys @louisggf @eassy-mp3 @athenaluvsu @1-800-simp-69 @3-smi @rons-chickenwing8 @sigmacapy @kaleeee-07 @worldsworstchicana @byekitti @itsjustashes @sgfgmichaelrry @bookieluvss12 @joskcfifif @danielamulato @juleslikesjinshi @adarkhorserunninginafantasy

please don’t feed my work into ai or plagiarize it !

[piecredheart]

If She Chooses You

Summary: What If Jobe Thinks The Girl Of His Dreams Chooses His Brother…Like What Everyone Else Seems To Do

A/N: This Angst And Fluffy Don’t Worry. I Hope You All Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.

Jobe wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he always told himself. He had been in love with you for months. It wasn’t the kind of crush that came and went, but the kind that settled deep in his chest. The kind where seeing your name light up his phone could make an entire bad day disappear.

He had planned on telling you eventually. Then Jude started talking to you. At first, it was nothing. A conversation after training. Then laughing together over dinner when everyone went out. And long conversations in the hotel lobby. Then your phone lighting up with Jude’s name. Jobe never meant to notice but he did. And every time he saw it, the voice in the back of his mind got louder.

Of course she’d choose him. Jude was older, more established, confident. Everything Jobe sometimes felt he wasn’t. So he did the only thing he thought would protect his heart. He stopped trying. When you texted him asking if everything was okay, he’d answer hours later. When you invited him to hang out, he’d suddenly be “busy.” When you smiled at him, he’d smile back but just not as brightly as before It broke your heart.

One evening, Jobe found Jude sitting alone outside the hotel. “You got a minute?” Jobe asked quietly. Jude looked up. “Yeah. What’s up?” Jobe shoved his hands into his pockets. For a long moment, he couldn’t find the words.

“I know.” Jude frowned. “Know what?” “You and Y/n.”Now Jude looked completely confused. “Me and Y/n?”Jobe forced a smile. “I’ve seen you two.” Jude blinked.“You don’t have to pretend. If she’s happy with you…” Jobe swallowed. “Then that’s enough for me.”

Jude stared at his little brother like he’d just started speaking another language. “What are you talking about?” Jobe laughed quietly, though it sounded more sad than amused. “Just” His voice cracked. “Take care of her.” Jude’s expression softened. “Jobe.”

“Don’t break her heart.” Jobe looked away before continuing. “And… if one day you realize you don’t love her anymore…” He smiled sadly. “…just bring her back to me.” Jude sat there for two full seconds before standing up. “Are you serious?” Jobe nodded.

Then Jude started laughing. Not meanly but just completely bewildered. “Mate…” “What?” “You think Y/n likes me?” “…Doesn’t she?” Jude rubbed both hands over his face. “Oh my days.” “What?” “She’s been talking to me because she wanted advice.” Jobe frowned. “Advice?” “On how to ask someone out.” His stomach dropped. “Who?”

Jude looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You.” “What?” “You.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.”“Jobe.” Jude shook his head, laughing. “She literally spent an hour asking me what your favorite flowers were.” Jobe’s mouth opened. “…She what?” “And whether you’d rather have a quiet date or a fancy one.”His heart was beating so hard he could hear it. “She…”“Likes you.” Jobe covered his face.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Jude laughed harder. “And she’s been asking me why you’ve been avoiding her.” “I’ve made a complete idiot of myself.” “A little.” Jobe groaned.

An hour later Jobe stood outside your apartment holding your favorite chocolate and a bouquet of daisies. His palms were sweating but he knocked anyway. Soon the door opened. You smiled seeing Jobe until you saw how nervous he looked.

“Jobe?” “Can we talk?” You stepped aside immediately. “Of course.” The second the door closed, he looked at the floor. “I owe you an apology.” You crossed your arms and waited patiently. “I thought…”He laughed nervously. “I thought you liked Jude.” Your eyebrows shot up. “Jude?”

“I kept seeing you two together.” Realization spread across your face. “Oh.” “So I figured…” He swallowed. “…if you were happier with him…” His voice became quiet. “…I’d stay out of the way.” Your heart broke. “You thought I liked your brother?” He nodded. “I even told him…” He covered his face again. “…to take care of you.” You blinked. “You what?” “And if he ever broke your heart…” He couldn’t even look at you. “…to give you back to me.”

For one second you simply stared at him trying to put together what he said. Then you started to laugh quietly to yourself. Not because you were making fun of him but because it was the most painfully sweet thing you’d ever heard. Jobe looked horrified. “I know. It was stupid.” “No.”

You walked over until you were standing right in front of him. “It was adorable.” He finally looked at you. “I wasn’t talking to Jude because I liked him.” “I know.” “I was asking him how to ask you out.” His brain stopped working. “Really?” You nodded.

“I like you, Jobe.” A smile slowly spread across his face.“You do?” “I have for a long time.” He let out the biggest sigh of relief. “I have been making myself miserable for absolutely no reason.” “Maybe a little.” He laughed. “Okay, okay a lot.” You reached up and took his hand.

“You know what would’ve fixed this?” “Hm?” “If you’d just talked to me.” “I know.” “I would’ve told you.” He squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize for being scared.” He smiled softly. “I guess not.” You leaned forward and kissed him gently. It was soft and short but it was perfect because it was from you.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I can’t believe I almost convinced myself to let my brother date the girl I love.” You giggled. “I can’t believe you actually told him to ‘give me back.’” Jobe groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. “Please never let me forget that.” “Oh, absolutely not.” You smiled mischievously. “I’m telling our future children that story.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Fair enough.”

And somewhere across town, Jude’s phone buzzed.

Jobe: She likes me.

Jude: I know, genius.

Jobe: Shut up.

Jude: Took you long enough.

[xobunni0]

rearrange my world the way you do ⋮

armando gonzález × f!reader 𐙚

⌗ pure fluff . established relationship . just a short blurbbb .

an: that one clip of him being nervous abt holding a baby inspired this 🥹. my taglist is now up!!

