Claires..blogs

[m0ncheriiiss]

Claire & CC ❤︎︎ She/Her ❤︎︎ ⁂༄☼ nyc

: 19 y/o

❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹

Minors and men dni , asks & requests are open ⇝ I mainly write Fernando Mendoza & Arch Manning , but feel free to request anyone else !

[m0ncheriiiss]

Guys the Fernando drought is hitting me hard 🫩 If you have any Fernando Mendoza fics coming up please tell me. I'm so desperate

[anythingbutlovee]

I need a fic of Fernando just yapping readers ear off. Like she doesn’t even know wtf hes saying and then just flashes her tits and he gets distracte

an : SUPER SHORT, I'm not gonna make a header for this one I feel like crud todsy 💔

Fernado had been talking non stop for what felt like hours, he had gone on so many side tangents that you've forgotten why he even came into your shared bedroom in the first place. “Fernado, baby.” trying to get his attention, didn't work, he was still going on about some random documentary he had watched. 

Whenever Fernando hyper fixated on something it was like that's all he could think of or talk about, nothing could pull him out of it. An idea crossed your mind, something that would definitely get his attention, getting up from his touch, “wait, where are you going?” he stopped mid sentence, “I need to get out of this shirt it itches.” not a total lie. Fernando watched your every move like a brand new puppy learning his new owners routines.

Pulling your shirt off in front of the closet, making a big deal about shuffling through the racks to find a suitable shirt. Fernando was drooling even now, “hey baby where's that blue shirt i wore to the beach.” spinning around to face him, his brain didn't even process your question, a messed up “in the basket.” fell out of his lips. "Fernando honey you've seen me naked thousands of times” ruffling his hair as you walk by to the basket he pointed too. “Yeah but it doesn't change much.” He was clearly trying to regroup himself, cheeks flustered and eyes blown wide. 

You had found the shirt you wanted but the itch to tease this poor flustered man was still there, “what do you want for dinner?” innocently asking him, “you.” he quickly responded. “No like actual food.” scolding him, which only just turned him on more. “Ill be in the kitchen if you need me.” leaving him there confused, lost on why he even came in here and so so riled up. “Youre gonna kill me one day woman.” he grumbled to himself before hunting you down to enact his “revenge.”

tell me what you thoughtttt!! + like & reblog to support writers!!

[joshysonly]

there’s a guy at the baseball game that looks just like fernando mendoza but like he’s kinda scrawny and i can’t do a guy that’s thinner than me but his facial features are the EXACT SAME

[joshysonly]

he’s also definitely a frat loser ughh fernando i just need you baby the look a-likes are NOT it

[m0ncheriiiss]

hello, I was wondering if you could make a Fernando Mendoza smut by any chance. The lack of Fernando Mendoza smuts or flics are crazyy!!

No literally! I have one in my drafts that im trying to finish. Class is kicking my ass 🫩

[m0ncheriiiss]

Could I plzzz request anything Charlie? maybe like argument or honestly anything

Yess, i'll try. I have been so busy and i have so many requests in the drafts that i need to finish, but i'll see what i can do!

[joshysonly]

soooo like… anyone got any new nando fics?? it’s been two days and i’m having withdrawals

[what1ncewas]

I've Got You Under My Skin (Part Three)

[Fernando Mendoza x fem!reader]

Summary: Everyone loves Fernando Mendoza. His teammates, his competitors, the media. He is College Football's golden boy. Everyone loves him, except for Alberto's childhood best friend, and he can't understand why she hates him. Warnings: jealous Fernando heh 😼 A/N: i PROMISE this is the last part 😭 this might just be the worst thing i have ever written ever but it's okay because i tried my best!

Fernando turned to look at her and positioned his body so that he was facing her. "Y/N, are you in love with me?"

She swore her heart stopped beating as soon as Fernando spoke. All the color drained from her face, and her eyes glanced around the room in search of a way to desperately get herself out of this situation.

He was staring at her, his eyes never leaving her figure, almost like he was in disbelief. Y/N wanted to curl into a ball and cry, knowing that he knew her true feelings.

Y/N was going to kill Alberto Mendoza the next time she saw him. She knew he had told Fernando, because he was the only one who did know about her secret. She didn't trust anyone like she trusted Alberto.

"Yes," she confessed quietly, surprised by her own ability to formulate one word. Y/N stood up and stood on the opposite side of the coffee table so that she had some space between herself and Fernando.

Even though Alberto had told him, Fernando was still in denial. But as soon as those words came out of Y/N's mouth, it was like his world came to a halt. The girl that he couldn't get out of his mind, the girl that he couldn't figure out, was in love with him. She didn't hate him, she loved him.

"How long have you felt like this?"

Y/N shrugged. She felt pathetic. "Does it matter?"

His face fell. "Of course it matters, Y/N. Your feelings matter to me. How could you keep this a secret for so long?"

"Because you and I, Fernando, we're never going to happen!" Y/N's voice was raised as she spoke, but it was still quiet enough not to disturb anyone else in the house. "I kept it to myself for so many years because I knew that nothing could ever happen between us."

"What are you talking about?" His brows were furrowed in confusion. When Fernando tried to move closer to her, she moved away from him. "Y/N-"

"Look, this isn't some stupid fanfiction, or something, alright?" Y/N said. "You're you, Fernando Mendoza, Cal's quarterback, and you've got this whole life ahead of you that I can't wait to see. But, I can't be apart of it, I don't deserve to be." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "God, I've been so awful to you over the years, and I'm so sorry. I was trying to protect my own feelings and I disregarded yours in the process."

"It's okay, Y/N," he told her softly. "You don't have to apologize, you didn't do anything wrong." He reached over and handed her a tissue. "You already are apart of my life, and I can't imagine it without you in it. Is it so wrong to want you in my life as more than just my brother's best friend?"

Y/N laughed solemnly. "Fernando, this is all you and I can ever be. I can't be apart of your world, I don't belong on it."

"That's not true," Fernando argued desperately. "What if you're everything I've ever needed?"

"I'm not, Fernando," Y/N stated, though her resolve was beginning to dissolve. "I'm not perfect, and you deserve someone who is. I don't deserve to be with someone like you. You're the most gentle, kind, and genuine person I know, and you deserve someone better than me. Someone that the world loves as much as it loves you."

"Y/N, please," he practically begged. His hands were clasped together and his eyes were beginning to water. "Don't say that about yourself. You-"

"Stop," Y/N cut him off as kindly as she could. "This is how it has to be, okay? I'm going to go upstairs, and tomorrow, we're both going to act like this never happened."

"Y/N, no, you mean so much more to me than you know. Don't do this."

"I'm going to bed," she announced. Tears streaming down her face, Y/N smiled as best as she could at Fernando. "Goodnight, Fernando." She didn't spare him another glance as she practically sprinted up the stairs and into his bedroom.

She quickly took off her clothes and put on a night gown. Y/N rushed into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and hoped to God Fernando wasn't in the room just yet.

He wasn't.

Y/N took two pillows that had been placed on the floor and moved them onto the bed. She arranged them so that they were in the middle of the bed, making it clear that there were two seperate sides: her side and Fernando's side.

Wiping her tears for hopefully the final time, Y/N laid herself in bed and closed her eyes, wishing that this day was just a nightmare that she could wake up from.

