Omg can you do another araujo fic where the reader is part of the social media team or the med staff and shes a bit intimidated by him. he finds her really cute and always tries to talk to her but she always freezes or avoids him and hes tryna figure out whats wrong
Behind The Lens - Ronald Araujo
Authors note: I loveddd writing this!!!!
WC: 1000+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
Being part of FC Barcelona’s social media team meant your days were often a blur of photoshoots, behind-the-scenes videos, and drafting captions under tight deadlines. You loved the work, but it came with its fair share of challenges. Chief among them was one Ronald Araújo.
It wasn’t that Ronald was difficult to work with—far from it. He was professional, charismatic, and always willing to help out when the team needed extra shots or content for campaigns. The problem was… well, he intimidated you. Not because of his towering height or the commanding presence he carried on the pitch, but because of the way he seemed to zero in on you every time he was in the room.
And Ronald? He found it adorable.
It had started a few weeks ago during a content shoot. You were adjusting a camera angle when Ronald walked over, leaning down slightly to peer at the screen.
“Do I look good in this one, hermosa?” he asked, his deep voice laced with playful curiosity.
You froze, caught off guard by the sudden proximity and the unexpected term of endearment. Behind you, Pedri snickered audibly, clearly catching the exchange. “Careful, Ronald,” he teased, his grin wide. “You’re making her blush.”
Your face burned, and you quickly turned back to the camera, fumbling with the buttons as if you were busy. Ronald’s face was inches from yours, his warm, boyish smile making your heart stutter.
“It’s… fine,” you mumbled, barely daring to glance his way.
“Just fine?” His smile widened, teasing.
“I mean… you look great,” you corrected hastily, cheeks aflame. You avoided his gaze, too flustered to notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
From that moment on, Ronald seemed to make it his mission to strike up a conversation with you whenever he could. He’d pause mid-practice to call out a friendly “Hi” when he spotted you on the sidelines, “Make sure you get my good side”, and even linger in the hallway after meetings, hoping to catch you for a quick chat. Meanwhile, you were perfectly at ease chatting with other players like Pedri or Iñigo Martínez, laughing easily at their jokes and even teasing them back during shoots. Ronald noticed this stark contrast and couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity—and maybe a little envy—at how relaxed you seemed around everyone else.
Pedri, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, had pointed it out one day during practice. “Ronald, maybe you’re just too scary,” he joked as you walked by, camera slung over your shoulder.
Ronald laughed it off, though his gaze followed you thoughtfully. “Or maybe she just doesn’t know me yet,” he murmured. He couldn’t help but feel a growing determination to change that.
“Why do you always run away from me?” he asked one afternoon, his tone half-teasing, half-curious.
You blinked, startled. The two of you were alone in the media room, sorting through equipment after a shoot. The question caught you off guard, and you struggled to come up with a response.
“I don’t… run away,” you said weakly, focusing on coiling a stray cable.
Ronald chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “You kind of do. Every time I talk to you, you look like you want to disappear.”
“I don’t mean to,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You fiddled with the cable in your hands, your mind scrambling for a way to explain yourself.
“Then what is it?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “Did I do something wrong?”
Your eyes shot up to meet his, panic flickering across your face. “No! It’s not that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Then what is it?”
You hesitated, unsure how to explain. How could you tell him that his attention made your heart race, that the way he smiled at you left you tongue-tied? How could you admit that someone as confident and self-assured as him seemed worlds away from someone like you?
“It’s just… you’re…” You gestured vaguely, struggling to find the words.
“I’m what?” he pressed, his expression softening.
“You’re intimidating,” you blurted out, immediately regretting it. “Not in a bad way,” you added quickly. “You’re just… you. And I’m… me.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You sighed, setting the cable down. “You’re this amazing football player. You’re confident, and everyone loves you. I’m just- you make me nervous"
For a moment, he was quiet. Then he took a step closer, his expression earnest.
“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said firmly. “You’re talented, hardworking, and way too good at avoiding me.” His lips quirked into a small smile. “I’m just trying to get to know you.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “I’m not very good at… talking to people.”
“That’s okay,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ll do the talking. As long as you don’t run away.”
You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. His dark eyes held yours, and for the first time, you felt yourself relax under his gaze.
“Okay,” you said softly.
His smile widened. “Good. Now, do you want to grab a coffee after this? I promise I’ll try not to be too intimidating.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.”
The walk to the café was a revelation. Ronald chatted easily about his favorite spots in the city, the best restaurants he’d discovered, and even the books he liked to read in his downtime. You found yourself relaxing, drawn in by his warmth and the way he genuinely seemed interested in your thoughts. By the time the coffee arrived, you were smiling as you shared a story about one of your early blunders on the job.
“You’re not as scary as I thought,” you said finally, teasing him as you took a sip of your drink.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, leaning back with a grin. “Does this mean I don’t have to fight Pedri for your attention anymore?”
You rolled your eyes, but your laugh betrayed you. “Maybe. If you keep being this charming.”
Ronald’s expression softened, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Deal.”
As you walked back to the training grounds, the tension between you had disappeared entirely, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt before. For the first time, the thought of spending more time with Ronald didn’t intimidate you—it excited you.
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
The small, tucked-away bookstore was the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Its brick facade was weathered but charming, with ivy creeping up one side and a hand-painted sign that read "Abrazos Literarios" hanging slightly askew above the door. The large front window displayed a cozy arrangement of books and a vase of fresh flowers, beckoning passersby to step inside. When you opened the door, a soft chime from the bell overhead welcomed you, and the warmth of the place enveloped you immediately. The faint aroma of old paper mingled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee, while the soft strains of classical piano music created an atmosphere of quiet elegance. It felt like stepping into another world, one where time slowed and the stories on the shelves seemed to whisper promises of adventure and escape.
The scent of aged paper and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint notes of a classical piano track playing softly in the background. It was her favorite part of working there—the peaceful atmosphere and the quiet companionship of books. She loved the way the sunlight filtered through the large front window in the afternoons, casting warm, golden patches across the worn wooden floor.
That’s why, when the bell above the door jingled and a broad-shouldered man stepped inside, her first thought was that he might be lost.
Ronald Araújo, star defender for FC Barcelona, looked somewhat out of place in the cozy little store. His tall frame seemed to take up more space than should have been possible, and his sharp, athletic build contrasted with the snug, bookish environment. Dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, he’d pulled a baseball cap low over his face, as if trying not to attract attention. Yet, there was something warm and approachable about his presence—something that made him seem more at ease than she would have expected.
“Hi,” he greeted her, his voice deep but kind.
“Hi,” she replied, trying not to stare. He was handsome, undeniably so, but what was someone like him doing in a little bookstore? She couldn’t help but feel a touch of curiosity mixed with surprise. “Can I help you find something?”
Ronald hesitated for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for something new to read. Maybe a novel? Do you have any recommendations?”
She blinked, caught off guard. She’d assumed he wasn’t the type to read much. Not because he didn’t seem intelligent, but because… well, athletes weren’t exactly known for spending their downtime buried in books. There was a stereotype that came to mind, and he didn’t fit her mental image of a book lover.
“Sure,” she said, recovering quickly. “What kind of stories do you like? Mystery? Romance? Fantasy?”
He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “I’m open to anything. I usually like something with a good message or a story that sticks with you, you know? The kind that makes you think.”
She nodded, impressed despite herself. “Okay, let me show you a few.”
As they wandered through the shelves, she pointed out a mix of titles, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she described each one. She felt her voice growing more animated as she spoke, her hands gesturing to emphasize her points. He listened intently, occasionally asking questions or making thoughtful comments. It surprised her how genuine he seemed, not at all like the intimidating figure she’d seen on TV. There was something disarming about his quiet interest in her suggestions, something that made her feel unexpectedly at ease.
“This one,” she said, pulling out a copy of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, “is about following your dreams and listening to your heart. It’s a quick read, but it’s powerful.”
“I’ve heard of this one,” Ronald said, taking the book from her hands. His fingers brushed hers briefly, sending a tiny jolt up her arm. “You like it?”
“I do,” she admitted. “It’s the kind of book that makes you feel hopeful.”
He flipped through the first few pages, his expression thoughtful, then tucked it under his arm. “I’ll take it. Any others?”
She smiled, sensing he was the kind of person who actually meant it when he said he’d read whatever she recommended. That thought made her heart flutter. “There’s one more I think you’ll like,” she said, leading him to another shelf. “It’s about…”
“Wait,” he interrupted, his voice soft. “I never got your name.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, sorry. It’s [Your Name].”
“[Your Name],” he repeated, as if testing it on his tongue. “That’s a beautiful name.”
She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. And you are…?”