Armando slept with one arm tucked beneath his pillow before rolling onto his side, then onto the other. the sheets tangled around his legs, but it wasn’t discomfort keeping him awake. it was you and the small velvet box hidden beneath his pillow.

the ring inside the box wasn’t anything big. it didn’t need to be. there was no diamond large enough to make up for the missed birthdays, the forgotten anniversaries, or the countless nights he’d spent miles away because away-matches called him somewhere else.

he wasn’t asking you to marry him. wasn’t even asking you to become his fiancée. it was simply a promise ring.

a promise that, despite the schedules, despite the canceled plans and the constant goodbyes, he wasn’t going anywhere. it was his way of telling you that every sacrifice, every lonely night apart was leading him back to you.

he’d picked it out after realizing you never made him feel guilty for chasing his responsibilities or dreams. you never complained when practice stole another weekend or another holiday. even when he missed moments that should have belonged to the two of you, you greeted him the same way every time he came home. with open arms and a gentle smile. and enough love to make him wonder what he’d ever done to deserve someone as patient as you. that realization scared him more than anything. because someone like you deserved reassurance. you deserved to know that you weren’t simply waiting around for a man who was always busy. you deserved something you could look down at whenever he was away.

his fingers slipped beneath the pillow until they brushed the cool velvet box. he let out a slow breath, his thumb tracing its edge.

he didn’t know if the timing was right. truthfully, he wasn’t sure it ever would be. so the little velvet box went everywhere with him, tucked safely into his pocket.

it was there when he sat on the edge of the bed, turning the box over in his palm while you slept peacefully beside him, your soft breaths filling the quiet room. it was there at practice, hidden deep inside his duffel bag between his cleats and extra jersey. it was there on every date, resting in the pocket of his shirt, close enough that he could feel its weight against his chest whenever he laughed at something you said.

every day, he’d think, maybe today. and every day, he’d tell himself, not yet. meanwhile, you remained blissfully unaware. you continued to love him the same way that had made him fall for you in the first place. you were kind without expecting anything in return. patient despite how unfair his schedules were. and understanding enough to never ask him to choose between his dreams and the people he loved.

sometimes he wondered how someone could carry so much goodness so naturally.

his mind wandered to one afternoon that had stayed with him ever since. your cousin had brought over her newborn, bundled in a pale blanket no bigger than a pillow. everyone passed the baby around with ease, while Armando stood a few steps behind, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

when your eyes met his, you smiled. he knew what that look on your face meant.

his eyebrows lifted immediately. “Yo nunca he cargado un bebé…” he admitted, staring at the tiny infant.

“…¿No va a llorar?”

a quiet laugh escaped you. “No” you reassured him, your smile impossibly soft.

stepping closer, you gently guided his arms into place, one supporting the baby’s head while the other rested beneath her tiny body. he held his breath but the baby didn’t cry. she blinked once before settling comfortably against his chest.

your smile grew with every passing second, your eyes shining as you watched him carefully rock the infant without even realizing he was doing it. the warmth spreading across his face betrayed him.

and what he remembered most about that day wasn’t the baby. it was you. the way you looked at him. that smile.

he knew there would be days when the two of you argued, when exhaustion got the better of both of you, when matches kept him away longer than either of you wanted. there would be moments when you were upset with him. moments when he deserved it.

and on those days, he’d remember this one. because somehow, remembering your smile always reminded him of the man he wanted to be. the man you already believed he could become.

maybe one day the two of you would get married. or maybe life would take its time. who knew? Armando certainly didn’t. he wasn’t the kind of man who liked making promises he couldn’t keep, and the future had a funny way of reminding him of that.

still, every now and then, he’d let himself imagine it. whatever life looked like, as long as you were in it, he figured he’d be alright.

those thoughts rarely made it past the walls of his own mind. if anyone asked, he’d shrug them off with a grin, pretending he hadn’t already pictured growing old beside you more times than he could count.

maybe he’d carry those dreams with him to the grave. who knew? but the little ring tucked safely inside its velvet box wasn’t meant to answer every question about the future. it wasn’t an engagement ring. it was simply a promise that when the time was finally right, he wouldn’t hesitate. a promise that no matter how many flights, training sessions, late nights, or missed anniversaries came between you, he’d always be yours. a promise of loyalty when distance tested both of you. a promise of patience when things felt unfair.

a promise that his love wasn’t measured by big gestures, but by every choice he made to keep choosing you. again. and again. the future was uncertain. always had been. but one thing that Armando knew, with certainty, was that he would always love you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

oh my honeybun boyfriend. turning everyone parasocial for him one fic at a time !!

[xobunni0]

girls need love ⋮

brian gutiérrez × f!reader 𐙚

⌗ requested . smut . arguing. toxicish!brian . situationship. when i write for toxicish!brian i think of his beard era 🫦 .

an: my taglist is now up! comment here to be added ♡

another guy texts you while you're with brian and he can’t help but get upset.

Brian held your phone in a tight grip, the screen still glowing between the two of you. the argument had started innocently, really. you had been curled up against him, half asleep with your phone forgotten beside his thigh. a notification buzzed. without thinking, Brian reached for it, intending to pass it back.

then he saw the name. a man’s name.

his jaw tightened before he even realized it. by the time you noticed, he was already reading just enough to know the conversation wasn’t about work or some random delivery notification.

now he stood a few feet away, your phone still in his hand.

“Who is he?”

you sighed, crossing your arms. “Seriously?”

“I’m asking you a question.”

“And I’m wondering why you’re asking it.”

Brian scoffed. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not.”

“He texts you this late?”

“So?”

“So?” his voice rose. “You were literally lying on me.”

you stared at him for a long second. he had absolutely no right to ask those questions. no relationship, no claim over you.

still, you answered. “He’s a friend.”

Brian let out a humorless laugh. “A friend.”

“Yes.”

“The kind that sends you heart emojis?”

you snatched your phone from his hand and glanced at the screen.

“It was one emoji.”

“It was a red heart.”

“It was attached to ‘can't wait to see you.’”

“still a heart.”

for a second, he looked away, breathing hard through his nose as if he was trying to stop himself from saying something he’d regret.

you almost smiled. you were getting under his skin. and, admittedly you liked it.

“Why are you reacting this way?” you asked, tilting your head.

he scoffed, taking a step back. “Reacting like what?” his voice was sharp. “Like someone who cares?”

“You’re not my boyfriend” you stated.

“I’m not.” his voice rose slightly.

“Then stop fucking acting like it.” you snapped back.

Brian stared at you, chest rising and falling.

“And you know what?” Brian shot back, eyes locked on yours. “If I ever decided I wanted you completely…” he took a step closer, jaw tight. “You’d still be here.”

and that's all it took. the silence, the way he just stood there, arms at his sides like he couldn't be bothered.

"I'm done, Brian." your voice came out firm, and final.

he didn't say a word. just ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Fine" he said

"I don't need you" you bit out, eyes stinging, even as you said it. even as your chest begged you to take it back.

you both stood there, your breathing uneven, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding something in.

"you don't need me?" he asked, eyes narrowing at you, like he didn't believe a single word, and maybe because you didn't believe it either.

"… but you're gonna be the one apologizing later for how you're acting right now."

that made something in you snap. you took a step toward him, close enough to see the bit of hurt in his eyes. "you seriously think I'm the one who needs to apologize?" you whispered, taken back.

he didn't move.