Fernando, meanwhile, was making his way upstairs. He had collected himself enough and decided that he need to tell Y/N that he loved her. Because he did. He hated himself for how long it took for him to realize his own feelings, but he knew he had to tell her.

He was in love with Y/N.

When he opened the door to his bedroom, his heart sunk.

Y/N was asleep, and a pillow wall had been built in his bed.

It was clear to him what she was trying to say.

Alberto had awoken in a very good mood. The sun was shining in his bedroom, he was on winter break, and his brother and his best friend had (hopefully) confessed their love for one another.

So, when he had walked into the kitchen, he hadn't expected to see Y/N sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him like an assassin waited for their target. But he did.

"Oh," he commented, surprised. "Good morning, Y/N."

Her face hardened. "It's not, actually," she said. "Because you, apparently, can't keep a secret."

The middle Mendoza brother cringed. "Uh, yeah, about that..."

"You had no right," Y/N stated, her voice not wavering. "Why would you ever tell him that? I don't understand. What were you trying to do?"

"I- Y/N, he-"

"No, he doesn't," Y/N cut him off, her hand in the air. "And, even if he did, it doesn't matter. Fernando and I, we're never going to work. We're too different."

Alberto raised his brows. "Y/N, he told me he loves you. He feels the same. I don't- I don't understand why you're not happy."

"This isn't just some guy, Alberto. This is your brother we're talking about, okay? Fernando's not just some random guy from school. He has a life to consider, a future to consider, and I won't let my feelings get in the way of his future, of his dreams."

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N?" asked Alberto. "Can't you just let yourself be happy? Is it so wrong to put yourself first for once?"

Y/N bit her lip. "I can't do that to him. Fernando shouldn't have to settle just because I have feelings for him. He shouldn't have to waste his time with me. I'm not worth it."

His frown deepened. He hated seeing her like this. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I know that I had no right to tell him."

"It's okay." Y/N nodded, because it was okay. She knew that the dream of being with Fernando was just that; A dream. "I'm not mad at you."

Alberto moved to bring Y/N into a hug, his arms around her shoulders and her arms around his midsection. Despite the fact that he was younger than her, he was still taller. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, too, Alberto." Y/N smiled up at him as he pressed a small kiss on her forehead. "Now, can I have your help on what I should wear on my date?"

As quick as lightning, Alberto separated himself from Y/N and made a face. "Are you serious? You're still going to go on that date?"

"Uh, why wouldn't I?" Y/N wondered. "Oh, because I'm hopelessly and desperately in love with your older brother and therefore cannot speak to another man?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." Alberto let out a pained laugh when Y/N gently elbowed him in the ribs.

She took his hand in her own and practically dragged him upstairs so they could look through her suitcase. "Okay, so I'm thinking my little black dress. Thoughts?"

"Absolutely not. I'm thinking sweatpants and a hoodie."

"And I'm thinking you're not going to be that helpful."

Fernando had never been so miserable in his entire life.

Right now, he was sat on the couch, his phone in hand as he tried to distract himself from the fact that:

The girl that he was in love with loved him back.

She was getting ready to go on a date with another guy.

Yeah, he was pretty sure that his life couldn't get much worse than how it was currently.

It was only him, his brothers, and Y/N who were home. His parents had been invited to some neighborhood party that the boys had no interest in going to.

So, Fernando was stuck at home, wallowing in his own feelings and cursing his bad luck. He and Max were sat on the couch, watching some hockey game that he couldn't bring himself to care about. Alberto was standing at the window, waiting for Y/N's date to arrive.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" Max questioned, looking away from the TV for a fleeting moment. "That's kind of creepy."

"Yeah, well, this guy is creepy. I still can't believe she's actually going on a date with him," Alberto replied, using his hands to move the blinds out of the way so he had a better view.

The click of high heels suddenly echoed throughout the room. The three brothers turned their heads to see Y/N descending down the stairs.

Fernando swore he couldn't breathe.

Y/N was wearing black boots that reached just below her knee, a long-sleeved black dress with bell sleeves and black tights. Her lips were painted a dark red, and her hair sat perfectly on her shoulders.

"You look pretty, Y/N!" exclaimed Max. Y/N giggled softly as she walked over and ruffled his hair.

"Thanks, Max," Y/N murmured. She sent him a wink, causing Max to grin widely. "I can only hope my date is as nice as you are." When her gaze landed on Fernando, her face flushed.

He was staring. He was staring at her with a kind of intensity that made her stomach flutter. "You look beautiful," he whispered.

She pursed her lips together, and for a moment, she wanted to declare her love for him right then and there. All she longed to do was take him by the hand and kiss him, but she knew she couldn't. It wouldn't be right.

Before Y/N could respond, Alberto let out a sudden groan. "He's here," he announced. He then shouted, "He's not even going to get out of the car! What an asshole."

"Alberto," Y/N chided. "I'm going to go get my coat."

"I'm going to go give this guy a piece of my mind," Alberto threatened lowly.

Y/N's mouth dropped. She looked to Fernando for help, knowing that he was the most level-headed out of all three brothers. "Fernando..." she complained. "Don't let him go outside."

"Don't worry, Y/N, I won't," he assured her, but there was something in his voice that had changed. It was deeper, more serious. "Because I'm going to go out myself."

She struggled to find the words to speak. "What is wrong with you two?" she shouted as she went into the kitchen to go get her coat.

Alberto walked away from the window and stood in front of his older brother. "Fernando, go tell her how you feel."

For a moment, the jealous expression on Fernando's face faltered. "What?"

"She loves you, Fernando. Go tell her. There is no way Y/N goes on this date if you tell her."

"But-"

"Go!" Alberto demanded.

Fernando knew his brother was right. With an encouraging thumbs-up from Max, Fernando followed after Y/N.

He found her standing in the kitchen, struggling to put on her jacket. He could tell she was nervous. Her brows were pinched together, and she was biting her lip in concentration as she struggled to put her arms through the sleeves.

It was the normal action in the world, but Fernando swore he could watch her like this forever.

"Y/N," he said. Her head turned around to face him. "I love you."

She froze. Her lips parted in confusion, and she blinked rapidly. "Fernando-"

"You are the only girl I've ever, and could ever love. I love you so much, it drives me nuts. The thought of you going on a date with that guy makes me sick to my stomach. You're all I think about, Y/N. Whether I'm in class, or on the field, my mind can't think about anything but you."

She breathed his name out. "Fernando," she muttered. "You and I-"

"I don't know why you won't let me love you," he said. "Nothing you could ever do could make me change how I feel about you. When I think about my future, the only constant in it is you. You are always there, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love you, Y/N."

Y/N was now crying. Her mascara was beginning to run, and she was standing with her arms by her side. He crossed the room and moved so that he was standing in front of her.

Fernando towered over her. He used his thumb to wipe away her tears. The sight of her crying made his chest ache.

"I love you, Fernando," she whispered. "Even when you're thousands of miles away from me, there's no one that I think about but you."

He smiled. Fernando leaned down and hesitated, but then captured Y/N's lips with his own. His hands gently cradled her face, and her hands rested on his abdomen. When they parted, Y/N let out a giggle as Fernando began to kiss her all over her face.

She felt like she was dreaming. The feeling of his lips on her skin, on her own lips, was a feeling that she could never forget.