“Ronald,” he said, smiling warmly. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”
Caught. She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. You’re kind of hard to miss.”
His laughter was soft, almost shy. “Fair enough.”
They talked for a little while longer, the conversation flowing naturally as they exchanged thoughts on their favorite books and what drew them to reading.
“There’s something about mystery novels,” she said, leaning against a nearby shelf. “I love how they keep you guessing. The best ones always have clues hidden in plain sight, and when you get to the end, it all clicks.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, his eyes lighting up. “I read one recently where the twist was so unexpected, I had to flip back and reread certain parts. It’s like the author was playing chess and I didn’t even realize I was the opponent.”
She grinned. “Sounds like a good one. What was it?”
“Gone Girl,” he replied. “It’s pretty dark, but the way it messes with your perception of the characters is brilliant.”
“Oh, I’ve read that! Gillian Flynn is a master at writing flawed, fascinating people. The tension in that book is incredible.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I think I ended up liking it because it’s so different from my life. It’s like stepping into another world.”
“That’s the best part about reading,” she said softly. “It takes you somewhere new, even if you’re sitting in the same spot.”
Her words seemed to linger in the air, and for a moment, their eyes met. Then, with a slight smile, he asked, “So, what’s your all-time favorite book?”
She hesitated, biting her lip as she thought it over. “That’s a tough one, but I think I’d say The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. It’s got everything—mystery, romance, history… and it’s a love letter to books.”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said thoughtfully. “If you love it that much, I’ll have to add it to my list.”
He told her about the books he’d read growing up, how he used to spend time at the local library in his hometown. She shared stories about customers who’d come in searching for books to change their lives. The connection between them felt effortless, like they were simply two people who had found common ground.
When he finally made his way to the counter to pay, he hesitated, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Hey, [Your Name]?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… maybe want to go out for coffee sometime? Or dinner? I’d love to talk more about books with you. And, well, other things too.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Was this really happening?
She smiled, pretending to deliberate for a moment. “I think I’d like that.”
Relief washed over his face, and he grinned. “Great. Here, let me…” He pulled out his phone, quickly exchanging numbers with her. “I’ll text you soon, then.”
As he left the store, the bell jingling behind him, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Maybe athletes weren’t so different from book lovers after all. And maybe, just maybe, the little bookstore had a touch of magic to it after all.
okay but why are we barca fans hating on araujo and frenkie sm like do you actually watch the games or do you just use twitter and tiktok to form your opinions
if ur such a big fan of the club you should support players not tear them down and use them as scapegoats because we all know the spanish media sucks and are all biased
esp the araujo hate is just baseless this guy has just came back from injury and of course there are clubs showing interest hes one of the best itw doesnt mean he’ll actually go?
Authors note: I know i havent posted in a while and i honestly haven't been on this app at all mainly cause of this dumb situationship i had, but i dont want to get into too much details haha. I'm defo not going back to regularly posting cause my creativity is really low but i want to try and be active more often :)
WC: 1000+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
The sunlight was merciless, streaming through the thin curtains of your room and landing squarely on the bed. It chased away the comforting shadows of the night, and with them, any chance of pretending this wasn’t real. You blinked against the brightness, a dull ache blooming in your chest as you shifted beneath the covers.
The other side of the bed was cold. Empty. You turned your head and saw him: Pau, sitting on the edge, his back to you, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress and the other scrubbing through his hair. His shirt lay crumpled at his feet, and he hadn’t put it back on yet, like he couldn’t bring himself to move beyond this moment—but couldn’t stay in it, either.
You hesitated, your throat dry, before you broke the silence. “Pau?”
He stiffened, his shoulders tightening. “Yeah?” His voice was low, like he was bracing for something. He still didn’t turn to look at you.
You pushed yourself up to sit against the headboard, clutching the sheet to your chest. “Are you okay?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh, his head tilting forward. “Am I okay?” he repeated, more to himself than to you. Finally, he bent down, snatched his shirt from the floor, and began pulling it on. “I should go. I have training.”
“Training doesn’t start for hours,” you said quietly, watching as he avoided your gaze. The way he moved, so deliberately, so carefully, like he was trying to hold himself together—it stung.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and stood, still facing the door. “Yeah, well... I need to clear my head.”
“Pau, wait.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. But you couldn’t let him walk out like this, like you hadn’t just spent the most intimate night of your life together. “Are we just... not going to talk about this?”
He stopped mid-step, his hand hovering near the doorframe. Slowly, he turned back to you, and the look on his face made your stomach twist. It was a mess of guilt, hesitation, and something deeper—something he was trying so hard to hide.
“What’s there to talk about?” he asked softly. “It was... a mistake.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and cold, and they hit you like a slap. You stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “A mistake?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.
He looked away, unable to meet your eyes. “We’re friends,” he said, like he was convincing himself more than you. “We can’t... This can’t happen again.”
Your chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath the hurt. “Right. So that’s it? You’re just going to pretend last night didn’t happen? Pretend I don’t mean anything to you?”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. He looked so torn, so conflicted, and for a brief moment, you saw the truth in his eyes before he looked away again. “This isn’t fair to either of us.”
You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “What’s not fair is you deciding this for both of us. I was there too, Pau. I know what I felt. And I don’t believe for one second that it didn’t mean anything to you.”
He froze, his jaw clenching. The room was so quiet, you could hear the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Seconds passed, dragging on like hours, and then he finally spoke.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
You blinked, caught off guard. “Scared of what?”
“Of losing you,” he said, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were filled with so much emotion, it nearly took your breath away. “Of ruining everything we have. If we try this and it doesn’t work... I don’t know how to go back to being just your friend.”
The vulnerability in his voice broke something inside you. For all his confidence on the field, here he was—Pau Cubarsí, standing in your room, looking like he’d just handed you his heart and was waiting for you to crush it.
“And if we don’t try?” you asked, your voice soft but firm. “If you walk out that door and we pretend this never happened... do you really think things will go back to normal?”
He didn’t answer, his silence speaking volumes.
You stood, the sheet falling from your shoulders as you stepped closer to him. “Pau,” you said gently, “you’re not the only one who’s scared. But I’d rather take the chance than spend the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve had.”
His eyes searched yours, desperate and uncertain. For a moment, you thought he might turn and leave anyway, the fear too much for him to bear. But then, slowly, he let his bag drop to the floor. His hands were trembling as he reached for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek.
“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, the words tumbling out like a confession he’d been holding onto for far too long. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Last night... It wasn’t a mistake. It could never be a mistake.”
Your breath caught, tears welling in your eyes. “I love you too.”
He let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over his face. And then he was pulling you into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go. His lips found yours, and the kiss was everything—soft, tentative, but filled with all the emotion he’d kept bottled up for so long.
When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you smiling through the tears. “No more running away,” you said, your voice steady.
“No more running,” he promised, his hands still holding you close.
hi my love!!! i hope ur doing well 💗 i was just wondering if you could maybe do a fluffy tutoring fic with pau x reader? either where reader is tutoring him or he’s tutoring reader. thank you sm!! 💌
Maps, Dates and Crushes - Pau Cubarsi
Authors note: Hey guysss how are we doing??
WC: 1000+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
Geography class wasn’t exactly Pau’s strong suit. He was a quick learner on the field, but when it came to memorizing capitals, mountain ranges, and river systems, his brain felt like it was running in circles. That’s exactly why he found himself in this situation: tutoring sessions.
His geography teacher had noticed his struggle and decided to step in.
“Pau, you’ll be working with her,” the teacher had said, nodding towards you. You were the top student in class—smart, confident, and the one who always had the right answers. The girl he’d had a quiet crush on for months but never dared to talk to.
And now, you were his tutor.
It was a dream and a nightmare all at once. On one hand, he’d get to spend time with you, but on the other… well, you’d soon find out just how bad he was at geography.
The first study session was planned for Thursday evening at your house. You had texted him, “Come around six. We’ll get you caught up.”
Pau stood in front of your door at 6 p.m. sharp, trying not to let his nerves show. You opened the door with a smile, dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, looking effortlessly beautiful. He almost forgot to breathe for a second.
“Hey, come in,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “We’ve got a lot to cover, but don’t worry, we’ll pace it out.”
He followed you inside, trying to calm the nervous flutter in his stomach. Your home was cozy and inviting, which helped ease the tension in his shoulders. You led him to the dining table, already covered with textbooks, notebooks, and maps.
“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” you said, flipping open the geography textbook. “We’ve got time.”
The next two hours flew by in a blur of maps, highlighters, and your explanations. Pau tried to focus, but it was hard not to get distracted by how effortlessly smart and confident you were. You made geography seem easy, breaking down complex ideas in a way he could actually understand.
At 8:30, you paused, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, we’ve made good progress. How about a break?”
