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🇦🇷/🇺🇸

[pablotorresgf]

You win a gold medal, and the first thing you do is get the President on the phone, and make YOUR women’s national team a laughingstock… How disgusting

It was expected from the Tcachuk brothers, they’re POS, but the Hughes? Oh my days your own mother is a coach and former player on that team.

At the end of the day, what can you expect from hypocritical white men lol

[pablotorresgf]

The kids are so entertained on the bench

I know you guys saw how happy macklin was while Ned was fighting 😭😭😭

[pablotorresgf]

SMITTY GOALLL

what was everyone saying about trading him?? 🤔

[pablotorresgf]

LA DROGA- LAMINE YAMAL

“Y yo, de idiota, pensando que me amaba'”

You hadn’t expected much from the match. It was a routine game with the B team, one of those nights where you gave your all, knowing only a fraction of the usual crowd was watching. But you loved football, and that was enough. What you didn’t expect was to see him there. Lamine Yamal, Barcelona’s golden boy, leaning casually against the railings after the final whistle. His hoodie was pulled low over his head, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

“Nice game,” he said, his voice low but warm. You froze for a second. You’d seen him on the field, lighting up Camp Nou with his skill and confidence. But here he was, up close, and he was… smiling at you?

“Thanks,” you managed, though your voice came out shakier than you’d hoped. He didn’t walk away like you thought he might. Instead, he stepped closer, his dark eyes studying you like you were more than just another player on the pitch. “You’ve got something special. You don’t just play—you fight for it.”

Your face burned. “I just… love the game.”

He smiled, a lopsided grin that made your stomach flip. “I noticed.”

That night, you didn’t sleep. His words played on repeat in your head, and when you saw a notification pop up on your phone—Lamine Yamal started following you—you nearly dropped it. At first, you thought it was nothing. He was probably just being polite, right? But then came the DMs. Simple things at first. “Great match today.” “How’s training?” “What’s your favorite goal you’ve ever scored?” Each message felt like a secret just for you. Soon, late-night conversations about football turned into talks about everything else—favorite music, family, dreams. He wasn’t just Barcelona’s rising star. He was kind. Funny. Smart.

One evening, as you walked together through the streets of Barcelona, he pulled you to a stop outside a little café. “I know it’s not easy,” he said suddenly. You blinked, caught off guard. “What isn’t?” “The hate,” he said, nodding toward your phone, where the latest comments from trolls still lingered. “They don’t see what I see.” Your chest tightened. The criticism was something you’d learned to live with, but hearing him acknowledge it made the weight feel heavier somehow. “It doesn’t matter,” you lied. “I can handle it. Lamine’s gaze softened as he reached for your hand. “You shouldn’t have to handle it alone. You’re amazing, Y/N. I don’t care what they say.”

That night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you realized you were falling for him. And, little by little, he made it impossible not to. At first, everything was perfect. You spent as much time together as your schedules allowed, and when you couldn’t, his texts and calls filled the gaps. He’d show up to your matches, cheering louder than anyone else.

“Y/N,” he said one night, his head resting on your shoulder as you sat on his couch, a movie playing in the background. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”Your heart swelled. “You mean that?” He tilted his head up to meet your eyes, his expression serious. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

But nothing perfect lasts forever.

The first time he snapped at you, it caught you off guard. “Why didn’t you answer my call?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“I was at training,” you explained, confused. “I told you—”

“You always have an excuse,” he muttered, cutting you off.

You wanted to argue, to defend yourself, but something about the look on his face made you stop. Instead, you apologized, hoping it would blow over.

But it didn’t.

The little things started piling up. He’d get annoyed if you didn’t text him back fast enough or if you missed one of his games. “Do you even care?” he snapped one night when you said you couldn’t make it to a match because of your own training. “Of course I care!” you shot back, your voice trembling. “But I can’t always drop everything—”

“Forget it,” he said, turning away.

You wanted to believe it was just stress. He was under so much pressure, constantly in the spotlight. You told yourself it would pass.

It didn’t.

The night of the awards ceremony was the breaking point. You’d spent hours getting ready, excited to finally go public with your relationship. You’d been spamming his phone all day, asking what time to meet, what you should wear, if he was as nervous as you were.

But he never replied.

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through Instagram that evening, your heart sinking when you saw the first photo. There he was, dressed in a sleek suit, his arm casually draped around… Alexia.

Your hands shook as you stared at the screen. Alexia, his ex. The girl who had cheated on him, the one he’d sworn he was over. And now she was there, smiling beside him like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t cry that night. Not at first. You felt too numb, too betrayed to process it. But as the hours passed, the hurt set in. The boy who had promised to be by your side had left you behind without a second thought. The next morning, your DMs were flooded with screenshots and TikToks. “Lamine and Alexia are back together!” “Y/N who? Alexia is where she belongs.” “She never stood a chance.”

It was like the universe was mocking you.