"fuck you. we're done" you snapped, voice tight and angry as your fists landed against his chest.

Brian barely flinched. "Yeah? fuck me and we're done?" he bit back, his voice low, rough. his hands shot out, grabbing your wrists, not hard, just enough to stop you, to hold you in place "you really mean that?"

"Yes" you said, nose practically brushing his "I mean it."

"okay. we're done" he said. just like that and it gutted you.

he looked upset in the worst and best way. hair messy from running his hands through it, eyebrows drawn tight in disbelief? anger maybe, lips parted like he wanted to say more but couldn't get the words out, his chest rose and fell fast.

you hated how good he looked like this. you hated that his hands were still on your wrists. that they were warm, that you weren't pulling away, that you didn't want to pull away. you hated how close you were, how you could smell his cologne.

"I fucking hate you" you whispered

he lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes were too shiny for it to be real. "no, you don't."

and maybe you didn't. you could've kissed him right there, maybe you should've. maybe you wanted him to fuck you right here, right now, drunk on anger and desperation. maybe you wanted his hands somewhere else, gripping your hips instead of your wrists, maybe you wanted him to remind you that in his own way you were his, that no argument could undo what you two were.

you meant it when you said you hated him, and he meant it too when he said you were done. the words were final. they cut through everything you and Brian had. and yet neither of you moved.

then slowly, he let your wrists go, only to bring both hands up to your face. his palms were warm and firm but gentle as they cupped your cheeks.

"I fucking mean it" he repeated, jaw clenched "we're done."

you didn't respond. what was there left to say? you felt it, whatever you had it was slipping, had already slipped. so all you did was look at him. quiet and defeated. but still wanting him.

you reached up and placed your hand over his, your thumb stroking the back of it gently, and then you leaned in soft at first. a hesitant kiss, slow and unsure but when you felt the way his mouth trembled against yours, how he didn't pull away, didn't want to, you kissed him again deeper this time, rougher.

he didn't hesitate to kiss you back harder, his hands sliding down from your face to your hips, pulling you closer. you stumbled backward, lips still locked, teeth clashing slightly until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

you let yourself fall back onto it, your body bouncing lightly against the mattress and Brian followed, moving over you. his hands were on your thighs, your waist, your jaw anywhere he could grab. he wasn't usually like this.

Brian always held you like you were something to be cared for, something to take his time with, not something to be claimed. this was different. he was rough, frustrated, and needy.

his mouth moved down to your neck, sucking marks into your skin, his breath heavy against you. his hands tugged at your clothes. seeing this side of him, feeling it, made something low in your stomach twist.

he didn't kiss you. he didn't do that tender shit he used to when he had something to prove or wanted to be sweet.. Brian wasn't your boyfriend. never was and you could see that written all over the glare in his eyes when he tugged his boxers down, cock already stiff and angry like the rest of him.

"Fuck, look at you" he muttered, palm cupping your breast, fingers pressing hard through your damp panties. you twitched under him. his thumb dragged slow and mean across your clit, not teasing. "you like this, huh? all this screaming, throwing shit, acting like you're done with me... and you're wet."

his eyes flicked up and caught yours. you tried to keep your expression firm, tried to hold that glare but your legs parted instead, a little wider, a little needier.

"you want me to apologize?" he muttered low, voice rough against your neck as he leaned in, lips brushing over your collarbone. "beg you back? or you want me to fuck it out of you?"

you arched off the mattress in response and that was all he needed. your bra unclasped behind your back with one flick. cold air hit your nipples before his mouth did, and the second his lips wrapped around one, tongue warm and wet and a little too rough, you gasped. his teeth grazed the sensitive bud.

your panties didn't come off. he hooked a finger into the side and yanked them aside, not even bothering to push them down your thighs. two fingers. those fingers, the same ones that used to coax you soft and slow, slid right through your pussy, wet and aching and already open for him.

"Brian-" you choked out, hips rocking against the pressure. he didn't slow, didn't look up. just curled his fingers and pressed deep, the heel of his palm grinding into your clit.

"don't 'Brian' me now" he muttered, curling those fingers again, deeper, meaner, "you wanted this. you started this."

you had. you'd told him that you didn't need him, then pulled him into a kiss. and when he looked at you, with the bit of hurt in his eyes, he kissed you back harder.

now his hips slid forward, cock hard as it brushed against your thigh. his hand gripped your hip, he slid in easy, but the stretch still stung, your body taking him like it always did. he pulled you onto him with each thrust. your legs curled tight around his waist, ankles locked behind his back, forcing him deeper with every movement of his hips. his cock dragged along the warmth of your pussy, filling you again and again until you didn't know whether the tears in your eyes were from the sting of it or the ache in your chest.

"still tight. still so fucking perfect." Brian hissed through his teeth.

your hands scrabbled up his back, nails biting into the sweat slick muscle there as he hovered above you, his face close, too close. you could see everything in him betrayal, hurt, want, his brows furrowed and jaw clenched as if he wanted to hate you so badly he could choke on it. but his body didn't lie. his body still loved you. knew every place to press, to fill, to claim.

"fuckk." you moaned, voice cracking, legs tightening.

"last time" he groaned, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you "this is the last fucking time."

his hips thrusted forward again, and again, your tits bouncing with each thrust. the headboard hit softly against the wall behind you. this was not making love, not even trying. he fucked you like he wanted to ruin what was left between you.

he grabbed your thigh suddenly, yanked it higher over his hip, his pace slowing just enough for him to adjust and thrust even deeper, cock pressing hard into you.

"say it" he demanded, staring down at you, sweat dripping from his brow to your chest "say it's the last time.

but you couldn't, you wouldn't.

your mouth opened and all that came out was nothing. you stared up at him, your bottom lip trembled slightly.

his jaw tightened "you never fucking listen."

and then his fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, too fast, two fingers slick, working tight circles as his cock fucked into you over and over.

his hips didn't let up not for a second. he fucked into you with that angry rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, and your body, your desperate body met him every time, thighs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

"Mhmm- don't stop"

"I won't" he panted, "going to fuck you till you feel me tomorrow."

you whimpered, arching into him, your nails leaving red crescents down his shoulders as the wet slap of your bodies grew louder, messier.

"yeah, like that"

and he just grunted, sweat rolling down his chest as he fucked into you like it was the only thing that still made sense.

he leaned down until his lips brushed your ear, "gonna cum already" he groaned, his hips slowing just slightly as your pussy tightened around him "fuck- you always feel this good."

he gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging in, holding you down as he fucked into you harder, chasing that feeling. his name was a sob on your lips.

and then it hit, your sweet release. your pussy clenched around him, milking him, holding him there.