“Yeah, I could use one,” Pau admitted with a sheepish grin.
You reached for your phone, casually pulling up Uber Eats. “What do you feel like eating? I was thinking burgers and fries. Or is that too risky for your diet?”
Pau chuckled, caught off guard by how thoughtful you were. “I mean, I am supposed to be watching what I eat for football…”
You raised an eyebrow, teasing him a little. “So, no burgers then?”
He hesitated for a second, then grinned. “I think I can handle a burger. Just this once.”
You smiled back, happy with his answer. “Good, because there’s no way I’m surviving this study session without fries.”
You placed the order, and soon enough, the two of you were digging into your food while talking about everything other than geography. It was surprisingly easy to fall into a rhythm with Pau—he wasn’t just the quiet, shy guy you saw in class. He had a sense of humor, and when he relaxed, you found that you really liked talking to him.
By the time you finished eating and went back to studying, it was almost 10 p.m. Pau tried his best to stay focused, but you noticed him sneaking glances at you every so often. The way his gaze would linger on you for just a moment too long made your heart race.
And that’s when it hit you. He likes me.
Your own heart fluttered at the realization. Maybe it was the way his voice softened when he asked you questions or the way his eyes sparkled whenever you smiled at him. Suddenly, the idea of this being a simple tutor-student situation felt a lot more complicated—and a lot more exciting.
By 11 p.m., the study session was winding down. You had gone through most of the material, and Pau seemed a lot more confident than when he had first walked in. He started packing up his books, but there was a hesitancy in the air, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.
“Well,” you said, standing up and stretching, “I think you’re going to ace the next test. You’ve really improved, Pau.”
“Thanks to you,” he said with a shy smile, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He lingered by the door for a moment, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.
There was a long pause, the silence between you charged with something unspoken. You could feel it hanging in the air.
“So, um…” Pau began, his voice low, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go out sometime?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Like… a study date?”
Pau’s face turned a little red, and he quickly shook his head. “No, not a study date. I mean, like, an actual date. Just… the two of us.”
Your heart skipped a beat, the realization hitting you all at once. Pau Cubarsí—quiet, sweet Pau—was asking you on a real date.
A slow smile spread across your face, warmth flooding your chest. “You want to go on a real date with me?”
He nodded, his eyes soft but hopeful. “Yeah, I do. If you want to, I mean.”
“I’d love that,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush with excitement. “How about this weekend?”
“That’d be perfect,” he replied, his whole face lighting up.
For a moment, you just stood there, both of you grinning like idiots. And then, before he could leave, you stepped closer and gave him a soft, quick hug. Pau’s heart raced as he wrapped his arms around you, feeling like he was on cloud nine.
When you pulled back, you gave him a playful smile. “And don’t worry, we’ll avoid burgers this time. Just in case.”
Pau laughed, his nerves melting away. “Yeah, I’ll stick to salads.”
You both shared a quiet laugh, the air between you lighter and full of promise. And as Pau left your house that night, he couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could you.
hi, glad you're back, I love your writing!
can you do one where cubarsi is too shy to talk to the reader because she is very confident and beautiful and he thinks he has no chance
Sticky notes - Pau Cubarsi
Authors note: Thank you!! <333 I loved writing this !!!!
WC: 1000+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
Pau could never quite figure out how to talk to you.
You were the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. Confident, beautiful, and always smiling like you had everything figured out. And every time Pau saw you, whether it was around the training grounds or at team events, he felt like you were completely out of his league. He’d find himself fumbling with his words, losing his train of thought when you walked by, his cheeks heating up like a kid with a crush.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he did, more than anything. But every time he tried, his nerves got the best of him. He’d stumble over a “hey” or give you an awkward wave, kicking himself afterward for not being able to say more.
You, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. You’d wave back, smile that gorgeous smile of yours, and keep walking like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, Pau would stand there, heart pounding, hoping no one noticed how red his face had gotten.
It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to get along with you so easily. Marc, Pedri, and the rest of the team had no trouble making you laugh, but whenever Pau was around, he’d freeze up, too shy to even look at you for more than a second.
“Dude, why don’t you just talk to her?” Marc teased one day after training. They were in the locker room, getting ready to head out, and Pau had been stealing glances at you from across the field. You’d been chatting with some of the staff, looking effortlessly beautiful in your casual clothes.
“I can’t,” Pau muttered, pulling his bag up onto his shoulder. “She’s... different.”
Marc raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Different how? She’s not gonna bite, you know.”
Pau sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s just... too confident. Too beautiful. I wouldn’t know what to say. She probably doesn’t even know I exist.”
Marc gave him a sympathetic smile, slapping him on the back. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Just ask her out. You’re making this a way bigger deal than it has to be.”
Pau shook his head, unconvinced. “I don’t stand a chance. She could have anyone she wants.”
He didn’t know it at the time, but you had been standing just out of sight, overhearing the entire conversation. Your heart fluttered at Pau’s words, a smile tugging at your lips. You had always thought Pau was sweet—quiet, sure, but there was something endearing about the way he got all shy around you. He was different from the other guys you knew, and you liked that about him.
You couldn’t believe he thought he didn’t have a chance with you. If only he knew how many times you’d tried to catch his eye, how you’d go out of your way to say hi, hoping he’d finally start a conversation.
That night, you came up with a plan.
The next day, after practice, you waited until Pau left his bag unattended in the locker room. You weren’t usually one for sneaky moves, but Pau clearly needed a little push, and you weren’t going to wait around forever.
You took a deep breath, scribbling a quick note on a sticky pad you found in your bag. The note was short, simple, but direct enough to get your message across. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was too bold, but then you remembered the look on Pau’s face when he talked to Marc—he needed to know.
With a small, satisfied smile, you slipped the sticky note into his bag, making sure it would be easy to find.
Later that day, Pau was rummaging through his bag when something bright caught his eye. A sticky note, neatly folded and tucked inside. Frowning in confusion, he pulled it out and unfolded it, his heart stopping as he read the words:
Heard you talking to Marc yesterday... I’d love to go out with you sometime. Just say when. – Y/N
Pau stared at the note, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure everyone around him could hear it. His eyes scanned the words over and over again, as if they might change. Was this real? Did you really write this?
He felt his face heat up, his mind racing. You wanted to go out with him? How was this even possible?
Suddenly, all of his worries seemed ridiculous. You’d overheard him, and instead of being weirded out or brushing him off, you’d made the first move. You wanted to go out with him.
Pau looked around the locker room, his eyes searching for you. And then he saw you, leaning casually against the wall, talking to someone else, completely at ease. You caught his eye, and a knowing smile spread across your lips.
His heart leaped into his throat, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run over to you, to say something, but his feet felt like they were glued to the ground.
You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction, and gestured toward your phone in your pocket—your subtle way of saying, message me.
Pau swallowed, suddenly feeling a surge of courage he hadn’t felt before. He nodded, a small, shy smile breaking across his face as he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message:
How about Friday?
Seconds later, his phone buzzed with your reply:
Perfect. Looking forward to it :)
Pau couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. For the first time in months, he wasn’t nervous around you. You liked him. You wanted to go out with him.
Authors note: sorry for dissapearing lol ive had a whole ass situationship and like other things
WC: 1500+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!
It all started with a random tap.
You can’t even remember where you saw his username. Maybe it popped up on your “Quick Add” list, or perhaps you had seen him tagged in one of your friend’s stories. Either way, it was a quiet night, and out of sheer boredom, you tapped “Add.” It wasn’t a big deal—you added people on Snapchat all the time. But this time was different.
This time, the guy you added was Pau.
At first, you didn’t really expect anything to come from it. He was just another random addition to your Snapchat feed—a footballer from Barcelona you vaguely recognized from TV or headlines. You sent a snap of something silly, probably your dog or whatever show you were watching, and forgot about it. But then, he snapped back.
A picture of him after training, his messy hair sticking to his forehead, with a lazy grin and a “How’s it going?” scrawled across the screen in simple white text.
That’s how it all began.
You didn’t think much of it at first—just harmless snaps exchanged throughout the day, keeping things casual. But over time, it turned into something more. The randomness of it faded, and you found yourself looking forward to his snaps. His smile, the goofy faces he’d send when he was tired after training, and the way he’d always ask about your day even if he was exhausted from practice in Barcelona, far away from your home in Córdoba.
There was an easy connection between you two, the kind that felt so natural you didn’t even realize how close you were getting. It wasn’t just about streaks anymore or sending photos of sunsets or what you were eating for dinner. It became long conversations over Snapchat, then texts, and eventually video calls late into the night.
You’d talk about anything and everything. He told you what it was like to balance life as a footballer, the highs of being on the field and the lows of dealing with pressure. You’d share stories about school, your life in Córdoba, and how you’d sneak in time to watch him play whenever you could catch the games on TV.