"So, can I tell this guy to go home?" Alberto's voice cut into their moment.

The two turned around, Y/N's face flushed from being caught. Fernando was now standing behind her, his arm around her waist so that she was against his back.

"No, I'll go tell him," Y/N tried to insist.

Fernando immediately shook his head. "No, you won't," he told her. "Alberto will." Alberto cheered and practically flew out the door. Fernando then turned Y/N in his arms and smiled down at her. "My girl," he whispered. "You were worth the wait."

[joshysonly]

soooo like… anyone got any new nando fics?? it’s been two days and i’m having withdrawals

[m0ncheriiiss]

Arch who gets worked up from domesticity with you. Loves seeing the little reminders around his place that you’re there and comfortable taking up space, gets happy seeing your toothbrush next to his and your things in his shower, you laundry mixing together or your favorites in the fridge. Snaps one evening when you’re prancing around the place in his shirt, can’t keep his hands or mouth to himself.

Thats so good!! I've been lacking recently because im busy, but im trying to get back on track, so i'll definitely try to do this!

[itsbebeyyy]

Full Contact

Pairing: Fernando Mendoza X DCC!Reader

Summary: Fernando Mendoza, newly drafted to the Raiders, makes a full contact collision with a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, injuring her during the first game of the season.

Word Count: ~2500

Author's note: Hey guys! I had so much fun writing this. I wanted this to be a cute, easy read. Obviously, it's not for sure that he is going to be drafted to the Raiders but considering that I found a photoshopped photo of him in a Raiders jersey, let's just pretend for this fic.

Dancing as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader and just graduating from college months ago, (Y/n) felt things were up to speed. From receiving her diploma, continuing going to dance classes, to making it through multiple rounds of auditions to finally reaching her dream. 

The training camps were tough on her, physically and mentally. Thirty to forty hours a week didn’t just test her endurance—it stripped her down to her limits. Early mornings bled into late nights, feet blistered raw inside practice boots, calves screaming through just one more run-through. Every routine had to be sharper than perfect: locked cores, smiles that never faltered even when her lungs burned.

Mentally, it was worse. The constant pressure to be perceived as perfect and grateful all at once wore her down. One off day could cost her everything. One missed count, one late turn, one faltered jump—and she’d catch herself wondering, Am I really built for this?

The day she came into practice, when the coaches, Kelli and Judy, handed her fitted royal blue and white uniform with bedazzled stars, to her—it had all been worth it. 

She remembered the long nights of muscle fatigue, the mirrored practice rooms, the constant critiques, the endless repetitions… and now, every painful second felt like it had carved her into exactly who she was meant to be. She had survived, had pushed past every doubt, every exhaustion, and now she was here. Part of the team. Part of the family.

He stared at his phone, every second stretching like it carried the weight of the world. An unknown number blinked on the screen, and for a moment, he let himself inhale, steadying his racing heart, before finally swiping to answer.

“Fernando Mendoza?” The voice was crisp, professional, but carried an edge that made his chest tighten. “This is the head coach of the Las Vegas Raiders. Congratulations—you’ve been drafted. Welcome to the team.”

There was a pause, just long enough for the weight of it to sink in.

“You’ll be reporting to Vegas next week. We expect your full focus, your drive, and your best game, every single day. Do you accept?”

Fernando could barely speak. His fingers tightened around the phone. “Y-Yes… absolutely. Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

The voice softened slightly, just enough to hint at respect. “I know you won’t, Mendoza. See you soon.”

Click.

On the flight to Vegas, Fernando’s mind ran through everything: playbooks, drills, conditioning, routes, reads. Every practice, every rep, every throw mattered. He visualized himself in the huddle, calling audibles, dodging defenders, hitting his receivers in stride. There was no room for distraction. The team demanded his full attention, and he wasn’t about to give it anything less.

The moment she stepped onto the green turf in her uniform for the first time, the roar of the crowd hitting her chest like a tidal wave, she finally understood: this wasn’t just about dance. It was about proving to herself that she could endure, could fight, could shine.

Her heart raced so fast it felt like it might escape her chest. This was it: her first home game. Her first Thunderstruck routine. The one she’d rehearsed a hundred times in mirrors, in practice, until her muscles remembered every beat.

Then the music hit. That first powerful guitar riff cut through the noise, and suddenly everything else fell away—the nerves, the pressure, the doubts. Every kick, every jump, every spin hit with precision. The pom-poms flew like lightning, her team moving in perfect synchronicity beside her. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she didn’t falter—every muscle fired on command, her core locked, posture flawless, smile unwavering.

The routine picked up pace, the choreography demanding more than just strength—timing, focus, and raw energy. She felt herself soar through the spins, the stunts, the lifts, and the rapid-fire footwork that left her breathless. The lights flashed against the glitter on her uniform, painting her like a streak of silver and blue, while the crowd’s chants blurred into a single, electrifying roar that coursed through her veins.

Sweat stung her eyes, but she didn’t blink. She felt the rhythm in her bones, the beat in her heart. Each movement was sharper, higher, faster than the last. Finally, the music reached its climax. The beat cut sharp and the team launched into the jump split. Her body flew through the air, legs fully extended, chest lifted, arms slicing the space with perfect form. 

For a heartbeat, everything was weightless—pure exhilaration, pure power, pure triumph. And as she landed, sweat sliding down her back, she knew every grueling second of training camp had led to this single, flawless moment.

By the third quarter, the stadium’s energy had shifted. The Cowboys were pushing hard, the game neck-and-neck, and she was back on the sidelines, pom-poms in hand, cheering for her team with everything she had left. Her legs pumping in perfect rhythm despite the fatigue settling in from her earlier routine. Every smile she gave, every move she made, was a performance of strength and determination—her way of keeping the crowd and the team’s spirit alive.

Mendoza was laser-focused on the field, scanning the defense, reading the pressure. He dropped back for a pass, eyes darting, adrenaline pumping, when the tackle came too fast, too chaotic. In the split second he misstepped, momentum carried him forward—directly out of bounds.

She didn’t have time to react. One second she was cheering, the next he collided with her like a freight train. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she hit the ground hard, her leg twisting awkwardly under her. The pom-poms flew from her hands, landing several feet away. Pain shot up her side and radiated through her leg, sharp and immediate. Looking up and glaring at whoever just tackled her.

Fernando froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide. “Oh—sorry!” he shouted, scrambling to help her up, panic flashing across his face. “I—are you okay?”

She tried to push herself up, but a sharp stab of pain made her wince and fall back. “I… think I twisted something,” she managed, gritting her teeth. Her chest heaved from both pain and shock, and for the first time that day, her professional composure cracked.

“Mendoza! Get back on the field! We’re in the third quarter, and we can’t afford to lose focus!”

Fernando’s jaw tightened. “Coach, please! She’s seriously hurt! She can’t—she can’t just stay here!”

“That’s not your job! The medical staff got it—”

The team rushed over, and medical staff swarmed, lifting her carefully from the sideline. Fernando hovered nearby, guilt etched across his face. He had never been responsible for something like this before, never someone else’s pain. 