"fuck." he groaned deep in his chest, voice cracking as he finished with you, cock twitching inside, buried as deep as it could go. his spilled into you with a low, helpless moan, his face twisted up in something halfway between ache and relief.

his body collapsed over yours, breath ragged in your ear. his head dropped to your shoulder, hair damp against your skin as he nuzzled instinctively into your neck, as if he hadn't just told you this was the end and the last time.

you wrapped your arms around him automatically. your legs were still around his waist. his cock still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest, like it didn't want to go either

your bottom lip trembled. your throat tightened so hard it hurt to swallow. you blinked up at the ceiling, and the room blurred again not from pleasure this time.

the room was quiet now, Brian's weight was still on top of you, his cock soft inside, his breath brushing against the wet curve of your neck where he'd buried himself, and neither of you moved. wouldn't.

his fingers traced the side of your breast absently, slow. you weren't sure if he even realized he was doing it. his cum slicked your thighs, warm and sticky, smeared between both your bodies.

“I’m not doing this shit with you again. I’m not going to sit here wondering who the fuck you’re talking to every time you’re with me.” he muttered against you, words muffled by your collarbone.

you just nodded. because if you opened your mouth now, you weren't sure what would come out. a sob, an apology you swore you'd never say again. maybe both.

his hand slid down a little, palm wide against your side, the way he used to hold you when he was falling asleep.

you'd said you didn't need him. you'd said it twice, just to make sure it hit. and he'd looked at you, truly looked and said "really?”

and maybe that was the worst part. that he was right. that no matter how much you hated the way he only seemed afraid of losing you when you finally accepted you never had him, how much you resented the way he let you know his body, never his heart, or how if he ever decided he wanted you you'd still be there, maybe you did still need him. Brian. the man who now lay on top of you, silent and breathing heavy, whose own tears were soaking into your neck. you hadn't realized until now, until the cold sting of it mixed with your own.

neither of you said a word. every time Brian threatened to walk away, it sounded more like a warning to himself than it did to you. like if he stayed another second, he’d cave. the truth was, his heart ached a little every time he kept pretending he didn’t want this. for his own selfish reasons, he refused to call himself your boyfriend, refused to give you what you kept asking for. yet somehow still expected you to respect the line he’d drawn, still expected loyalty that he had never earned. he knew that and it hurt just as much as it pissed him off.

Brian shifted slightly, just enough to press his nose deeper into your neck. you could feel him breathing you in like scent might outlast all the other things that wouldn't.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

BECAUSE WHAT?! girls only say i hate you to the guys that they love 🤔🤔🤔

[xfloricita]

✷┆ 𝐜𝐡𝐢 -> 𝐠𝐝𝐥 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ or, in which, you find out you’ve been accepted to the university of your dreams… and that your boyfriend is moving to mexico

𝐰𝐜: 2.7k+

growing up twenty minutes away from chicago, and going there every weekend either to see the bean, take a walk down riverwalk, go to the navy pier, or going to the many, many museums throughout the city, made you begin to dream of what it would be like to live there.

you loved chicago more than anything. you loved the life it had, the endless opportunities, and fun activities you could find in every inch of the city. you wanted nothing more but to live there, to start your life there.

this was your dream, the one goal you worked towards to all of your life.

then, you met brian. and your dream became a reality.

the two of you went to the same high school, and through mutual friends, met a some high school after party.

the two of you talked all night. he told you about his life and his love for football. you told him about your aspirations and about your dream of living in the city.

he thought you were pretty. you thought he was cute. five months later and the two of you were official.

then came graduation and your relationship stayed strong despite the odds. i mean, how lucky were you to still be with your high school sweetheart?

you got accepted into a community school near the city and brian got signed to play with the chicago fire.

a year later, on your four year anniversary, he asked you to move in with him.

you were over the moon when he asked, immediately telling him “yes” as you jumped into his arms and kissed him.

life was good since then. you would take the bus to your school studying for your career and brian would be at soldier field playing the sport he loved. on days where he had nothing going on and you had no classes, the two of you went to explore a new part of the city.

everything was perfect. your dream had came true and you lived with the love of your life.

it wasn’t until one of your professors spoke to you that you had another goal you looked forward to achieving.

while brian had been breaking records and doing incredible things on the pitch, you had been gaining achievements and recognition for your academics. so much so that your professor recommended you to transfer to northwestern, a university you never thought was a possibility of attending.

but because of her encouragement, and her guidance, you worked hard all year in getting all the credits and things necessary to even be considered. you had begun to apply to any scholarship that pertained to you in hopes of getting enough to cover the majority of the tuition (if, of course, you got in).

the thing about northwestern university, was that the school had a less than an eight percent rate of admittance. and while your résumé looked impressive, you still didn’t think it was enough to gain their attention.

you tried not to over work yourself with the pressure you had placed on you, but it was inevitable. some days you only had a few hours of sleep, other days you had hardly anything to eat, and most days, you focused more on school than on yourself.

thankfully, brian noticed and did his best in making sure you were taking care of yourself. he would carry you to bed whenever you’d fall asleep at your desk, head against the pages of your book. if you had eaten, or eaten a sufficient amount, he would cook you anything that you wanted. if you had gotten sick he would make you some tea and made sure you had taken your medicine.

but not once did he ever tell you to stop. because he knew what it was like to chase a dream and work so hard for it. all he hoped was that you wouldn’t end up hurting yourself for it.

brian was across the country playing his best while you continued with your studies. the year was almost over and you couldn’t wait for the much needed summer break. you couldn’t wait for chicago to come back to life with all the festivals and events returning, making the city turn into a party everyday.

you were in class when your professor approached you. she had a smile on her face and a manila folder in her hands.

you looked up at her with a reciprocating smile, “todo bien?”

“sí,” she said before sliding the folder over to you, “ábrelo.”

“qué es?” you asked, fingers gently grazing over the folder that had your name printed on it in an elegant font.

“algo que la escuela recibió para ti,” she said, your brows furrowed before she repeated, “ya ábrelo. te prometo que es algo bien.”

with cautious fingers you opened the folder and gasped. you looked up at your teacher with wide eyes who only started back with a large grin and a nod telling you to continue.

you looked back down at the paper to see the scholarship that you had applied to months ago on a whim. not really believing you had a shot at winning it nor a chance of being the recipient.

and yet, the scholarship award stated right back at you, gleaming in gold with the words “congratulations” at the top.

the further you read, the larger your smile became. a weight was lifted off your shoulders when you were granted a scholarship covering all of your tuition expenses as long as you attended a college or university in illinois.

you got up from your chair and hugged your professor, "muchísimas gracias, profe. no ha podido hacer esto sin su ayuda."

she hugged you back cordially, before saying, "no hay de que. tú lo hiciste todo."

you grinned at her and for the rest of the day you couldn't wait to get home and tell brian the news. this scholarship was just one step for the ultimate goal. if you did get into northwestern then you would at least did not have to worry about the costs.

the grin never wiped off your face when you got home. the apartment was empty as you suspected, but that didn't deter your mood. instead you took the time to call your parents about the scholarship as you began to unpack your bag and take off your shoes. when the call ended you changed clothes and began to make dinner with your music playing softly in the background.

the sun was setting, highlighting the entire apartment in a warm hues and cozy ambiance. you were humming along to your favorite song when your heard keys clinking and the doorknob twist open.

footsteps thudded against the floor before you felt two arms wrap around your waist, you back pulling into his chest.