He’d laugh at your stories, always making you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world. And his laugh—it was addictive. It came out in bursts, sometimes making his whole face light up through the screen, and every time you heard it, you’d feel a little warmer inside.
You didn’t know exactly when your feelings shifted, but suddenly, he wasn’t just a footballer in Barcelona anymore. He was Pau, the guy who made you laugh, who would send you a picture of his breakfast with a silly caption just to brighten your day, who always seemed to know exactly what to say when you were feeling low.
It was innocent, sweet, and yet a little bittersweet too. He was there, on the other side of the screen, but also miles away.
You were in Córdoba. He was in Barcelona.
Still, you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Every morning, you’d wake up to a sleepy selfie from Pau—his hair a mess, his eyes half-closed, but always with a “Buenos días” just for you. And at night, you’d talk until one of you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore, ending the conversation with a quiet “Goodnight.”
One night, after months of this back-and-forth, Pau brought it up.
“I really want to see you,” he said softly over the phone. It was late, and you were both lying in bed, the only sound being his quiet voice and the occasional rustle of sheets as he shifted.
You felt your heart skip a beat, that warm, nervous feeling bubbling up in your stomach. You’d been thinking about it too—about what it would be like to see him in person. But it felt impossible. “I want to see you too,” you whispered, a smile pulling at your lips. “But I mean... how? You’re there, I’m here…”
“I’ll come to Córdoba,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t care. I want to see you.”
You laughed softly, not entirely sure if he was serious. “Yeah? You’re just going to show up at my door?”
“Maybe I will,” he teased. “You never know.”
You brushed it off, not thinking much of it. But in the following days, Pau became a little quieter, not snapping as much, not calling as often. He mentioned being busy with training and travel, and you tried not to worry. Still, you missed him, and the distance felt heavier without your daily chats.
A few days later, you were home alone, lounging on the couch and flipping through your phone. The day had been long, and you felt restless, wishing Pau would call or at least send one of his usual goofy snaps to cheer you up.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed. Not a snap—your doorbell.
Confused, you got up and made your way to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and when you peeked out of the window, your heart stopped.
Pau was standing on your doorstep.
It didn’t seem real at first. Your brain struggled to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. He was just standing there, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket, looking a little nervous but with that familiar, lopsided grin on his face. He gave a small wave, as if he wasn’t sure what else to do.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft but filled with that quiet confidence you knew so well.
You stood there, speechless, for what felt like forever. How was he here? He was supposed to be in Barcelona. Was this a dream? It had to be a dream.
But it wasn’t. This was real. He was real.
“Pau…” you finally whispered, your voice shaky. “What… how…”
He laughed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I told you I’d show up at your door.”
Before you could say anything else, you threw your arms around him. The second you felt his solid, warm presence against you, everything else melted away. He hugged you back immediately, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.
It was the first time you’d ever felt him, really felt him, and it was overwhelming. His heartbeat against your chest, the way he smelled like fresh air and the faint hint of cologne, the warmth of his embrace—it all felt like everything had fallen into place. He held you like he didn’t want to let go, and for the longest time, neither of you moved, just standing there in each other’s arms.
You finally pulled back, just enough to look up at him. His face was inches from yours, his eyes soft and searching as he studied you. He looked nervous, almost shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was really standing in front of you.
“You’re actually here,” you breathed, still trying to wrap your head around it.
“I’m here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I told you I couldn’t wait anymore.”
And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was soft at first, tentative, like neither of you were sure how to handle the moment. But when your lips met his, everything just clicked. His hands cradled your face as he kissed you, his touch gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he needed to feel you, to know you were real.
The kiss was everything you had imagined and more—sweet, slow, a little awkward in the best way possible. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly as his lips moved softly against yours, your heart pounding in your chest. It was a kiss that felt like the culmination of months of waiting, of longing, of wanting something more than just a screen between you.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. His eyes were soft, his lips still curled into that small, shy smile you adored.
“That was… better than I thought it’d be,” he whispered, his voice low and a little shaky, like he was just as overwhelmed as you were.
You laughed softly, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his jacket. “Same.”
He laughed too, the sound light and warm, and suddenly, the nervousness that had been hanging between you disappeared. You felt at ease with him, like you had always known you would.
“So,” you asked, smiling up at him, “how long are you staying?”
“As long as you’ll have me,” he said with a grin, his arms tightening around your waist. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
“Good,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again, “because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
And as you stood there, wrapped up in each other, everything felt right. The distance didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Pau, together at last, and you knew this was only the beginning of something incredible.
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, angsty, fluff!
You are sitting at home, enjoying the quiet of the late afternoon, when your phone rings. The name on the screen makes your heart skip a beat—it's the physiotherapy clinic where Pablo has been doing his recovery training. You answer quickly, anxiety already bubbling up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this y/n?" a worried voice asks.
"Yes, it is. What's going on?"
"It's Pablo. He pulled a muscle during training, and he's not taking it well. He's having a panic attack, and we don't know how to help him. Can you come over?"
Your heart clenches. "I'll be right there."
You grab your keys and rush out the door, your mind racing. Pablo has been working so hard to recover from his injury, and the thought of him in pain and panic makes you feel helpless. You drive as fast as you can without breaking any laws, your thoughts a whirl of worry and determination.
When you arrive at the clinic, one of the physiotherapists greets you at the entrance, her face etched with concern. "He's in the locker room," she says, leading you down a corridor.
You find Pablo alone, sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. His breathing is rapid and shallow, his shoulders trembling with each breath. You can see the strain on his face, the fear in his eyes when he looks up at you.
You kneel down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "Pablo, it's me. I'm here."
His eyes are wide and unfocused, and you can tell he's struggling to get his breathing under control. You take a deep breath yourself, hoping to set an example.
"Pablo, look at me," you say softly. "Just focus on my voice. Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth."
You begin to breathe slowly and deliberately, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You watch his chest rise and fall, trying to match your rhythm. But his breaths are still quick and shallow, and his panic doesn't seem to be easing.
You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "It's going to be okay, Pablo. I'm right here with you."
He squeezes your hand back, but his eyes are still filled with fear. You realize that he needs more than just breathing exercises. You need to try something else.
Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight with anxiety.
"It's okay," you whisper into his ear. "You're safe. I'm here."
For a moment, he stiffens in your embrace, but then he starts to relax, his breathing slowly beginning to steady. You hold him close, rubbing his back in soothing circles.
"I'm scared," he whispers, his voice trembling. "What if I never recover? What if I can't play again?"
Tears fill your eyes as you hold him tighter. "It's okay to be scared," you say softly. "But you're not alone. I'm here with you, and we're going to get through this together."
He clings to you, his body shaking with sobs. You feel his tears wetting your shoulder, but you don't care. All that matters is being there for him, helping him through this moment.
"You are so strong, Pablo," you say, your voice filled with conviction. "You've come so far already, and I know you can keep going. We'll take it one step at a time, and I'll be with you every step of the way."
He nods against your shoulder, his breathing starting to calm. "Thank you," he whispers.
You pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. You brush away his tears with your thumb, giving him a small, reassuring smile. "You're going to be okay," you say firmly. "I believe in you."
He takes a deep breath, his gaze steadying as he looks at you. "I believe in you too," he says quietly.
You sit with him for a while longer, just holding him and letting him know he's not alone. The panic slowly ebbs away, replaced by a fragile sense of calm. When he finally pulls back, there's a new determination in his eyes.
"Let's get you home," you say gently. "You need to rest."
He nods, and you help him to his feet. He leans on you slightly, and you can feel the exhaustion in his body. But there's also a strength there, a resilience that gives you hope.
As you walk out of the clinic together, you can't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude for being there when he needed you, for the bond you share, and for the love that gives both of you the strength to face whatever challenges come your way.
The drive home is quiet but comforting. Pablo holds your hand the entire way, his grip a little tighter than usual, as if he's afraid to let go. You don't mind. You squeeze his hand back, letting him know you're there for him, no matter what.
When you get home, you help him settle onto the couch, propping up his injured leg with some pillows. He sighs in relief, the tension finally easing from his body.
"Do you want something to eat or drink?" you ask, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead.
He shakes his head. "Just stay with me?"
"Of course," you say, sitting down beside him. You take his hand again, your fingers entwined.
He leans his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes. "I don't know what I would have done without you today," he murmurs.
You press a kiss to his temple. "You don't have to do anything alone, Pablo. We're a team, remember?"
He smiles, a small but genuine smile that warms your heart. "Yeah, we are."
The evening passes in a comfortable silence, the two of you just enjoying each other's presence. You watch a movie together, but your mind is more focused on Pablo, on making sure he's okay.