His throat went dry. He wanted to argue, to defy the coach, but the stubborn discipline of a professional football game pressed down on him. With a final, anguished glance at her, he bit back a curse and sprinted back to the huddle, helmet on, heart hammering—not at the game

She could barely breathe as they guided her through the tunnel, each step sending jolts of pain up her leg. The stadium noise faded behind the heavy doors of the locker room, replaced by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the low murmur of coaches and medical staff. Her pom-poms had been tossed aside somewhere along the way, forgotten, useless.

“Alright, let’s get you on the bench,” one of the medical staffs said gently, helping her to sit. Her leg throbbed with every tiny movement, the kind of deep, twisting ache that made her wince involuntarily.

“One of the players… came out of bounds,” she croaked, tightening her jaw as she tried not to cry out. “He… hit me. I think I twisted something in my leg.”

The medical staff knelt, palpating her ankle and calf with careful hands. “There’s definitely a sprain,” he said. “Could be a mild tear. We’ll need imaging to know for sure, but you’re going to need ice, rest, and elevation for now.”

Her chest tightened—not just from the pain, but from the frustration. I just made it onto the team. My first home game. My first big routine. And now this…

“You’ll be okay,” the trainer continued. “It’s going to hurt now, but we’ll manage the swelling. You just have to stay still for a bit.”

She nodded, biting her lip as the dull sting of embarrassment and helplessness washed over her. She hated feeling vulnerable, hated relying on anyone else, but the pain in her leg left her no choice.

The final whistle blew, and the stadium erupted with cheers, but she didn’t hear any of it. Her leg throbbed with every heartbeat, sharp reminders of the collision that had ruined her night. She sat on the locker room bench, ice pressed against her sprained ankle, wrapped in a towel, the adrenaline of performing long gone.

The door creaked, and before she could brace herself, she saw him—Helmet in hand, sweat still glistening on his face, but it was his eyes that drew her attention—wide, guilty, desperate.

His voice low but earnest. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—I swear it was an accident. Are you—are you okay?”

She looked up at him, glare sharp and unflinching. “I’m fine,” she said, voice tight. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not—” he tried again, stepping closer. “I just—please, let me apologize properly. I feel awful.”

Her jaw tightened. “No. Just… no. I don’t want to hear it. Not from you. Not right now.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, but the guilt didn’t leave his eyes. “I get it,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “I really do. I just… I couldn’t leave without saying something.”

She shook her head, looking away, biting back the frustration that threatened to spill over into tears. She’d survived brutal training camp, made the team, and performed her first home routine—all with her pride intact—and now this collision, this idiot quarterback… she couldn’t just forgive him so easily.

“I said no,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Go back to your team. Leave me alone.”

He hesitated, as if weighing whether to push further, then finally nodded, though his eyes lingered on her in a mix of guilt and admiration. “Okay… I’ll go,” he said softly. “But I’ll make this right. Somehow.”

And with that, he turned, leaving the locker room door slightly ajar, the echo of his footsteps heavy in the quiet space. She hugged the ice to her ankle tighter, trying to block out both the pain in her leg and the strange, stubborn ache in her chest.

Fernando slumped onto the bench in the locker room, helmet in hand, still feeling the weight of the collision. The game was over, the adrenaline fading, but the memory of her—grimacing in pain, glaring at him, refusing to accept his apology—played on loop in his mind.

“Dude… you tackled a cheerleader?” one of the linemen asked, laughing so hard he almost fell off the bench. Fernando groaned, rubbing his face. “I didn’t tackle her! It was an accident, alright?”

“Accident?” another player teased, grinning. “Bro, she’s cute as hell. Did you see her eyes? That glare?” Fernando’s ears burned. “Yeah, well, that glare could kill a grown man. And besides, she hates me now, so I don’t need your commentary.”

The first lineman smirked. “Hate you? C’mon, man… that’s just code for ‘I think you’re really hot but also mad at you.’ You’ve got her all flustered. Admit it.” Fernando groaned again, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t even know how to deal with her. She’s… I don’t know—she’s fast, fierce, and completely terrifying when she’s mad.”

“Terrifying?” one of the rookies snorted. “Bro, that’s the definition of cute. You’re screwed.” Fernando’s heart skipped. He sighed, leaning back against the lockers. And somewhere deep down, he couldn’t deny it—he wanted to make it right. Somehow. 

A few days later, she was back at her apartment, finally able to move around without the immediate sting of pain with every step. Her ankle was still tender, wrapped in a brace, but the worst of the swelling had gone down. She was sprawled on her couch in leggings and an oversized hoodie, scrolling through her phone halfheartedly, when the doorbell rang.

Groaning, she hobbled to the door, crutch in hand, and opened it to find a delivery box waiting. Curious, she bent down and lifted it onto the counter, peeking inside.

Her breath caught. A bouquet of pale pink peonies stared back at her, delicate petals perfectly arranged. Her favorite. She bent closer, inhaling the sweet, soft fragrance.

And then she noticed the small card tucked into the blooms. Carefully, she pulled it out and read the neat handwriting:

I can’t stop thinking about how badly I messed up. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you. I hope these make up for at least a little of the pain I caused. —Fernando

Who the fuck is Fernando? She wondered to herself. Then, realization dawned on her. Her stomach twisted. Part of her wanted to be angry, to crumple the note and toss the flowers aside. But another part—the part that remembered the way his eyes had widened in panic, the way his voice had cracked with guilt—softened a little. 

She picked up the bouquet and hobbled over to the kitchen counter, setting it down gently. She glanced at the note, rereading it carefully, letting the words sink in. After a moment, she tossed it on the counter carelessly and made her way back to the couch, picking up her phone as if nothing had happened.

She sank back into the couch, her phone buzzing in her hand. An Instagram notification popped up: a DM from him. Her stomach tightened, and she hesitated for a second before opening it.

Fernandomendoza: Hey, did you get the flowers? 

She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. Of course he’s following up. But she couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Yourusername: Yeah. 

Yourusername: They’re here. 

Almost immediately, a new message appeared. 

Fernandomendoza: I’m really sorry again. I feel awful about what happened. I just want you to know I wasn’t careless… and I hope you’re okay.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Part of her wanted to fire back a sarcastic remark, something to remind him she wasn’t letting him off the hook. But another part—a quieter, stubborn part—felt a little flutter at his sincerity. She ignored the flutter.

Yourusername: Thanks. 

Fernandomendoza: I know ‘thanks’ doesn’t fix my mistake… but I promise I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. Maybe dinner? My treat?

She laughed softly, shaking her head. Smooth, Mendoza. Very smooth.

Still, she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she set the phone down, looking at the peonies on the counter. Their soft petals caught the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. She crossed her arms, pretending she wasn’t affected at all—but deep down, she had to admit: the flowers, the note, and even the DM… they had gotten under her skin more than she’d like to admit.

She picked up her phone again. 

Yourusername: So, dinner where?

[itsbebeyyy]

Full Contact

Pairing: Fernando Mendoza X DCC!Reader

Summary: Fernando Mendoza, newly drafted to the Raiders, makes a full contact collision with a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, injuring her during the first game of the season.

Word Count: ~2500

Author's note: Hey guys! I had so much fun writing this. I wanted this to be a cute, easy read. Obviously, it's not for sure that he is going to be drafted to the Raiders but considering that I found a photoshopped photo of him in a Raiders jersey, let's just pretend for this fic.