"hola hermosa," he mumbled against your shoulder with a kiss, "qué estás cocinando?"

your body instantly felt warmer and relaxed in his arms, so much so that you leaned more into him, “una pasta. como te fue?”

he hummed before answering, telling you about the goals, the blocks, the unfair and missed cards, and so much more that the pasta was done by the time he finished talking.

when you lowered the heat on the stove, you turned around his his arms to face him. eyes the prettiest blue you’ve ever seen, hair curling at the ends, face flushed from the warmth inside. god, he was just perfect.

you leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. he kissed back with the same tenderness.

you sighed contently when you pulled away, cheeks flushed but a smile on your face.

“qué?” he asked, the corner of his lips inching upwards, “qué te pasó? algo en el colegio?”

your smile grew larger, “comemos primero y luego te digo.”

the two of you are comfortably. you told him about your day despite him trying to figure out what had put you in a good mood. you told him of the funny things that happened in class, the weird things you saw on campus, and about a new spot you found on your walk to the bus stop.

he listened attentively. nodding and laughing at your jokes. he would bring up things that happened in the locker room, jokes his teammates said, and the annoying things the reporters did.

when the two of you were done eating, you handing him the scholarship paper and watched his face for a reaction.

his mouth dropped open and you bit back smile. he got up from his spot at the table and engulfed you in a right embrace. you giggled when he lifted you, spinning you around in your living room.

once he stopped he pressed his lips against you for a quick moment before looking up at you with admiration in his eyes, “muchos felicidades, amor, estoy muy orgulloso de ti. mañana te invito a comer.”

you pecked his lips, cheeks hurting from how much you were smiling and overwhelmed with how much love in your heart you had for him.

he set you down and continued, “ahora esperamos a northwestern.”

you tried to keep the same smile on your face but he noticed when it faltered. he shook his head before cupping your face with his hands.

“eres la persona más inteligente y trabajadora que conozco. sé que te aceptarán. si no lo hacen, se lo perderán,” he told you with such sincerity that your anxieties vanished.

two months later, the snow began to fall and the entire city had become colored in white. the trees had long been leafless and few buildings began to replace their christmas decorations with reds and pinks for valentine’s day.

and despite this being one of your favorite times of the year, you spent the entire day a nervous wreck. that morning you received a notification from your phone telling you that northwestern had sent you an email.

you knew immediately what it was about, but you were too afraid to see whether or not you were rejected. so, you continued your day trying your best not to freak out or have a panic attack.

the bus ride home you spent the entire time bouncing your leg up and down and with your lip in between your teeth. you tried to control your racing heart and your sweaty palms, but when you got to the apartment, the door of your home facing you, you couldn’t resist it any more.

with a shaky breath, you turned on your phone and headed directly to your email. the first one that you saw was the one from northwestern.

your finger hovered over the email when your door opened to reveal your boyfriend.

“brian?” you say, brows furrowed but a small smile on your face, “no sabía que estabas aquí?”

“hola, cariño,” he said with a large grin, leaning forward to kiss you, “por qué no entras?”

when you stepped in he helped you take off your coat and hang it in the closet. you looked at him questioningly. it wasn’t that he wasn’t nice to you like this, it was odd that he had stayed this silent without telling you anything. especially, when you knew something was up.

“qué estabas haciendo allí de todos modos?” he asked, heading to the kitchen. you followed him before sitting down at one of the island’s stools.

you bit your lip before answering, “iba a ver si entraba en northwestern.”

he turned around quickly, “y? entraste o…?”

you shrugged, “todavía no lo he comprobado.”

he blinked before giving you a look, “chequéalo.”

you huffed but did was he said. he watched you the entire time, eyes steady as he looked at your face for any reaction. with shaky hands you turned on your phone and went to your email.

your eyes burned from the brightness of your screen. it was a bit silly how much power this email had over you that you held your breath without realizing it. it had the ability to make your dream come true and to decide your future.

brian’s hand stretched out across the counter. you grabbed his hand before clicking on the email.

confetti covered your screen and in large bold letters, the words “congratulations” and “you’ve been accepted” appeared on your screen.

you let out a gasp, phone dropping and your other hand slapping over your mouth. tears formed in the corners of your eyes as you looked up at your boyfriend.

a large smile painted his face as he made his way to hug you.

“me aceptaron!” you choked out against his chest, tears streaming down your face and soaking his shirt, “voy a northwestern!”

you felt him press a kiss to your hair, arms tightening around you, “sabía que lo harían. estoy tan feliz por ti.”

you lifted your head to look at him, face full of elation. “ahora me puedes decir porque estabas muy feliz?”

his face faltered, before he let out a cough, eyes no longer on you but on the window overlooking the city.

“es nada,” he stated, his body rigged, “necesitamos celebrarte. que quieres hacer? vamos a ver tu película favorita? te ordeno un pastel?”

wiping the tears from your eyes, your brows furrowed, “brian? que pasó? sabes que puedes decirme cualquier cosa.”

his shoulders stiffed as he rubbed his arm awkwardly, “no quiero arruinar esto. quiero mantenerte feliz.”

now you were even more confused. what could he possibly say that could hurt you? unless—

“estás rompiendo conmigo?”

his head swiveled back to look at you, eyes widening as he spit out, “no! nunca! por qué dices eso?”

you pursed your lips, “pues, si no es eso, entonces dímelo. eso es lo único que puede romperme el corazón.”

“las chivas están interesadas en mí,” he finally admitted.

you didn’t say anything for a long time. his eyes searched yours, waiting for anything that you might say.

“las chivas?” you repeat, “como, las de guadalajara? de méxico?”

he nodded. your heart sank.

“le llamaron a mi agente hoy. quieren que juegue para ellos.”

he shifted his stance. then, you looked up at him. “y? vas a jugar con ellos?”