As the night deepens, he starts to doze off, his head still resting on your shoulder. You gently shift, lying down so that he can rest his head on your chest. He snuggles closer, his arms wrapping around you.
"Thank you," he whispers again, his voice thick with sleep.
You run your fingers through his hair, a soothing motion that seems to help him relax even more. "Anytime, Pablo. I'll always be here for you."
He falls asleep in your arms, his breathing deep and even. You watch him for a while, your heart full of love and tenderness. You know that there will be more challenges ahead, more moments of fear and doubt. But you also know that as long as you're together, you can face anything.
As you drift off to sleep, you hold him close, your heart at peace. Because no matter what the future holds, you have each other. And that's all that matters.
Authors note: omg spain won that surprised absolutely no one!!!!
Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, angsty, fluff!
WC: 1000+
You're standing in a crowded bar in the heart of Barcelona, the vibrant music and chatter of people creating a symphony of nightlife around you. You’ve always loved the energy of this place, the Lower East Side vibe transplanted to Spain. Tonight, however, feels different. There’s a tinge of anticipation mingling with your excitement, a flutter of nerves in your stomach as you glance at your phone.
Then, you see him – Marc. Tall, with an effortlessly handsome look that makes your heart race. His eyes light up when he spots you, cutting through the crowd with an easy confidence that always leaves you breathless.
"Hey," he says, pulling you into a warm embrace. The scent of his cologne wraps around you, a comforting familiarity.
"Hey," you reply, your voice soft against his shoulder. "How was training?"
"Exhausting," he laughs, pulling back to look at you with those sparkling eyes. "But seeing you makes it all worth it."
You both grab drinks and find a quieter corner to talk. The conversation flows easily, as it always does with Marc. He tells you about his day, his teammates, the latest locker room banter. But tonight, there's a tension in his eyes, something unsaid lingering between his words.
"You seem distracted," you finally say, placing a hand on his arm. "Is everything okay?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head with a forced smile. "Just a lot on my mind, I guess. But don't worry about it. How was your day?"
You decide not to press further, though the unease lingers. As the night wears on, you lose yourself in the comfort of his presence, pushing the doubts aside.
A week passes, and Marc seems more distant. He’s been busy before, but this feels different. The late-night texts are fewer, the calls shorter, and there’s a vague, disquieting sense of something slipping away.
One evening, as you’re scrolling through Instagram, you see a post from Chelsea Football Club. Your heart stops as you read the headline: "Welcome to Our New Transfer: Marc!". The accompanying photo shows Marc holding a Chelsea jersey, smiling broadly.
Shock and hurt hit you like a tidal wave. He’s leaving Barcelona. He’s leaving you. And he didn’t tell you.
Your phone buzzes with a message from him: "Hey, can we talk?" But you ignore it. Anger and betrayal surge through you. How could he keep something so significant from you? You turn off your phone, needing time to process this on your own.
Days go by, and you try to focus on anything but Marc. Yet, everything reminds you of him – the places you went together, the songs you listened to, the lingering scent of his cologne.
A week later, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find Marc standing there, looking desperate and exhausted.
“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes are filled with a mix of regret and longing that makes your heart ache.
You step aside, letting him in. He stands in your living room, looking around as if trying to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice breaking. “I should have told you about the transfer. I didn’t know how to, and then it all happened so fast. But I can’t leave without telling you how I feel.”
You cross your arms, trying to maintain your anger. Knowing deep down you've missed him loads.
He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And the thought of leaving without you... I can’t do it. Come with me, please. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
The sincerity in his voice breaks down your defenses. Tears fill your eyes as you realize how much you’ve missed him, how much you still love him.
“I love you too, Marc,” you say, your voice trembling.
In an instant, he's closing the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss is urgent, filled with all the emotions of the past week – the anger, the longing, the love. His hands are on your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel his heart racing against yours.
You lose yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his body against yours. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms. His lips move with desperation, as if trying to make up for all the time lost, and you respond with equal intensity, pouring all your emotions into the embrace.
When you finally pull away, you're both breathless. Marc rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.
“Come with me,” he whispers again. “Let’s start a new life together.”
You look into his eyes, seeing the depth of his sincerity and the love that’s always been there. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”
His face breaks into a relieved, joyful smile before he pulls you into another kiss, softer this time but just as intense. His hands move to your face, cradling it gently as his lips explore yours, slow and deliberate.
The kiss deepens, and you feel his hands travel down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, matching the rhythm of your own.
You guide him towards the couch, your bodies entwined. He lowers you down gently, his lips never leaving yours. The heat between you is palpable, every touch, every kiss stoking the flames of desire that have been simmering for so long.
“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not now, not ever.”
“You won’t,” you promise, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “I’m yours, Marc.”
His response is a fervent kiss, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that makes you shiver. You lose yourself in the moment, in the love and passion that’s always been there, just waiting for this moment to be unleashed.
The world outside ceases to exist, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s love and desire.
Hello! I saw you were looking for requests so I figured I'd drop by. How about one with Fermín where his girlfriend is also a professional footballer, and they both mess up/lack confidence after different bad performances so they each comfort each other when they're down?! Hope this makes sense, and I hope you have a great day! 💖
End of the Day - Fermín Lopez
Authors note: I loved writing this! got a bit carried away but oh well 🥹
WC: 1900
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff.
Earlier in the day, you both had gone through your usual pre-game rituals. You had exchanged messages of encouragement, little notes reminding each other to play your hearts out. Fermin had sent you a photo of the two of you from a past victory, both of you beaming with joy, trophies in hand. It was a reminder of what you were capable of, a small beacon of hope to carry into the match.
The game itself had been a blur of frustration and missed opportunities. You had felt the sting of each mistake, the weight of each goal conceded. There were moments when it seemed like everything was slipping through your fingers, the roar of the crowd only adding to the pressure. Fermin had his own struggles on the pitch, each missed pass and blocked shot a reminder of his own recent slump.
The locker room after the game had been a somber place. Teammates exchanged quiet words of support, coaches offered measured critiques, but the atmosphere was heavy. The first loss of the season was because of you.
he journey home was a quiet one. You sat in the back of the taxi, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. Your mind replayed the game over and over, analyzing every moment, every decision. A fan had approached you as you left the stadium, offering a few words of encouragement. It was a small comfort, but it reminded you that there were people who believed in you, who saw your potential even when you struggled to see it yourself.
You walk through the front door of your shared apartment, the weight of another tough game hanging heavy on your shoulders. The familiar scent of home greets you, but it does little to lift your spirits. You can hear Fermin in the kitchen, probably preparing something simple for dinner. He hasn’t performed well lately either, and you both know it. The recent string of poor games has taken its toll on both of you, each loss and mistake chipping away at your confidence.
“Hey,” you call out softly as you drop your bag by the door.
Fermin turns to you, his face lighting up with a tired but genuine smile. “Hey, love. Tough game?”
You nod, crossing the room to where he stands. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Yeah, it wasn’t great. You?”
“Same here,” he admits, resting his chin on top of your head.
After a while, he pulls back, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and affection.
“How about we take a shower and wash off this day?” he suggests.
You nod, feeling a bit of the tension melt away at the thought. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, peeling off your training gear and leaving a trail of clothes behind. The bathroom is warm and inviting, the steam from the shower already filling the space. Fermin turns on the water, adjusting it to just the right temperature before stepping in and holding out his hand to you.
You take his hand and step under the spray, sighing as the hot water cascades over you, washing away the sweat and grime of the day. He reaches for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his palm before working it into your hair. His fingers move with practiced ease, massaging your scalp in gentle, circular motions. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the tension in your shoulders gradually melting away.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. The silence is comfortable, a shared understanding that words aren’t necessary right now. You lean back slightly, letting him rinse the shampoo from your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. As the water runs clear, you turn to face him, your eyes meeting his in a moment of quiet connection.
You take the conditioner and apply it to your hair, your fingers working through the strands as you focus on the sensation. Fermin reaches for the body wash, lathering it between his hands before gently scrubbing your back. His touch is methodical, almost meditative, and you find yourself relaxing into the routine, the familiarity of his hands on your skin grounding you.
As he continues to wash you, you think back to the game. You can still feel the sting of every missed pass, every blocked shot. The frustration bubbles up, but you push it down, focusing instead on the feeling of Fermin’s touch, the warmth of the water, the simple act of being together.
He finishes washing your back and moves to your arms, his hands sliding over your skin with care. You do the same for him, taking the body wash and gently lathering it over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Your movements are slow, deliberate, each touch a reassurance that you’re in this together, that you understand each other’s struggles.