Dancing as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader and just graduating from college months ago, (Y/n) felt things were up to speed. From receiving her diploma, continuing going to dance classes, to making it through multiple rounds of auditions to finally reaching her dream. 

The training camps were tough on her, physically and mentally. Thirty to forty hours a week didn’t just test her endurance—it stripped her down to her limits. Early mornings bled into late nights, feet blistered raw inside practice boots, calves screaming through just one more run-through. Every routine had to be sharper than perfect: locked cores, smiles that never faltered even when her lungs burned.

Mentally, it was worse. The constant pressure to be perceived as perfect and grateful all at once wore her down. One off day could cost her everything. One missed count, one late turn, one faltered jump—and she’d catch herself wondering, Am I really built for this?

The day she came into practice, when the coaches, Kelli and Judy, handed her fitted royal blue and white uniform with bedazzled stars, to her—it had all been worth it. 

She remembered the long nights of muscle fatigue, the mirrored practice rooms, the constant critiques, the endless repetitions… and now, every painful second felt like it had carved her into exactly who she was meant to be. She had survived, had pushed past every doubt, every exhaustion, and now she was here. Part of the team. Part of the family.

He stared at his phone, every second stretching like it carried the weight of the world. An unknown number blinked on the screen, and for a moment, he let himself inhale, steadying his racing heart, before finally swiping to answer.

“Fernando Mendoza?” The voice was crisp, professional, but carried an edge that made his chest tighten. “This is the head coach of the Las Vegas Raiders. Congratulations—you’ve been drafted. Welcome to the team.”

There was a pause, just long enough for the weight of it to sink in.

“You’ll be reporting to Vegas next week. We expect your full focus, your drive, and your best game, every single day. Do you accept?”

Fernando could barely speak. His fingers tightened around the phone. “Y-Yes… absolutely. Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

The voice softened slightly, just enough to hint at respect. “I know you won’t, Mendoza. See you soon.”

Click.

On the flight to Vegas, Fernando’s mind ran through everything: playbooks, drills, conditioning, routes, reads. Every practice, every rep, every throw mattered. He visualized himself in the huddle, calling audibles, dodging defenders, hitting his receivers in stride. There was no room for distraction. The team demanded his full attention, and he wasn’t about to give it anything less.

The moment she stepped onto the green turf in her uniform for the first time, the roar of the crowd hitting her chest like a tidal wave, she finally understood: this wasn’t just about dance. It was about proving to herself that she could endure, could fight, could shine.

Her heart raced so fast it felt like it might escape her chest. This was it: her first home game. Her first Thunderstruck routine. The one she’d rehearsed a hundred times in mirrors, in practice, until her muscles remembered every beat.

Then the music hit. That first powerful guitar riff cut through the noise, and suddenly everything else fell away—the nerves, the pressure, the doubts. Every kick, every jump, every spin hit with precision. The pom-poms flew like lightning, her team moving in perfect synchronicity beside her. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she didn’t falter—every muscle fired on command, her core locked, posture flawless, smile unwavering.

The routine picked up pace, the choreography demanding more than just strength—timing, focus, and raw energy. She felt herself soar through the spins, the stunts, the lifts, and the rapid-fire footwork that left her breathless. The lights flashed against the glitter on her uniform, painting her like a streak of silver and blue, while the crowd’s chants blurred into a single, electrifying roar that coursed through her veins.

Sweat stung her eyes, but she didn’t blink. She felt the rhythm in her bones, the beat in her heart. Each movement was sharper, higher, faster than the last. Finally, the music reached its climax. The beat cut sharp and the team launched into the jump split. Her body flew through the air, legs fully extended, chest lifted, arms slicing the space with perfect form. 

For a heartbeat, everything was weightless—pure exhilaration, pure power, pure triumph. And as she landed, sweat sliding down her back, she knew every grueling second of training camp had led to this single, flawless moment.

By the third quarter, the stadium’s energy had shifted. The Cowboys were pushing hard, the game neck-and-neck, and she was back on the sidelines, pom-poms in hand, cheering for her team with everything she had left. Her legs pumping in perfect rhythm despite the fatigue settling in from her earlier routine. Every smile she gave, every move she made, was a performance of strength and determination—her way of keeping the crowd and the team’s spirit alive.

Mendoza was laser-focused on the field, scanning the defense, reading the pressure. He dropped back for a pass, eyes darting, adrenaline pumping, when the tackle came too fast, too chaotic. In the split second he misstepped, momentum carried him forward—directly out of bounds.

She didn’t have time to react. One second she was cheering, the next he collided with her like a freight train. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she hit the ground hard, her leg twisting awkwardly under her. The pom-poms flew from her hands, landing several feet away. Pain shot up her side and radiated through her leg, sharp and immediate. Looking up and glaring at whoever just tackled her.

Fernando froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide. “Oh—sorry!” he shouted, scrambling to help her up, panic flashing across his face. “I—are you okay?”

She tried to push herself up, but a sharp stab of pain made her wince and fall back. “I… think I twisted something,” she managed, gritting her teeth. Her chest heaved from both pain and shock, and for the first time that day, her professional composure cracked.

“Mendoza! Get back on the field! We’re in the third quarter, and we can’t afford to lose focus!”

Fernando’s jaw tightened. “Coach, please! She’s seriously hurt! She can’t—she can’t just stay here!”

“That’s not your job! The medical staff got it—”

The team rushed over, and medical staff swarmed, lifting her carefully from the sideline. Fernando hovered nearby, guilt etched across his face. He had never been responsible for something like this before, never someone else’s pain. 

His throat went dry. He wanted to argue, to defy the coach, but the stubborn discipline of a professional football game pressed down on him. With a final, anguished glance at her, he bit back a curse and sprinted back to the huddle, helmet on, heart hammering—not at the game

She could barely breathe as they guided her through the tunnel, each step sending jolts of pain up her leg. The stadium noise faded behind the heavy doors of the locker room, replaced by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the low murmur of coaches and medical staff. Her pom-poms had been tossed aside somewhere along the way, forgotten, useless.

“Alright, let’s get you on the bench,” one of the medical staffs said gently, helping her to sit. Her leg throbbed with every tiny movement, the kind of deep, twisting ache that made her wince involuntarily.

“One of the players… came out of bounds,” she croaked, tightening her jaw as she tried not to cry out. “He… hit me. I think I twisted something in my leg.”

The medical staff knelt, palpating her ankle and calf with careful hands. “There’s definitely a sprain,” he said. “Could be a mild tear. We’ll need imaging to know for sure, but you’re going to need ice, rest, and elevation for now.”

Her chest tightened—not just from the pain, but from the frustration. I just made it onto the team. My first home game. My first big routine. And now this…

“You’ll be okay,” the trainer continued. “It’s going to hurt now, but we’ll manage the swelling. You just have to stay still for a bit.”

She nodded, biting her lip as the dull sting of embarrassment and helplessness washed over her. She hated feeling vulnerable, hated relying on anyone else, but the pain in her leg left her no choice.

The final whistle blew, and the stadium erupted with cheers, but she didn’t hear any of it. Her leg throbbed with every heartbeat, sharp reminders of the collision that had ruined her night. She sat on the locker room bench, ice pressed against her sprained ankle, wrapped in a towel, the adrenaline of performing long gone.