“no sé. quería hablar contigo primero. si no quieres que yo—”

you shake your head almost immediately, “no. son las chivas, tu equipo favorito desde tu niñez. este es tu sueño y no voy a detenerte. si quieres jugar en guadalajara—”

his lips collided against yours, arms pulling you closer. you kissed back, hands around his shoulders. this kiss was different. it was melancholic because the two of you knew what it could mean.

he was going to play in guadalajara. in another country, to play for the team he’s dreamt of playing with since he was a kid.

you, on the other hand, will stay in chicago. studying and living by yourself as you attend the university of your dreams.

tears slipped out of your eyes which made him pull away. his hand touched your cheek while the other was at the back of your head, tilting your head to look at him.

more tears slipped out when it began to hit you all at once. you wouldn’t be able to see him as much as you did anymore. you wouldn’t be able to wake up beside him, come home to him, or explore the city like you used to. instead, all of that will be replaced by a screen.

he opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

“me llamas todos las días,” you say with a sniffle, his eyes softened, “y me compras recuerditos de todos los ciudades que visitas.”

he laughed and kissed your forehead, “y tú me vistas cuando estás en break.”

you nodded against his chest, “si tú me compras los boletos, sí.”

he laughed again, “claro mi amor.”

and despite having a heavy heart, you couldn’t have asked for a better life. you were more than ecstatic to enroll in northwestern in the fall, and you couldn’t have been any happier for brian.

so, you kissed him again, knowing that a little more than a thousand miles away won’t keep you from loving him.

✷┆ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ ━━━ here’s some fluff/angst xq necesito un break de escribir puro smut 😫 (como si no esté contemplando escribirlo en part two jejeje) ANYWAYS this is dedicated to the person who sent in this ask ! i had this idea already planned and then this ask came in and i literally thought it was fate <3 so i hope you liked this, anon !

thank you for reading ! comments, likes, & reblogs are very appreciated - flori <3

✷┆𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐳 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @9irlhood @loveekimi @dinonuggets-blog @tqd4455 @luvlyyyyy @longanizasblog @bluerellic @cestpagrave @hoggy-21 @tali05 @sofilupin @thatsnotaddy @gossip-girl76 @user089167 @sowhat-whynot @natywewe @keonhyeonz @gnariii @love-my-novio @yeri-sub @i2mingi @socialdesires @captainhischier @hyunjinshairband7 @kaeleys @louisggf @eassy-mp3 @athenaluvsu @1-800-simp-69 @3-smi @rons-chickenwing8 @sigmacapy @kaleeee-07 @worldsworstchicana @byekitti @itsjustashes @sgfgmichaelrry @bookieluvss12

please don’t feed my work into ai or plagiarize it !

[j-drysdale]

college reader and brian story?

surprises him at his game even though she had her final but she managed to finish it early in time for his game. She meets up with his parents and sits to cheer him on and during the game Brian scores a goal and when celebrating and running toward the direction of where his parents are to finally scream in cheer he is taken aback at the sight of his girlfriend who claimed she couldn’t make it and he is beyond happy and can’t wait for the game to be over to finally have her in his arms!

worth every deadline

GRAYCEE SPEAKS: this one is shorter, im soooo sorry guys. also, send in requests for more!!! it doesn't have to be just Brian, I love football so much, im lowkey willing to write for like anyone im familiar with... there is a declan rice fic in the works soooo

JOIN MY TAGLIST!

the clock in the lecture hall reader 11:47 am.

you checked for what felt like the hundredth time.

not because you were worried about your finals, but because kickoff was at 3:00 pm.

three hours.

if everything went perfectly.

your professor glanced up from her desk.

"remember to check your work before turning it in."

normally, you would. today, your feet bounced impatiently beneath your chair.

you'd spent the last two weeks telling Brian the same thing.

"im so sorry"

"I have my final that day."

"there's no way I'll make it"

he'd smile every time.

"school comes first."

but you knew he'd been disappointed.

he always looked for you in the stands before every match.

always.

"finished?" your professor looked surprised as you set your exam on her desk. "you still have almost an hour."

"I know."

she flipped through the pages, "you answered everything."

"twice."

she smiled, "well... good luck."

"thank you!"

you were halfway across the lecture hall before she finished her sentence.

your backpack bounced against your shoulders as you sprinted across campus.

taxi.

airport shuttle.

another taxi.

every minute mattered.

you changed in the backseat, trading your UCLA sweatshirt for the jersey you'd secretly packed that morning.

the driver caught your reflection in the mirror and laughed.

"important game?"

"the most important."

"for you or him?"

you smiled to yourself, "both."

by the time you reached the stadium, warmups had already started.

your heart pounded as you hurried towards the entrance.

"name?"

you gave it and the attendant smiled.

"oh! his parents are already inside."

"perfect."

his mom spotted you first.

"there she is!"

she immediately wrapped you in a hug.

"I thought you had an exam, mija?"

"I finished early."

his dad laughed.

"I knew she'd find a way."

you grinned, "couldn't miss this one."

his mother squeezed your hand.

"don't tell him."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"we want to see his face."

you slipped into the empty seat beside them just as the teams lined up in the tunnel.

your heart raced. from here, you could see Brian standing with his teammates.

focused.

hands on his hips.

completely unaware that you were only a few sections away.

the anthem ended.

kickoff.

you'd watched hundred of his matches, but this one felt different.

every good pass made you smile.

every tackle made you flinch.

every time he got knocked down, you found yourself half-standing before he popped back up.

his mom laughed knowingly.

"you never get used to it."

"no."

"I don't think I ever will."

thirty-five minutes in, his team won possession near midfield.

the ball found Brian's feet.

he turned.

one defender.

then another.

the stadium rose to its feet.

"go!" his father shouted.

you barely realized you'd shouted the same thing.

Brian cut inside the box.

the keeper rushed forward.

he struck the ball low.

for one suspended second there was silence.

then, the net rippled.

goal.

the stadium exploded.

you jumped up so fast your knees slammed into the seat in front of you.

"yes!"

his mom threw both her hands into the air.

his dad was already yelling loud enough for half the stadium.

on the field, Brian took off running.

pure joy was written across his face.

he spread his arms wide, heading towards the family section like he always did.

he pointed towards the stands before throwing his head back.

then-

his eyes landed on you.

he stopped.

mid-celebration.

his expression shifted from excitement to complete disbelief. his mouth fell open.

you laughed, clapping your hands over your face.

"no way," you mouthed.

from the stands, you could practically read his lips.