When the water finally turns off, you both step out, toweling off in comfortable silence. The steam dissipates, leaving the bathroom warm and inviting. You change into comfortable clothes— he's wearing a jersey with your name on the back and you're wearing his - that always makes you smile.
Fermin sits on the edge of the bed, his posture slumped, shoulders heavy with the weight of the day. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench and unclench, and you know he’s berating himself, replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity.
You approach quietly, sitting beside him and placing a gentle hand on his back. "Hey," you say softly, your voice a soothing balm in the quiet room. "Talk to me."
He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the floor. "I was terrible out there," he mutters, frustration evident in his tone. "I let the team down. I let the fans down."
You scoot closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Fermin, you’re too hard on yourself. Everyone has off days. It doesn’t define you or your career."
He finally turns to meet your eyes, his expression a mixture of self-doubt and vulnerability. "But it feels like it's been happening too often. I just... I don’t know what’s wrong with me."
You take his hand in yours, squeezing gently. "We all go through slumps. It’s part of being an athlete. The important thing is how you come back from it. You’re one of the best players I know, and you’re going to find your rhythm again."
He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "What if I don’t? What if this is it?"
You shake your head, determination in your voice. "This isn’t it, Fermin. You’re too talented and too driven to let this stop you. Remember why you started playing in the first place? The love for the game, the thrill of every match? That’s still inside you. We just need to find it again."
A small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips. "You always know what to say."
You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "That’s because I believe in you. And I know you’ll get through this. We both will."
He shifts, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."
"You don’t have to," you reply, your own voice soft but steady.
You both lie down, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Fermin pulls you close, his arms a protective cocoon around you. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting reminder of his presence.
"Do you remember why you fell in love with football?" you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
Fermin's eyes light up with a nostalgic glow. "Yeah, I was about five. My dad took me to my first match. The roar of the crowd, the energy in the stadium... It was electrifying. From that moment, I knew I wanted to be out there, on the field, making those same crowds cheer."
You smile, imagining a young Fermin, wide-eyed and filled with wonder. "I had a similar experience. My older brother was playing in a local league, and I used to watch his games every weekend. One day, his coach let me join in on a practice. I was hooked. I loved the challenge, the teamwork, the pure joy of the game."
He nods, his expression thoughtful. "Football has given us so much. But sometimes, it feels like it takes so much too. The pressure, the expectations... It's hard."
"It is," you agree. "But it's also what drives us, right? The desire to be better, to achieve more. It's a double-edged sword."
He takes your hand in his, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. "I sometimes worry that I'm not good enough," he admits quietly. "That I'll never reach the level I want to be at."
"You are good enough," you say firmly, squeezing his hand. "We both are. We just have to remember why we started playing in the first place. The love for the game, the passion. It's easy to forget that when we're caught up in all the noise."
He looks at you, gratitude and love evident in his eyes. "You always know what to say," he murmurs. "You keep me grounded."
"And you keep me hopeful," you reply, your voice soft but sincere. "Together, we'll get through this. We'll keep pushing each other, supporting each other."
Fermin's gaze grows distant for a moment, as if he's looking into the future. "I dream of us both winning our leagues," he says, a smile tugging at his lips. "Lifting those trophies, side by side. And then maybe, one day, coaching our own little team together."
You laugh softly at the thought. "That sounds perfect. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll inspire the next generation of footballers, just like our heroes inspired us."
He pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "No matter what happens, we'll always have each other. That's what matters most."
You nod, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within you. "Always."
In the quiet of the night, you talk about your plans for the future. You discuss training schedules, strategies to improve your game, and ways to balance the demands of your careers with your relationship. Each word is a promise, a commitment to face whatever challenges come your way, together.
As the conversation winds down, you find yourself drifting towards sleep, comforted by the steady rhythm of Fermin's breathing and the warmth of his embrace. Just before you slip into dreams, you hear his voice, soft and filled with love.
"We'll be okay," he whispers. "We'll make it through. I believe in us."
"I believe in us too," you murmur back, your heart swelling with love and determination.
And with that, you drift off, wrapped in each other's warmth, ready to face whatever comes next.
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, just fluff!
summary: your visit home takes an interesting turn.
You find yourself at the edge of your childhood town, where the houses are smaller, and the roads are narrower. The memories you buried resurface with each step you take down the familiar streets. Your parents have moved away, but you’re back to help with selling the old house. It’s been years since you were last here, and everything looks both familiar and alien.
You didn’t expect to feel so much, and the emotions that swirl inside you are a complex blend of nostalgia and regret. You wonder how much Pablo has changed since you last saw him. Your heart tightens at the thought of him, your childhood best friend, your almost-love.
The door to your old house creaks open, and a flood of memories rushes in. You recall the countless hours spent playing in the backyard, the late-night conversations, and the moments of unspoken affection that you and Pablo shared. You remember the summer evenings when the two of you would sit on the porch, your shoulders brushing against each other, the air filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the sound of crickets.
Back then, you didn’t need words to communicate. A glance, a touch, a smile were enough. You both knew what the other was thinking. But as you grew older, the unspoken bond became more complicated. Pablo started to avoid you, his laughter no longer a constant presence in your life. The day he introduced his girlfriend, Sofia, was the day you felt a piece of your heart crumble.
You hear a knock on the door, and your heart skips a beat. It’s Mrs. Ramirez from next door, holding a plate of cookies like she always used to. She’s aged, but her smile is as warm as ever.
“Welcome back, dear. I saw the lights on and thought I’d bring you some of my famous cookies,” she says.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ramirez. It’s good to be back, even if just for a while,” you reply, taking the plate from her.
She nods, her eyes softening. “You know, Pablo still asks about you whenever he’s in town. He’s in town for the summer break.”
Your heart races at the mention of his name. “Oh, really? How is he?”
She smiles knowingly. “Why don’t you find out for yourself? He’s helping with the football clinic at the high school.”
You thank her and close the door, leaning against it. The thought of seeing Pablo again fills you with a mixture of excitement and dread. You decide to go to the high school, unable to resist the pull of your past.
The high school football field is bustling with activity, just like it always was during the summer. You spot Pablo almost immediately. He’s taller, more muscular, and his once-boyish face now has the chiseled features of a man. But his eyes are the same, warm and inviting, and when they meet yours, you see a flicker of recognition and something more.
“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Hey,” he replies, a smile spreading across his face. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, it has. How have you been?”
“Good, good. Just busy with football and trying to give back to the community when I can. What about you?”
You both exchange the usual pleasantries, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, a thousand unspoken words hanging between you. The conversation lulls, and you both stand there, unsure of what to say next.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Pablo asks suddenly.
You nod, and the two of you leave the bustling field behind. The streets are quieter now, the sun casting long shadows as it begins to set. You walk in silence for a while, the comfortable silence that once defined your friendship.
“I missed you,” Pablo says finally, breaking the silence.
You stop, turning to face him. “I missed you too. Why did you pull away?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I was scared. Scared of what I felt for you. Sofia was...a distraction, a way to try and forget.”
“Did it work?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
“No,” he admits, looking down. “I thought it would, but it didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop wishing things were different.”
You reach out, touching his arm gently. “Pablo, I felt the same way. But I was scared too. I thought you didn’t want me.”
He looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and hope. “I always wanted you. I still do.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past lifting from your shoulders. “So, what now?”
“Now,” he says, taking your hand in his, “we start over. We don’t have to be scared anymore.”
The walk continues, but this time, your hands are intertwined. You talk about everything and nothing, catching up on the years you lost. There’s an ease between you, a sense of rightness that neither of you can deny.
Over the next few days, you and Pablo spend more time together, rediscovering the bond that once defined your lives. It’s as if no time has passed, and yet everything has changed. You visit old haunts, laugh over shared memories, and talk about your hopes and dreams. The connection that was once so fragile now feels unbreakable.
One evening, as the sun sets, you find yourselves back on the porch of your old house. The air is filled with the scent of jasmine, and the crickets are singing their familiar song. Pablo turns to you, his eyes reflecting the fading light.
“I’ve never stopped loving you,” he says softly. “And I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
Tears fill your eyes as you reach for his hand. “I love you too, Pablo. I always have.”
He leans in, and the kiss is tender, filled with years of longing and unspoken words. It’s a promise of a future together, a future that both of you are ready to embrace.
As the days turn into weeks, you and Pablo become inseparable once more. The town, with its narrow streets and small houses, becomes a place of new beginnings rather than old regrets. You find a job at a local gallery, and Pablo continues his football career, traveling for games but always returning home to you. Together, you build a life that’s filled with love, laughter, and the kind of happiness that only comes from being with the person you were meant to be with.