The door creaked, and before she could brace herself, she saw him—Helmet in hand, sweat still glistening on his face, but it was his eyes that drew her attention—wide, guilty, desperate.

His voice low but earnest. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—I swear it was an accident. Are you—are you okay?”

She looked up at him, glare sharp and unflinching. “I’m fine,” she said, voice tight. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not—” he tried again, stepping closer. “I just—please, let me apologize properly. I feel awful.”

Her jaw tightened. “No. Just… no. I don’t want to hear it. Not from you. Not right now.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, but the guilt didn’t leave his eyes. “I get it,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “I really do. I just… I couldn’t leave without saying something.”

She shook her head, looking away, biting back the frustration that threatened to spill over into tears. She’d survived brutal training camp, made the team, and performed her first home routine—all with her pride intact—and now this collision, this idiot quarterback… she couldn’t just forgive him so easily.

“I said no,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Go back to your team. Leave me alone.”

He hesitated, as if weighing whether to push further, then finally nodded, though his eyes lingered on her in a mix of guilt and admiration. “Okay… I’ll go,” he said softly. “But I’ll make this right. Somehow.”

And with that, he turned, leaving the locker room door slightly ajar, the echo of his footsteps heavy in the quiet space. She hugged the ice to her ankle tighter, trying to block out both the pain in her leg and the strange, stubborn ache in her chest.

Fernando slumped onto the bench in the locker room, helmet in hand, still feeling the weight of the collision. The game was over, the adrenaline fading, but the memory of her—grimacing in pain, glaring at him, refusing to accept his apology—played on loop in his mind.

“Dude… you tackled a cheerleader?” one of the linemen asked, laughing so hard he almost fell off the bench. Fernando groaned, rubbing his face. “I didn’t tackle her! It was an accident, alright?”

“Accident?” another player teased, grinning. “Bro, she’s cute as hell. Did you see her eyes? That glare?” Fernando’s ears burned. “Yeah, well, that glare could kill a grown man. And besides, she hates me now, so I don’t need your commentary.”

The first lineman smirked. “Hate you? C’mon, man… that’s just code for ‘I think you’re really hot but also mad at you.’ You’ve got her all flustered. Admit it.” Fernando groaned again, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t even know how to deal with her. She’s… I don’t know—she’s fast, fierce, and completely terrifying when she’s mad.”

“Terrifying?” one of the rookies snorted. “Bro, that’s the definition of cute. You’re screwed.” Fernando’s heart skipped. He sighed, leaning back against the lockers. And somewhere deep down, he couldn’t deny it—he wanted to make it right. Somehow. 

A few days later, she was back at her apartment, finally able to move around without the immediate sting of pain with every step. Her ankle was still tender, wrapped in a brace, but the worst of the swelling had gone down. She was sprawled on her couch in leggings and an oversized hoodie, scrolling through her phone halfheartedly, when the doorbell rang.

Groaning, she hobbled to the door, crutch in hand, and opened it to find a delivery box waiting. Curious, she bent down and lifted it onto the counter, peeking inside.

Her breath caught. A bouquet of pale pink peonies stared back at her, delicate petals perfectly arranged. Her favorite. She bent closer, inhaling the sweet, soft fragrance.

And then she noticed the small card tucked into the blooms. Carefully, she pulled it out and read the neat handwriting:

I can’t stop thinking about how badly I messed up. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you. I hope these make up for at least a little of the pain I caused. —Fernando

Who the fuck is Fernando? She wondered to herself. Then, realization dawned on her. Her stomach twisted. Part of her wanted to be angry, to crumple the note and toss the flowers aside. But another part—the part that remembered the way his eyes had widened in panic, the way his voice had cracked with guilt—softened a little. 

She picked up the bouquet and hobbled over to the kitchen counter, setting it down gently. She glanced at the note, rereading it carefully, letting the words sink in. After a moment, she tossed it on the counter carelessly and made her way back to the couch, picking up her phone as if nothing had happened.

She sank back into the couch, her phone buzzing in her hand. An Instagram notification popped up: a DM from him. Her stomach tightened, and she hesitated for a second before opening it.

Fernandomendoza: Hey, did you get the flowers? 

She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. Of course he’s following up. But she couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Yourusername: Yeah. 

Yourusername: They’re here. 

Almost immediately, a new message appeared. 

Fernandomendoza: I’m really sorry again. I feel awful about what happened. I just want you to know I wasn’t careless… and I hope you’re okay.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Part of her wanted to fire back a sarcastic remark, something to remind him she wasn’t letting him off the hook. But another part—a quieter, stubborn part—felt a little flutter at his sincerity. She ignored the flutter.

Yourusername: Thanks. 

Fernandomendoza: I know ‘thanks’ doesn’t fix my mistake… but I promise I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. Maybe dinner? My treat?

She laughed softly, shaking her head. Smooth, Mendoza. Very smooth.

Still, she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she set the phone down, looking at the peonies on the counter. Their soft petals caught the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. She crossed her arms, pretending she wasn’t affected at all—but deep down, she had to admit: the flowers, the note, and even the DM… they had gotten under her skin more than she’d like to admit.

She picked up her phone again. 

Yourusername: So, dinner where?

[what1ncewas]

I've Got You Under My Skin (Part One)

[Fernando Mendoza x fem!reader]

Summary: Everyone loves Fernando Mendoza. His teammates, his competitors, the media. He is College Football's golden boy. Everyone loves him, except for Alberto's childhood best friend, and he can't understand why she hates him. Warnings: None! Death threats, but not really? Idk 😭 A/N: sorry for this late fic! i had a super hard week at school and the last thing i felt like doing was writing. enjoy, and i am definitely considering writing a part two for this!

Fernando was used to being well-liked. He didn't try to be, he just was. He got along well with pretty much everyone, even the opposing players on the teams he was playing against. He was polite, he knew what to say and what not to say, and his parents had raised him to treat everyone with respect.

So, Fernando could not understand for the life of him why Alberto's childhood best friend seemed to detest him.

Alberto and Y/N had met when they were in elementary school. Despite Y/N being Fernando's age, she had immediately befriended the younger Mendoza after he had stood up for her against some bullies that were teasing her on the playground. From then on, they were inseparable; Batman and Robin, Yin and Yang, two peas in a pod.

The first time that Y/N came over to the Mendoza household to hang out with Alberto, Fernando knew that she didn't like him. She avoided meeting his eyes, she never went out of her way to speak directly to him, and anytime Y/N found herself alone in Fernando's presence, she would make up some lame excuse just so that she was never alone with him.

He couldn't understand why she didn't like him. When he tried to ask Alberto about Y/N, the younger Mendoza would always shrug in response, saying he never asked. When Fernando would ask his mother, she would always say that he was overcomplicating things and that Y/N was just a shy girl, and told him to not take it personally.

It shouldn't have bothered Fernando as much as it did that Y/N didn't like him. She was entitled to her own opinion about him, and it wasn't like she was intentionally cruel or outwardly mean to him. She was still polite. Polite, but avoidant.

When someone didn't like Fernando, usually it was a snobby journalist who made fun of his personality or an opponent that trash-talked him all game. It was easy for him to avoid them because they weren't in his life.