You tried to call him, desperate for an explanation, but every call went straight to voicemail. Days turned into weeks, and still, you heard nothing from him. All you had were the endless photos and videos of him and Alexia, laughing together, looking like they belonged.

When he finally texted, it was too late.

“Y/N, please, it’s not what it looks like.”

“I swear, Alexia and I are just friends.”

“Please, can we talk?”

You ignored him at first, but the messages kept coming. He called you nonstop, leaving voicemails that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to.

Finally, you opened Instagram and posted the picture you’d been saving—a candid shot of Lamine and Neymar at the awards.

Your caption read:

“I think he took the ‘trying to be like my role model’ a little too seriously.”

And underneath, in smaller text:

“For everyone saying I was going to cheat—what a surprise that I was the one being cheated on.”

The post went viral instantly. Fans flooded the comments, some defending you, others accusing you of being dramatic. But you didn’t care.

For the first time in weeks, you felt free.

The pain didn’t go away overnight. You still thought about him—about the boy who had once held your hand and told you he’d always be there. But as you walked onto the pitch that evening, the floodlights illuminating the field, you felt a spark of hope. You didn’t need him. You never had. Football was your first love, and it would be enough.

And as the whistle blew, you let the game take over, knowing you’d be okay.

[pablotorresgf]

“Supporters” being happy Sergi Roberto left are so fake. I am saddened by this news because he was such an amazing player in Barça’s history.

You guys are so quick to forget about the famous remontada, and the corrida he did to provide the famous “deadly bernabeu” scene with Messi. He was a player that never complained. He just wanted to play futbol. He was playing as a defender when his position is a mid and when Barça were down players he would play up as well. When we needed him he was there. Helped Barça with wins when we were struggling with the lower teams in the table. And in classicos.

Cule since he was small and I'm so happy that he got to live his dream of playing the sport he loves with the club he would die for. Barça will always be YOUR HOME sergi!

¡moltes gràcies per tot!

[pablotorresgf]

I’AM- Pablo Gavi (versión español)

Aviso: ¡angustia! (¿Estamos sorprendidos?) La canción empieza en el minuto 0:56 para que las letras coincidan. ¡Por favor, recuerden que todavía estoy tratando de ganar confianza en mi escritura otra vez! ¡Gracias! Igual esto está escrito en español Argentina, no español de España!

Estás sentada en tu departamento, mirando tu teléfono. Es tarde, y el silencio de la noche se siente asfixiante. El último mensaje de Pablo aún te persigue, las palabras se repiten en tu mente como un disco rayado. "Ya no sentía lo mismo que antes." Ni siquiera pudo decírtelo en la cara, ni siquiera tuvo esa cortesía. Estuvo distante durante meses, enfocándose completamente en el fútbol, en su carrera. Intentaste ser comprensiva, entender, pero cada llamada ignorada, cada mensaje sin respuesta, fue desgastando tu paciencia. Y cuando finalmente lo admitió, admitió que ya no sentía lo mismo, te rompió.

"Me alejé porque vos no te fuiste. Quería estar tranqui, no lo entendiste."

No entendiste porque él nunca lo explicó. Querías estar ahí para él, pero él veía tu presencia como una carga, una distracción de sus metas. Pensaba que intentabas controlarlo, manipularlo. Pero todo lo que querías era amarlo, y ser amada a cambio.

Las noches son lo peor. La cama se siente más vacía, más fría. Te acurrucás, tratando de encontrar consuelo en el silencio, pero solo amplifica tu tristeza. "Ni la luna vino a verme. Perra, duermo en paz, pero estoy más triste." Querés odiarlo por llamarte así, pero el dolor es demasiado crudo, demasiado abrumador para dejar espacio a la rabia. Deslizás el dedo por tu lista de reproducción, cada canción es un recordatorio doloroso de lo que tuviste, de lo que perdiste. "Me identifiqué con letras antiguas que antes no me hacían tan mal." Las canciones que antes escuchaban juntos ahora duelen con cada nota. Las apagás, incapaz de soportar los recuerdos que traen.

Recordás las peleas, su fría indiferencia, y tus intentos desesperados por hacer que las cosas funcionaran. Él nunca quiso cambiar, nunca quiso comprometerse. "No quería cambiar para gustarte. ¿Soluciones? Manipularme." Ahora te das cuenta de que nunca te amó de verdad, no de la manera en que vos lo amabas. Querías creer en él, en lo que tenían, pero todo fue una ilusión.

"¿Quién podría seguir? Vos querías la razón. Yo amarte, qué corazón cobarde." Te llamó cobarde, pero él es quien no pudo enfrentar la verdad, quien no pudo admitir sus propios errores. Querías creer que todavía había esperanza, que las cosas podían arreglarse. Pero él ya se había ido, mucho antes de decir esas palabras.

Tus amigas te dicen que sigas adelante, que encuentres a alguien que te valore. Pero no es tan simple. Estás llena de canciones que ahora llevan su nombre, cada una un recordatorio doloroso de lo que perdiste. "‘Toy lleno de temas que ahora sí tienen tu nombre, menos el que dice 'M.A.i'."