One evening, after one of Pablo's games, you find yourselves back at your place, the excitement of his victory still buzzing in the air. You’re on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing little kisses, unable to stop now that you have each other. The TV is on in the background, but neither of you is paying attention. All that matters is this moment, the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his lips on your skin.
“I don’t ever want to let you go,” Pablo murmurs, his voice husky with emotion.
“Then don’t,” you whisper back, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”
He smiles, pulling you closer. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you reply, feeling the truth of the words deep in your heart.
As the night wears on, you and Pablo continue to hold each other, the unspoken promises of a future together hanging in the air. You know that there will be challenges ahead, with his demanding career and the complexities of life, but for now, in this moment, everything is perfect.
You drift off to sleep in his arms, dreaming of all the possibilities that lie ahead. And as you wake up the next morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, you know that you’ve finally found your way back to each other, and nothing will ever come between you again.
hii, i don’t know if you do it but can you do type of boyfriend of héctor fort pleasee?
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to ...
Authors note: I've never wrote anything for Héctor before and he honestly gives me player vibes😭 i hope yall are having a good day/night/morning!!!❤️
Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to listen attentively. - He pays close attention when you talk, showing genuine interest in your thoughts and feelings.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to spoil you. - Whether it's a handwritten note, a new piece of jewelry, or a bouquet with your favorite flowers. He knows how to make you feel special.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to share his passion for football. - He invites you to his games and you're of course wearing his jersey.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to let you wear his medal when he wins something. - He thinks it looks better on you.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to blow you kisses on facetime. - Even though you can't join him at away games, he still makes you feel loved no matter the distance.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to send flowers to your apartment. - He just likes surprising you with them and of course it includes a cute note saying he misses and loves you.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to send gifs as if his life depended on it. - He's happy, gif. He's sad, gif. He's mad, gif. There's always an appropriate one.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to be affectionate in private and public. - Oh he. is. whipped.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to give you hickeys. - He sees the way the other la masia guys look at you.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to be aware of the sidewalk rule. - He once saw a video of it on tiktok and now when walking on the street, he makes sure to walk on the side closest to the road.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to carry you if your feet hurt. - He knows your knees (hot girls have knee problems) and feet hurt after you've walked on heels, so he offers to carry you.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to ask you to play with his hair. - He doesn't like anyone touching his hair except for you.
Héctor is the type of boyfriend to buy you a necklace with his initials engraved in it. - Seeing you wear his initials does something to him.
Authors note: why do schools feel the need to give sm work when the weather is nice
WC: 700+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff.
send me requestsss 🫶🫶
You sit on the edge of the sofa, phone clutched tightly in your hand, eyes flicking from the muted television to the closed door of your shared apartment. Your heart races with a mixture of anticipation and hope. Fermín, your boyfriend, has been waiting for this moment his entire life, and you’ve been waiting right alongside him.
The past weeks have been a whirlwind of tension and excitement. Every time the phone rang, both of you would jump, hoping it was the call from de la Fuente himself. You’ve seen Fermín play his heart out on the field, every match an audition, every goal and assist a plea to be noticed.
Today, though, feels different. There’s a buzz in the air, a kind of electricity that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. Fermín left for training this morning with a determined look in his eyes, more focused than usual, if that’s even possible.
As you glance at the clock, you realize he’s due back any minute now. You stand, unable to sit still, pacing the room. The TV, still on mute, shows highlights from last night’s games. You spot Fermín in one of the clips, effortlessly dodging defenders and setting up the winning goal. A smile spreads across your face, pride swelling in your chest.
The sound of keys jangling in the lock snaps you back to the present. The door swings open, and there he is—Fermín, your Fermín. His usually confident stride is hesitant, and his expression unreadable. Your heart skips a beat as he steps inside.
“Hey,” you say softly, trying to gauge his mood. He looks up at you, and for a moment, you can’t read his eyes.
Then, slowly, a smile breaks across his face, growing wider until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I got the call,” he says, voice trembling with excitement and disbelief.
You let out a scream of joy, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you, laughing, spinning you around in a jubilant dance. “You did it! You really did it!”
“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you close. “I’m going to play for Spain.”
You pull back to look at him, tears of happiness in your eyes. “I knew you would. I’ve always known.”
The two of you collapse onto the sofa, still holding each other tightly. He tells you about the call, about how the coach praised his performance and dedication. You listen, hanging on every word, your heart soaring with pride.
As Fermín talks, your mind drifts back to when you first saw him play. He was just a teenager then, full of raw talent and unrefined skill. You remember the muddy fields and cold mornings, the way he would practice for hours, driven by a dream. You stood by him, cheering at every match, nursing his bruises, and celebrating his victories. Each step he took, you were there, his biggest fan and unwavering support.
“We should celebrate,” you say, jumping up. You decide to cook his favorite meal, filling the apartment with the rich, comforting scents of home-cooked food. Fermín calls his parents, his voice animated as he shares the news. Later, you both head out to your favorite spot in the city, a little ice cream parlour with a view of the sea, to toast to his success under the starlit sky.
The conversation naturally drifts to what comes next. The training camps, the matches, the possibility of playing in the Eurocopa. You discuss the logistics, the travel, and the new routines you’ll both need to adapt to. There’s excitement in the uncertainty, a sense of adventure in the new chapter unfolding before you. Fermín squeezes your hand, promising that no matter how busy things get, you’ll always come first.
Back at home, you give him a small, wrapped box. Inside is a bracelet with a simple charm—a small football and a heart intertwined. “For luck,” you say, fastening it around his wrist. He pulls you close, his eyes soft with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispers, and you know he means it.
As the evening fades into night, you talk about the future, your dreams intertwined. Through it all, Fermín keeps one arm around you, as if he can’t bear to let you go.
Authors note: Sorry for ghosting! I've been working on my final projects one is about ancient civilisations and the other about women's football so a lot of reading🥲
WC: 1300+
warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, angsty but not really angst, fluff.
send me requestsss 🫶🫶
The school ball was in full swing, the gym transformed into a dazzling dance floor with twinkling lights and music filling the air. You and Pau had decided to attend together as friends, looking forward to a night of laughter and dancing.
As the evening progressed, you found yourselves lost in the rhythm of the music, spinning and twirling on the dance floor with carefree abandon. Pau's laughter echoed in your ears as you shared jokes and whispered secrets.
But then, as you went to refill your drink, you caught sight of Pau in the hallway, his lips locked with the one person you least expected – the girl who had always been inexplicably mean to you. The sight sent a pang of hurt and betrayal coursing through you, the music fading into the background as your heart shattered into a million pieces.
Without a word, you turned and fled, tears blurring your vision as you stumbled into the nearest bathroom. The sobs wracked your body as you leaned against the sink, the weight of the evening's events crashing down on you all at once.
Minutes passed in a blur as you tried to compose yourself, the echoes of laughter and music from the ballroom filtering through the walls. But the pain in your chest only grew with each passing moment, the image of Pau and that girl seared into your mind like a brand.
Finally, with a deep breath, you straightened up, wiping away the tears with shaking hands. You couldn't bear to stay at the ball a moment longer, not when your heart felt like it had been torn in two.
With one last glance in the mirror to make sure your red eyes weren't too obvious, you squared your shoulders and left the bathroom, determined to put on a brave face and leave the night behind you.
As you walked away from the ballroom, the sound of laughter and music fading into the distance, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at your insides. You didn't know what you would say to Pau, or if you would even be able to face him at all. All you knew was that the pain in your heart was too raw, too real, to confront just yet.
-
The rays of the sun twinkled warmly around the living room, and the scent of summer air filled the house. Yet, the usually happy atmosphere was marred by the tension between you and Pau. It had been this way since the thing that happened just before the break. The image of Pau kissing that girl was seared into your mind, and the hurt still lingered.
You and Pau had been best friends for as long as you could remember. Your families always celebrated things together, and your graduation party was no different. But this time, you tried to avoid him as much as possible, he knew why but he was too ashamed of his previous actions, the pain of the recent events casting a shadow over the celebrations.
You wandered into the kitchen, hoping to escape the awkwardness. Irene, Pau's sister, watched you with a knowing look. She had noticed the cold distance between you and Pau. Determined to mend things, she hatched a plan.
Later that evening, as you were heading upstairs to grab something from your room, Irene cornered you. "Come with me," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Confused, you followed her. She led you to the bathroom, and to your surprise, Pau was already there. Before you could protest, Irene shoved you inside and quickly locked the door.
"Sort this out," she commanded through the door. "You two are ruining your own graduation party."
You turned to Pau, who was leaning against the sink, looking equally frustrated and embarrassed. "This is ridiculous," you muttered, crossing your arms.
Pau sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. But maybe she's right. We need to talk."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You glared at him, the anger and hurt bubbling up. "Why did you kiss her, Pau?" you demanded, your voice trembling.