Y/N, however, was involved in Fernando's life, even if she wasn't directly in it. She wasn't close to her own family, so at every Mendoza family holiday gathering, Y/N was there. On Thanksgiving, she was there, helping his mother prepare dinner for his entire family. She was there on Christmas morning, gifting him and his family the most thoughtful gifts and attending church with them after opening presents.

He knew that he shouldn't care that his brother's best friend didn't like him, yet all Fernando could think about was Y/N.

Even now, as he sat with his family on Christmas Eve, Fernando couldn't stop thinking about Y/N.

"Why didn't you pick Y/N up from the airport?" Max asked his older brother, Alberto, as he shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

Alberto replied with a shrug. "She said she didn't want to be a bother, and that she was just going to get an Uber."

"That's dumb," Max said. "You should've gone to the airport anyway."

"Have you ever tried arguing with Y/N? It's like trying to debate a brick wall."

Elsa swatted at her son's shoulder from her spot at the table. "Don't say that about your best friend," she chided. "Y/N's not stubborn, she's just strong-willed."

"Unless you start talking trash about the Hoosiers, then she's stubborn," Alberto cut in as he motioned in the air with his fork.

"Has she said anything about how she likes Indiana?" Fernando Sr. wondered as he took a sip from his water glass.

"She loves it," Alberto told his family. "Although, whenever I ask about the football team, she goes on a 15 minute rant about how she could start at quarterback considering how bad they are."

"Does she have a boyfriend?" Fernando's question caused everyone to stop eating and turn to look at him with puzzled expressions. Alberto smirked. Fernando felt his ears turn red as he became the center of his family's attention. "I was... Just curious."

A knock on the front door caused Alberto to spring from his seat before he could answer his older brother's question. Alberto practically flung the door open to see Y/N standing on the other side.

"Y/N!" Alberto shouted as he wrapped his best friend in a tight hug.

"Hey, Alberto." Y/N's grin only widened as she stepped into the Mendoza family home after Alberto had let her go. "Hi, guys!" Y/N walked over to the dining room table, bending down to hug Elsa, who grinned at the girl. "It's good to see you all." Fernando Sr. stood up to hug Y/N, and then Y/N went over to Max, who shouted in protest when Y/N pinched his cheeks like any annoying, older sibling would.

Fernando was the only one that Y/N didn't hug. Instead, all he got was a shy wave and an awkward smile from the girl. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything more, but still, he couldn't help the disappointment that coursed through him when she didn't greet him the same way she did with everyone else.

The only open seat left at the table was next to Fernando, who secretly revelled in the fact that Y/N would be sitting next to him. He didn't notice the look that Y/N sent towards Alberto as she sat down in the chair next to him.

"How's school going, Y/N?" asked Fernando Sr., looking at the girl as he spoke.

She placed her palms on top of her thighs and smiled. "It's good," Y/N replied gently. She could feel Fernando's stare burning into the side of her face, but she willed herself to not meet his eyes. "I love the campus, it's so beautiful, and the people are really nice."

"We're glad you're enjoying yourself, honey," Elsa commented.

"Thank you guys for having me," Y/N said as she glanced at the family. Her eyes met Fernando's for a split second, and it felt like her world stopped. He was looking at her so intently, Y/N knew that her skin was as red as the Indiana Hoosiers' jerseys. She cleared her throat awkwardly and turned her attention back to the other members. She shared a look with Alberto, who sent her a mocking smile.

He had seen the look she had shared with his older brother. Y/N narrowed her eyes.

"Are you staying with us, Y/N?" Max looked at her with hopeful eyes.

Y/N looked around with wide eyes. "Uh, you know, I think it would be a bit too crowded with me staying here, Max. I was just going to get a hotel room, but I'll still be here for Christmas morning."

"Wait." Alberto held a hand up. "You're not staying here?"

"I just feel like I would take up too much space and I don't want to impose-"

"You can just stay in my room," Alberto suggested firmly.

Y/N pulled a face. "Alberto, you have a twin bed. While we may have both fit in it when we were in elementary school, it's not gonna work now. Besides, you kick in your sleep, and I would prefer to make it back to Bloomington with working legs."

"We can't let you do that," Elsa argued gently. "We can always make some room for you, Y/N."

"It's fine, really," insisted Y/N. "I don't want you guys to have to rearrange your whole home just for me."

"You could stay in my room."

Suddenly, the world came to a halt. Y/N was sure her ears were deceiving her, because there was no way that those words came out of Fernando's mouth. But by the looks of everyone else at the table, they had heard it, too.

Her head turned so she could fully face him. Unlike what she was expecting, there was no sign of regret on his face following his words. His jaw was set, and he did not seem to waiver. Y/N's face turned crimson red as she locked eyes with him again.

"W-What?" Y/N blinked.

Fernando shrugged. "I have enough room for the both of us, and I'd feel guilty if you kept having to go back and forth between here and a hotel. Besides, it's not like your some stranger..." He smiled at her in a way that made her heart beat a mile a minute. "I've known you forever."

There was silence.

"I, for one, think it's a great idea," Alberto stated. He reached over the table and patted his older brother on his shoulder.

After helping Elsa do the dishes, Y/N dragged Alberto away from his family by his ear, earning yelps of pain from the boy as he was pulled away and out of sight.

Y/N wasn't an intimidating girl. She wasn't too tall in stature, and her facial expressions couldn't scare even the most nervous child. But right now, Alberto couldn't remember the last time he felt as intimidated as he did right now as Y/N stared at him with a stare that could rival that of Hades.

"I'm going to kill you," Y/N thundered as quietly as she could. "Are you insane? Why would you agree to something like that?"

"C'mon, it's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" Y/N repeated incredulously, her mouth dropped in shock. "You- I'm going to be sharing a room with the guy that I've been in love with since I was in elementary school because of you!"

"Ew," Alberto responded as he furrowed his brows. "That's my brother, don't say that to me."

Y/N punched him in the shoulder, though there was no real force behind it. "I'm serious!" she cried. "What am I supposed to do? I can barely look Fernando in the eye, I can't share a bed with him."

"Build a pillow wall," Alberto joked with a dorky grin on his face. All he received in response was a blank stare. "Look, it's only for, like, 3 days. You've been around him before, how is this time any different?"

"You mean, before, when I avoided him like the plague and refused to make eye contact with him?" Y/N sighed. She dropped her head into her hands dramatically.

Alberto rolled his eyes in a joking manner. "I think you'll survive." He looked over Y/N's shoulder and sent her wink. "Here comes your bedmate now."

"It's moments like this when I really question our friendship," Y/N murmured. She turned around and felt herself immediately grow red.

Standing in front of Y/N was Fernando. He was wearing a t-shirt that was just see-through enough that she could see his abs, and a pair of grey sweatpants. He was holding her suitcase in one hand, as if it weighed nothing to him.

Y/N realized that her one and only weakness in the entire world was standing right in front of her.

"Hey." Fernando greeted Y/N and Alberto. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything."

"No worries, Nando." Alberto sent his older brother a smile. "I was just going to turn in for the night, anyway." The middle Mendoza brother leaned down and pressed an over-dramatic kiss to Y/N's cheek as she cringed. "Goodnight, Y/N! Love you!"

Alberto walked away, practically skipping, leaving Fernando and Y/N alone in the hallway.

"I was just going to go upstairs for the night, and I was going to take your stuff upstairs so you didn't have to."

