who-said-i-could-do-this

sami | stupid cupid | zayn

MASTERLIST IS HERE LOVES

PROMPT OR WHATEVER:

IN TIME FOR VALENTINES DAY ( BECAUSE DAMMIT, REASONS) A NEW MINI SERIES THING. DIFFERENT WRESTLERS / READERS THROWN TOGETHER AND WINDING UP IN ROMANTIC SITUATIONS. SOME WILL BE EXES, SOME WILL HAVE CRUSHES, SOME WILL HAVE CRUSHES WHILE PRETENDING TO HATE THE OTHER, AND OVERALL, JUST STEAMY FLUFF.

And this one is sort of a combination of a few different things fan-fiction-galore and I were talking about when I told her this idea. Sami Zayn and reader were friends as children and reader boldly kissed him at age 10. Sadly, the readers family moved away, leaving the two to lose all touch with each other… Until the wedding of her older brother/one of his best friends brings them back together. Problem? Reader is with a date… Until, ‘cupid’, our little winged naked baby friend intervenes in the form of an argument. Reader storms out, it’s pouring rain outside and with a strapless dress, she’s kind of freezing a little bit when Sami finds her… And things happen from there, of course.

WORD COUNT:

2759+

WARNINGS & RATING:

SO MUCH FLUFF. TEETH ROTTING FLUFF HERE GUISE. AND SOME STEAM AT THE END?

OTHER:

OKAY, ALRIIIIIGHT.. GOTTA THANK @fan-fiction-galore because like 99.9 percent of this was stuff she mentioned in a conversation we were having and here we are, lol.. plus she’s my boo and I luffles her. And there’s @misswweuniverse, who is another boo of mine that I luffle.. aaaaand @writergrrrl29 who is another boo of mine that I luffle and enjoy talking to about things, you are all amazing and have been v. great help and you are my inspirations. Also, @mimic-the-phoenix , my boo, I luffles you and I looooove our conversations. You make me fall more in love with Sami with the way you write him tbh!! As if I needed an actual reason,huh?

THE USUAL SUSPECTS:

LIVVIE’S TAG LIST

@mimicthephoenix @gelinas22 @hiitsmecharlie @heyambrose @laochbaineann @rougecrowne @kittencutie245 @balorfromstarlabs @lindseyrae20 @roserae527 @caramara3 @bodhi-black @fmlallthewayup @littledeadrottinghood @wweismyguiltypleasure @asylumxclub @oraclegazes @gelinas22 @laigy2213 @thatonegirloncealways  @banrioncethlenn @moxtiel   @sydneyhlove, @tryingtofindaplaceinthisworld @wresltingobsession   @sebastianandstyles @scarlettequinn@rum-and-whiskey-gypsy @crookedmoonsaultpunk @ladylillianrose @ohhhtweener @sarrahcha @kat-shirayuki @amaranthine-reign @fan-fiction-galore @thatwrestlingfan91 @thedeboniardevistation@depressed-girl93 @princess3733 @the-geekgoddes@thiickreigns @micolegg @alexispoo @finnbalorsbabygirl  @danikajessyfandoms @racheo91 @helluvawriter  @alexahood21 @lavitabella87 @alexablss  @lexymeg @themcmeggers 

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Photograph: Curto de la Torre/AFP/Getty Images.

Manuel Briñas is 84, wears dark spectacles and has a thin white moustache to go with his hair. He lives in the residency of a Catholic school in the north of Madrid, walks with the help of a crutch hooked over one arm and spends every other weekend at the Vicente Calderón, standing alone watching Atlético play from among the photographers, technicians and stewards behind the advertising boards. At the end of each game he heads quietly out through the tunnel that leads to the cark park under the north stand where the media wait for the players, cameras ready and microphones in hand.This Saturday, they waited for him. Like the immense majority of those who do the job he does, as important as they are anonymous, Briñas normally goes unnoticed but this time was different. He had started his slow walk along the edge of the pitch but someone there was looking for him, which meant that soon everyone was looking at him. “I was heading home when I felt a tap on the shoulder,” he explained, voice breaking. “I turned and it was Fernando [Torres]. He whispered in my ear: ‘This is for you, you made me love these colours. I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life.’”

At the end of their 3-1 win over Eibar, Torres’s team-mates had applauded the fans and gone down the players’ tunnel on the west side of the stadium where the Manzanares and the motorway pass, but Torres had headed north instead, towards Briñas.

“I was looking for him, making sure he didn’t leave; luckily he didn’t escape,” he said. When he got there, behind the goal, beyond the hoardings, watched by the fans, he embraced Briñas, pulled off his shirt and handed it to him. “No one would feel prouder to have it than him,” Torres explained. “He’s responsible for me being here; he’s the one who said I could do it.”

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