"what?"

his teammates crashed into him before he could process it.

one ruffled his hair.

another wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Brian kept looking past all of them.

staring straight at you.

you waved both hands dramatically,

his grin somehow got even bigger.

he pointed towards you then tapped the chivas' crest over his heart before blowing you a quick kiss.

the cameras caught every second.

the stadium roared even louder

his mother leaned over, "I've never seen him celebrate like that."

the rest of the match felt endless.

every few minutes, he'd glance towards the stands. just to make sure you were still there.

every time, you smiled and waved. he couldn't stop smiling back.

his teammates started teasing him.

you could tell just by the way they kept nudging him every time he looked at you.

the finally whistle couldn't come fast enough.

chivas won.

as the players shook hands, Brian barely waiting for the formalities.

he jogged towards the sideline, then started running.

security had just opened the family gate when he reached it.

you barely stepped through before he was already there,

"you lied!"

you laughed as he swept you off your feet, "I did."

"you said you couldn't come."

"I couldn't..."

you wrapped your arms around his neck, "unless I finished my final early."

he stared at you, "you finished your final early?"

"so I could be here. I turned it in an hour early."

"you what?"

"I may have sprinted across campus. I definitely changed clothes in the back of a taxi. I almost lost my backpack."

he laughed so hard he had to bury his face against your shoulder.

"you are insane."

"I know."

"you flew all the way here after an exam?"

"I wasn't going to miss you."

he held you tighter.

"I looked for you before kickoff."

"I know."

"I was disappointed."

"I know. I almost told you. but I wanted to see your face once you saw me."

he groaned dramatically, "so that's why you were hiding."

"it was worth it."

TAGLIST:

@dinonuggets-blog @sophiaehernandez @byekitti @yunakwi

[chiinass]

Steady Steps ༉‧₊˚.

𝄞 - Brian Gutierrez x fem reader!

Word count - 2,269

Warnings - hurt/comfort / fluff

summary - A long rehabilitation brings a soccer player and his physical therapist closer together until friendship turns into something unexpected.

notes - In honor of Chivas first game last Saturday!! (rip loss 💔) I genuinely felt evil writing this because imagine this injury actually happened. I would feel crushed. Lowkey a little difficult to write because I had to do my research about a ACL tears. Sorry if this is really long I had so many ideas. I had to cut it short as long as this story already is.. also sorry the month “chapters” are so short I usually write, 1 at like 4am or 2 while I’m at the gym. So there might be a little grammar mistakes I apologize!! With all done and done I hope you guys enjoy :P

The stadium filled with roars from the cheering crowd, seats filled to the brim, waving flags under the red stadium lights. Tonight was Chivas first game in the liga mx since the World Cup.

You stood from the sidelines, tilting your head up, watching the big screen showing all the players running out into the field. This was a normal Saturday for you. you were chivas physical therapist for a while now, you would get perks here and there, and this was one of them being able to be on the sidelines with the team, a fans dream.

But you were professional, you knew you were here to do your job. Even though it was nice being at the games, they were calm, they never really needed you in games, maybe stubbed toe once in a while, so it made your job quite easy in letting you enjoy the game.

You knew most of the players and they knew you, but it was only small talk about what they should be eating or what to do to prevent injuries.

The match went on as usual. By the time it was halftime, both teams were 0-0. chivas started subbing players in. The beginning of halftime Brian was subbed in. He stood on the sidelines blue eyes popping out with the stadium lights. He bent down, touched the field, did a small prayer before running into the field. minutes later Armando was also on the field, the crowd erupted in approval.

minute fifty six. The ball was passed to Brian. He took it and ran basically flying over the field, two defenders from the opposing team right behind him. he pushed it past the halfway line into the penalty box. As he ran the other two defenders cornered him trying to take the ball. His eyes started around looking for a way out as he still kept the ball in his possession.

At the corner of his eye, he saw Armando free. One of the defenders stuck out his leg, becoming more aggressive. Brian juked passed him. Swiftly, one motion he prepared the passing kick. Armando took the ball ready to score. before…

Crack.

The whistle blew.

you stared horror, the stadium becoming quiet for just a second. As Brian was making the passing kick. The other defender that had slipped past Brian‘s vision. Side tackled him trying to take the ball, pushing his knee inwards. He fell to the floor holding his leg, the medics came rushing in. Pulling him out of the field in a stretcher.

you ran over to the swarm where he was at, the medics still examining his leg, he panted looking down at his wound. he groaned tilting his head back, sweat dripping, as the medics put pressure. on the other side Armando pushed the defender, both teams starting to argue and fight.

It was concluded he cannot re-enter the field, echoes from the crowd booing and sighs. “No, no I’m fine, put me back in” he pleaded as he tried getting off the stretcher. “Brian… you tore your ligament… you can’t..” you said sympathetically. He ran both his hands down his face, before looking out into the field, seeing his sub.

“Come on you’ll come to my office” he only stared blankly at that comment. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth. “They’re putting someone else in.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet somehow louder than the chants filling the stadium. You crouched beside the stretcher, ignoring the curious glances from the cameras now pointed in your direction. “Brian.” “They’re replacing me.” “I know.” You spoke softer.“They’re replacing me in the first game back.”

His chest rose unevenly as frustration overtook the adrenaline. His fists curled into the blanket draped over his legs. “I worked all summer.” His voice cracked. “Every extra session… every sprint… every stupid recovery drill…” You stayed quiet. Sometimes athletes didn’t need advice. They just needed someone to listen.

The medic signaled they were ready to move. You walked beside the stretcher as they wheeled him through the tunnel. The deafening stadium slowly faded behind concrete walls until all that remained was the squeak of the wheels and Brian’s ragged breathing. The locker room hallway felt eerily silent.

Once inside the medical room, the medics helped him onto the examination table before leaving you alone to finish the assessment. Brian sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The silence stretched. You slipped on a pair of gloves and wheeled your stool over. “I’m going to examine your knee.” He didn’t answer. Carefully, you rolled his compression sock down.

His knee had already begun to swell, angry shades of purple blooming beneath his skin. When your fingers gently pressed around the joint, he sucked in a sharp breath. “There,” he muttered through gritted teeth. You made a mental note before reaching for the ice pack. As you wrapped it around his knee, he finally spoke again. “…Is it bad?” You paused “I won’t know the full extent until the MRI.”

“…But I do think it’s your ACL.” His shoulders slumped. For the first time since you’d met him, the confident midfielder disappeared. Without thinking, you rested your hand lightly over his. His lips twitched, surprised. “I can promise you this.” You squeezed his hand once before letting go. “You won’t go through this alone.”

Brian gets his MRI. Complete ACL tear. The surgeon tells him he’s out for 8–10 months. He doesn’t speak the whole appointment. Back at your office, he finally snaps. “So that’s it? My season’s over?” You stay calm. “No. This season is.” He glares at you. “I didn’t ask for optimism.”