Y/N could've melted right then and there. Without even trying, Fernando was more thoughtful than any other guy she had ever met. "Oh." She fidgeted with her hands. "You don't have to, I can-"

"I know you can," he cut her off gently. "You don't have to, though." He was looking at her with a kind of intensity that made Y/N want to look anywhere but his eyes.

"Thanks, Fernando," Y/N quietly uttered. Hearing Y/N say his name meant more to him than any game of football he had ever won. "I was going to head to bed, too, I'm pretty tired from the flight, so, I'll come with you."

Y/N followed Fernando up the stairs of the house to his room. She passed Alberto's room on the way. When she saw him standing in the doorway of his bedroom, he was making kissing faces. Y/N, childishly, stuck her tongue out in response.

When Y/N got to Fernando's room, she timidly stood at the door as Fernando moved around his room. It was oddly clean for the bedroom of a college-aged boy. His bed was made with no wrinkles on the comforter, his desk was in order, and there wasn't a single piece of clothing out of place.

Fernando put Y/N's suitcase on his bed and he turned to look at her. "I'm going to go get ready and stuff, so, uh, if you need to get changed or anything, you can do it in here."

She pulled her lip between her teeth, which Fernando tried his hardest not to stare at her lips as she did. "Okay. Thanks." He nodded before he padded across the room and shut his door behind him.

As soon as she was alone, Y/N moved towards the bed and unzipped her suitcase. She rifled through the outfits she had picked, and groaned when she realized her mistake.

Y/N had only packed nightgowns, knowing how hot it got in Miami, rather than bringing what she usually wore when she was in Bloomington, which was an old t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants.

Realizing she had no other choice, Y/N quickly took off the outfit she had worn to the airport and put on one of her nightgowns. It was a pale pink color with a lace design. It was definitely one of the more modest ones she owned, something she had to keep in mind considering she was going to be sleeping a few inches away from the boy she had been in love with ever since she knew what love was.

A cautious knock came from the other side of the door. Y/N turned just in time to see Fernando standing in the doorway of his room. He was now wearing just a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top.

"I'm just going to brush my teeth really quick," Y/N announced quietly as she grabbed her toiletry bag and sped past Fernando without missing a beat.

Fernando stared at Y/N's retreating figure as she headed into the bathroom. Once the door was shut, he let out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. The room suddenly became more hot and he became increasingly aware of the fact that his brother's best friend, and the girl that he couldn't get out of his mind, was going to be sleeping in the same bed as him,

It was wrong to be thinking about Y/N the way he was. But the moment he saw her dressed in that nightgown, he knew that he was done for.

She wasn't just Y/N, Alberto's best friend; She was Y/N, a beautiful, smart girl, that, for some reason, could barely stand being in the same room as him.

He sat himself on the bed and took off his tank top. He usually slept shirtless, so, it wasn't like he was trying to show off or anything. Really, he wasn't trying to show off!

When the door creaked open again, Fernando put his phone back on his nightstand and stared at Y/N. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He couldn't stop staring at her.

Y/N could feel Fernando staring at her, she'd be an idiot not to. Still, she acted like she didn't care as she put her dirty clothes back into a seperate bag that was in her suitcase. She then stood up and hesitantly walked to the empty side of the bed. Y/N peeled the comforter back and slid under the blanket.

Being this close to Fernando made her feel like she couldn't breathe. Her head was swimming, and her breaths were short. She looked anywhere but at Fernando.

"Do you need anything else?" asked Fernando softly. Y/N shook her head. "So, is it okay if I turn off the light?" Again, Y/N didn't respond verbally, and instead nodded. "Okay. Well, goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight," Y/N repeated. She slid further into the bed, her head now on the pillow. The room suddenly became dark, and she could barely see the wall that was across from her.

If she moved too much to the right, her arm would brush Fernando's. The one time it happened, Y/N swore her heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

It was silent, save for the occasional creak of a nearby floorboard from somewhere else in the house. Y/N could hear Fernando breathing from right next to her. She tried her best to stay still, not wanting to disturb him if he had already fallen asleep.

She, as quickly as possible, turned on her side so that she was laying on her right arm. Y/N sharply inhaled once she realized Fernando had the same idea, only he was laying on his opposite side. Their faces were now inches apart. Even in the darkness of Fernando's room, Y/N could still feel his stare on her.

"S-Sorry," she managed to get out. Y/N bit her lip. "I can turn if you're uncomfortable-"

"I'm not," he told her. "I'm never uncomfortable around you, Y/N."

She swallowed and nodded, though she doubted he could see the movement due to how dark it was. "Okay," she murmured. "Goodnight, Fernando."

"G'night, Y/N," Fernando muttered.

The last thing she remembered was feeling their legs brush before she fell asleep, the exhaustion of the day taking over her body.

[m0ncheriiiss]

hey queen!! I have a request for Fernando! maybe one where he comes back from practice and it was a rough one so when he comes home, the reader is waiting for him because she always does she they can eat together but the moment she sees him, she can already tell how he feels just by his body language. And she says something like “oh baby come here” and he just hugs her and melts and maybe tears up because of how practice was. she suggested he cleans up so they can eat and once he does and comes down, she doesn’t push him to tell her what happened, he does on his own if that makes sense! hopefully it all makes sense lol but yeah!☺️

Yess!

[joshysonly]

daily reminder that i love fernando mendoza

[m0ncheriiiss]

BOYFRIEND !

CHARLIE BECKER

HEAD CANONS

❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹

warnings : suggestive

❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹

bf!charlie ... is so supportive of whatever you want to do. If you want to take up a new hobby every day , he will absolutely support you and join you.

bf!charlie ... reenacts all of his catches and tackles to you when he gets home after the game , as if you didn't watch it.

bf!charlie ... lovess building legos. He doesn't buy them for himself , but if his younger family members have some , he loves to build them.

bf!charlie ... is rough in bed. Especially after games. If he loses a game , he takes it out on you (not in an abusive way of course). Even though he is rough , he always makes sure you're comfortable , and he isn't hurting you.

bf!charlie ... will cuddle you till you go numb. He loves cuddling , he can cuddle for hours , and can barely sleep without cuddling with you. He is mainly the big spoon , but he secretly loves being the little spoon.

bf!charlie ... is extremely loyal (as he should be). If he goes out to a bar , or party and a woman talks to him , he just walks away. He doesn't talk to other women ever.

bf!charlie ... puts you above everything. If his friends want to go to a party , but you're sick , he stays home and gives you all his attention. If his teammates want to go to a bar after a game , but you're alone at home waiting for him , he doesn't go.

bf!charlie ... is so gentle and understanding with you. If you yell at him when you aren't feeling good , he wont yell back , he'll just hold you. He is the most genuine listener , and can listen to you talk for hours.

bf!charlie ... his family loves you , and they are so welcoming. They never make things awkward. His mother loves to show you embarrassing baby pictures of him.

❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹 ❣︎ . ’ ✧ 𖦹

authors note : I hope you guys like this , I ran out of ideas

[m0ncheriiiss]

Hi love! I was wondering if you would consider writing for Charlie Becker? Maybe a bf headcannons for him? I've been obsessed with him since the beginning of their season and he's such a cutie. I might just have to start writing for him myself. Thank you for considering 🩵🩵

Yess I love Charlie!