He looked taken aback by your question, his eyes shifting away from yours. "I don't know," he mumbled. "It just happened."
You scoffed, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "It just happened? That's all you have to say?"
He straightened up, frustration clear on his face. "What do you want me to say? That it was a mistake? Because it was! I didn't think it would matter so much to you."
"It does matter, Pau! You just had to kiss her! Why her?" you shot back, your voice breaking.
"Why does it matter so much to you?" he demanded, stepping closer. "You're acting like it broke your heart or something."
You stared at him, the dam of your emotions finally breaking. "Because it did!" you cried, tears streaming down your face. "It broke my heart, Pau. I've been in love with you for years, and seeing you with her felt like a knife in my heart."
The shock on his face mirrored your own surprise at your outburst. A heavy silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of your quiet sobs. The minutes ticked by, each second dragging on as the weight of unspoken feelings hung in the air.
Finally, Pau took a deep breath and broke the silence. "You... love me?" he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of hope and fear.
You nodded, wiping at your tears. "Yes, you idiot. I love you. I didn't know how to tell you, and then seeing you with her... I just couldn't take it."
He looked down, guilt and realization washing over his features. "I didn't know," he said softly. "I thought... I thought maybe if you saw me with someone else, you'd realize how much you mean to me."
You sniffled, the anger starting to dissipate. "Well, it worked," you muttered, your voice still shaky. "But it hurt, Pau. It really hurt."
He stepped closer, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn't know what to do. I've been so confused about my feelings for you. I've been trying to understand why seeing you with other people makes me so angry, why I can't stand the thought of losing you. And then I kissed her because I thought it would help me figure things out, but it only made everything worse. I love you, but I didn't know how to admit it, and now I've fucked up and I don't—"
You interrupted his rambling by grabbing his face and kissing him passionately. The words died on his lips as he melted into the kiss, all the tension and confusion dissolving in the warmth of your embrace.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless, the room filled with a new, electrifying tension. Pau looked at you, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and joy. "You kissed me," he murmured, almost in disbelief.
You smiled through your tears, nodding. "Yes, because I love you, Pau. And I needed you to stop talking and just understand that."
A slow smile spread across his face, and he pulled you into another embrace. "I love you too," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it."
Irene's voice interrupted your moment. "Are you two done in there?" she called through the door.
You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. "Yeah, we're good."
The door unlocked, and Irene peeked in, grinning. "About time," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now come on, it's your graduation party. Let's go celebrate."
Hand in hand, you and Pau followed Irene back downstairs, ready to enjoy the holiday together, knowing that your friendship had blossomed into something even more beautiful.
hii, could you write something about the reader being fermins sister and is secretly dating gavi? they have these cute little secret meetups in her room but fermin then catches them and isn’t very pleased🫠 you can end the fic however you want:) (i hope for fluff tho lmao)
tyy!💞
Hidden Hearts - Pablo Gavi
Authors note: thank you for a 100 followers like thats crazyyy
Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, not proofread
WC: 1350 ish
Summary: basically what the request says:))
The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow through your bedroom window, illuminating the soft, pastel colors of your room. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from the bouquet Pablo brought you earlier. He sits across from you on the bed, his hand gently holding yours as you talk in hushed voices, the familiarity and comfort between you undeniable. Every secret meeting with him feels like stolen moments of pure happiness.
You're both aware of the risks involved, especially living with your brother Fermín, who is not only overprotective but also Pablo's close friend. The thought of him finding out about your relationship has always been daunting. Yet, in this moment, with Pablo's warm eyes gazing into yours, the world outside seems distant.
Pablo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, you hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Panic sets in, but there's no time to react. Fermín's voice calls out, "Y/N, are you home?"
Before you can even think of an excuse, the door to your bedroom swings open. Fermín stands there, his expression shifting from confusion to shock and then to anger as he takes in the scene before him. "What the hell is going on here?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
"Pablo, get out," Fermín says, his tone brooking no argument.
Pablo looks at you, worry etched on his face, but he nods and reluctantly leaves the room. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. Fermín turns to you, his eyes flashing with hurt and betrayal. "How long has this been going on?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Fermín, I can explain—"
"How long?" he repeats, more forcefully this time.
"Six months," you admit, tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to hurt you."
"Too late for that," he says coldly before turning and leaving the room.
The next few days are unbearable. Fermín barely speaks to you, and you know from Pablo that he's ignoring him at training too. The weight of the silence in the apartment feels crushing. You hate seeing your brother this way, but you also can't bear the thought of losing Pablo.
One afternoon, as Fermín heads out for training, you see him talking to Pedri. They stand by the door for a moment, and you can tell by the way Pedri glances your way that Fermín is telling him about you and Pablo. A little while later, you receive a text from Pablo saying that Fermín has been distant and cold during training, avoiding him completely.
The following evening, you’re sitting alone in the living room, the silence around you pressing in. You can't take it anymore. You grab your phone and text Pablo, asking him to meet you at the park. The same park where you shared countless secret moments.
When you arrive, Pablo is already there, sitting on the bench where you first confessed your feelings for each other. He looks up as you approach, his eyes filled with concern. "How are you holding up?" he asks softly.
"Horrible honestly," you admit, sitting down beside him. "I hate seeing Fermín like this. I hate that he's hurt."
Pablo wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "We just need to give him time."
As the days pass, the tension between you, Fermín, and Pablo remains palpable. You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off. The laughter and easy conversation that once filled the apartment have been replaced by awkward silences and curt exchanges. One evening, you find Fermín in the kitchen, staring out the window. Gathering your courage, you approach him.
"Fermín, can we talk?" you ask quietly.
He turns to you, his expression guarded. "About what?"
"About everything," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I hate this. I hate that you're upset and that you're hurt. But I love Pablo, and I need you to understand that."
Fermín sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about you loving him. It's about trust. You and Pablo kept this from me. That hurts."
"I know," you say, tears welling up in your eyes. "And I'm sorry. We were scared of how you'd react. We didn't want to lose you."
He looks at you for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I get it. But it's going to take time for me to get over this."
Meanwhile, at training, Pedri watches Fermín closely. He sees the way Fermín avoids Pablo, the way his shoulders tense up whenever Pablo is nearby. During a break, Pedri approaches Fermín.
"Hey, what's going on with you lately? You've been off," Pedri says, his tone gentle but firm.
Fermín sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's Pablo and Y/N. They're dating. And they kept it from me."
Pedri nods thoughtfully. "I get that you're upset, man, but have you thought about why they might have kept it a secret? Maybe they were scared of exactly this reaction."
"They should have trusted me," Fermín mutters.
"True, but love makes people do crazy things," Pedri replies. "Do you really think Pablo would ever hurt her? And you know your sister better than anyone. If she's with Pablo, it's because she loves him. Maybe you should talk to them, understand their side."
Fermín looks down, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something softer. "I don't know, Pedri. It's just... hard."
"I know it is," Pedri says gently. "But pushing them away isn't going to help. You're all friends, and family. Don't let this break that."
That evening, Fermín comes home and hesitates outside your door before finally knocking. "Can we talk?" he asks, his voice much softer than before.
You nod, motioning for him to sit. He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm sorry for how I reacted. I just... I was hurt. But I realize now that I didn't give you a chance to explain."
You take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I never wanted to hurt you, Fermín. I love Pablo, but I love you too. You're my brother, and that will never change."
Fermín nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I just want you to be happy. Both of you."
Later that night, Pablo joins you and Fermín in the living room. The atmosphere is tense at first, but as the evening progresses, it starts to feel like old times. By the end of the night, Fermín pulls you both into a hug. "Let's not keep secrets anymore, okay?"
"Agreed," you and Pablo say in unison, relief flooding through you.
As the three of you sit together, laughter filling the room, Fermín suddenly turns to Pablo, his expression serious. "But Pablo, remember this: if you ever break her heart, I will break you. Understood?"
Pablo nods earnestly, "Understood. I promise I'll never hurt her."
Fermín's stern face softens into a smile. "Good. Now, let's order some pizza and enjoy the rest of the night."
In the days that follow, things slowly return to normal. Fermín starts to thaw towards Pablo during training, and the playful banter between them begins to reemerge. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, Fermín claps Pablo on the back.
"Good job today," he says, a genuine smile on his face.
Pablo grins, relief washing over him. "Thanks, man. Means a lot."
Back at the apartment, you and Fermín find yourselves talking more, sharing stories and laughing like you used to. One evening, as you're all sitting together, Pedri joins you, and the four of you share a meal, the camaraderie and bond stronger than ever.
As the night draws to a close, you look around at your brother, your boyfriend, and your friend, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. Despite the challenges and the initial hurt, love and understanding have prevailed.
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