Two months. Pain. Crutches. No sleeping. His knee barely bends. He gets frustrated over tiny victories. “I only bent it another three degrees.” He whispered. You smile. “Three degrees more than yesterday.” He throws an ice pack at you. “You are unbelievably annoying.” Weeks after, brian refuses help. He insists on carrying equipment. Walking without crutches too early. One day his knee gives out. You catch him before he falls. “You done pretending you’re Superman?” “I almost had it.” “You almost tore something else.”He finally listens.

Four months. The rehab becomes routine. Three sessions every week. Eventually… You stop talking only about soccer. Favorite movies. Childhood stories. Embarrassing teammates. What life is like outside football. He starts arriving ten minutes early…just to talk. He learns your coffee order. You automatically bring his resistance bands. He steals your pens. The rehab room’s air conditioning is freezing. You shiver while typing. Brian quietly stands, walks to his gym bag, and tosses you his Chivas hoodie. “You’ll catch a cold.” “I’m fine.” You say as you pick up his hoodie to give back.“You’re literally shaking.” You hesitate.“…Thanks.” He tries very hard not to smile when he sees the sleeves swallow your hands. Armando walks in. “…Are you two dating?” “No.” you both say in unison “…Could’ve fooled me.”

Five months. Brian watches Chivas lose. His replacement scores. Everyone online says the team has a new midfielder. The comments crush him. During rehab…He quits halfway. “I’m done.” You kneel in front of him. “No.” “I can’t.” he whispered

“You can.” “I don’t want to.” You look at his defeated eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Come on it’s do it one more time…”

Brian finally manages a full squat. You clap once. He looks offended. “Did you just clap…I’m twenty-three.” “And?” He rolls his eyes. “You make me feel like a toddler.” “You deserve a sticker.” You laughed as you walked to your desk. “I swear if you pull out a sticker—” You slowly open a drawer. “…You actually have stickers?” he muttered. “I work with youth academy players too.” He sighs dramatically. “I hate it here.”

Five minutes later…He’s walking out wearing a gold star sticker on his shirt because you secretly stuck it there.

Seven months. He starts joking again. He purposely does exercises wrong just to annoy you.“You call that a squat?” “It’s artistic.” He said grinning . “It’s embarrassing.” “You laughed.” “I did not.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smile. “You smiled.”

Brian’s session ended. Another player arrived for theirs. Still…Brian stayed. He leaned against the hallway wall while scrolling aimlessly through his phone. “You know your appointment ended twenty minutes ago.” “I know.” He replied sky blue eyes still stuck on his phone. “So why are you still here? ”He shrugged. “I’ll leave after your last patient.” You frowned. “…Why? Another shrug. “It’s dark…I’d rather know you get to your car.” Your expression softened. When your shift finally ended, he was still waiting exactly where you’d left him. Together, you walked through the empty parking lot. He never mentioned that his car was parked on the opposite side.

The medical wing had gone quiet hours ago. The last patient had been discharged, the monitors in the hallway reduced to soft, distant beeps that echoed through the empty floor. Rain tapped gently against the windows, and the clock above the nurses’ station glowed 11:47 PM. You had told yourself you would rest for five minutes. Just five. The empty recovery room at the end of the hall had looked too inviting after a fourteen-hour shift. One of the beds had already been stripped for cleaning, but the other remained neatly made beneath a thin hospital blanket. You had sat down. Then leaned back. Then closed your eyes. And somewhere between exhaustion and silence, you had fallen asleep.

Brian wasn't supposed to be there that late. He had forgotten his knee brace after evening training and doubled back through the medical wing to retrieve it. The hallway lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft amber glow. As he passed the open doorway of the recovery room, he slowed. Someone was in the bed.

For one alarming second, he thought a patient had been admitted unexpectedly. Then he stepped closer. It was you. Curled slightly onto your side, one arm tucked beneath your cheek, still wearing your scrubs. Your ID badge hung crooked against your chest, and a pen remained loosely trapped between your fingers as if you had fallen asleep mid-note. Brian's expression softened immediately.

You looked impossibly small compared to the way you carried yourself during the day—always moving, always helping, always taking care of everyone else. Quietly, he set his brace down on a nearby chair. The blanket had slipped halfway down your shoulder. He hesitated only a moment before reaching for it. Carefully—so carefully—you might not have felt it at all, he pulled the blanket back up and tucked it around you. His fingertips brushed your shoulder through the fabric. You stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, but didn't wake. Brian smiled to himself, He looked back at you and shook his head gently. "You're impossible," he whispered.

Instead of leaving, he dragged a chair beside the bed and sat down. He watched the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the tension slowly leaving your face as sleep pulled you deeper under. For once, you weren't the one staying late to make sure someone else was okay. For once, someone was staying for you. At some point, your hand drifted across the mattress, searching unconsciously for something. Brian reached out before he could think better of it. Your fingers closed loosely around his. His thumb brushed once across your knuckles.

Nine months. Today he finally runs. You’re more nervous than he is. He takes one step. Then another. Soon..He’s sprinting. When he finishes… He’s laughing. Actually laughing. Without thinking… He runs over and hugs you. Then immediately lets go. “…Sorry.” You don’t move away. “It’s okay.” Neither of you mention how long the hug lasted.

The doctor smiles. “You’re cleared.” Brian should be ecstatic. Instead… He looks at you. Almost sad. “You okay?” you ask. “I don’t have rehab anymore.” You blink. “…That’s a good thing.” But it also means he won’t see you three times a week.

The office feels weird without him. You catch yourself looking at the clock. Tuesday. 3 PM. Brian would’ve been here. The office suddenly feels too quiet.

Two days later… Knock.

You open the door. Brian. “My knee feels weird.” You examine it. “It’s perfectly fine.” you say while you look back up at him. “…You sure?” “Brian.…You’re fine.” He smiles sheepishly. “I know.” He looked at the ground. “So why are you here?”

“…I missed talking to you.”

Dinner. Coffee. Movies. Walking after practice. Armando finally laughs. “You two are idiots.” He rolled his eyes “What?” You looked at him trying to read his thoughts “You’re literally dating.” “We’re not.” your face turns pink.

Brian starts his first game back. Ninety minutes. No pain. No swelling. Final whistle. Chivas wins. The stadium erupts. Reporters rush toward him. “Brian! How does it feel to finally be back?” He smiles. “It feels amazing.” Then…His eyes search the sideline. Until they find you.

Still standing where you’ve stood through every injury, every setback, every tear. Without answering another question…He jogs past every camera. Past his teammates. Straight to you. You laugh. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” “I am.” He reaches you, still breathless from the match. “You know…” He scratches the back of his neck. “My knee healed months ago.” His eyes sparkled. “…I know.” you say confused. “But there was one problem….I got used to seeing you.” Your heart skips. He smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen.

“I don’t really want to recover from that.”