Te quedás ahí, el silencio pesado y opresivo. Sabés que tenés que dejarlo ir, pero el dolor es demasiado reciente, las heridas demasiado profundas. El amor que tenías, o que creías tener, ahora es solo una serie de recuerdos dolorosos. Cerrás los ojos, tratando de encontrar algo de paz, pero solo encontrás el vacío que él dejó.

Y así te quedás, con lágrimas empapando la almohada, deseando que las cosas hubieran sido diferentes, deseando que se hubiera quedado. Pero no lo hizo, y ahora te toca recoger los pedazos de un corazón roto, sola en la oscuridad.

[pablotorresgf]

I’AM- Pablo Gavi

Notices: angst! (Are we surprised?) Song starts at 0:56 for lyrics to line up! Please remember that English is not my first language and I’m still trying to gain my confidence in writing back. Thank you!

You’re sitting in your apartment, staring at your phone. It’s late, and the silence of the night feels suffocating. Pablo’s last message still haunts you, the words replaying in your mind like a broken record. "Ya no sentía lo mismo que antes." He couldn’t even say it to your face, couldn’t even give you that courtesy.

He had been distant for months, his focus shifting entirely to football, to his career. You tried to be supportive, to understand, but every ignored call, every unanswered text chipped away at your patience. And when he finally admitted it, admitted that he didn’t feel the same way anymore, it shattered you.

"Me alejé porque vos no te fuiste. Quería estar tranqui, no lo entendiste."

You didn’t understand because he never explained. You wanted to be there for him, but he saw your presence as a burden, a distraction from his goals. He thought you were trying to control him, manipulate him. But all you ever wanted was to love him, to be loved in return. The nights are the worst. The bed feels emptier, colder. You curl up, trying to find comfort in the silence, but it only amplifies your sadness. "Ni la luna vino a verme. Perra, duermo en paz, pero estoy más triste." You want to hate him for calling you that, but the pain is too raw, too consuming to allow room for anger.

You scroll through your playlist, each song a painful reminder of what you had, what you lost. "Me identifiqué con letras antiguas que antes no me hacían tan mal." Songs you once listened to together now sting with every note. You turn them off, unable to bear the memories they bring.

You remember the arguments, his cold indifference, and your desperate attempts to make things work. He never wanted to change, never wanted to compromise. "No quería cambiar para gustarte. ¿Soluciones? Manipularme." You realize now that he never truly loved you, not in the way you loved him. You wanted to believe in him, in what you had, but it was all an illusion.

"¿Quién podría seguir? Vos querías la razón. Yo amarte, qué corazón cobarde." He called you cowardly, but he’s the one who couldn’t face the truth, who couldn’t admit his own failings. You wanted to believe there was still hope, that things could be fixed. But he was already gone, long before he ever said the words.

Your friends tell you to move on, to find someone who will appreciate you. But it’s not that simple. You’re filled with songs that now carry his name, each one a painful reminder of what you lost. "‘Toy lleno de temas que ahora sí tienen tu nombre, menos el que dice 'M.A.i'."

You lie there, the silence heavy and oppressive. You know you need to let go, but the pain is too fresh, the wounds too deep. The love you had, or thought you had, is now just a series of painful memories. You close your eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace, but all you find is the aching void he left behind.

And so you lie there, tears staining your pillow, wishing things had been different, wishing he had stayed. But he didn’t, and now you’re left to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart, alone in the darkness.

[pablotorresgf]

hello everyone! i am officially back!! if anyone has ANY requests please lmk they’re highly appreciated.🫶

[pablotorresgf]

Send request! They’re greatly appreciated 💘

[pablotorresgf]

our world- hector fort

notices: emotional infidelity, reader is from Argentina.

Héctor Fort, the rising star of FC Barcelona, had captured the hearts of millions, but none more than yours. You met at a charity event in Buenos Aires, and your whirlwind romance quickly became the stuff of fairy tales. You were the perfect couple—beautiful, successful, and madly in love. As an avid supporter of both football and Héctor, you followed his career closely, often finding yourself lost in the excitement of his matches and the glamorous lifestyle that came with being his girlfriend. The public adored you both, and your relationship was constantly under the scrutiny of social media and tabloids. Despite the pressure, you believed in your love.

But the cracks began to show in the most unexpected ways. It started with Héctor's distant behavior—missed calls, unanswered texts, and a growing coldness in his eyes. You chalked it up to the stress of his demanding career, convincing yourself that it was just a rough patch. After all, who could blame him? He was carrying the weight of being part of the first team on his shoulders. One evening, while scrolling through your social media feed, you stumbled upon a series of posts that made your heart sink. A thread on a popular football forum was buzzing with rumors about Héctor and another woman. The posts were filled with screenshots of private messages between Héctor and this mysterious figure—a stunning model from Barcelona. The messages were intimate, filled with emotional confessions and late-night conversations that revealed a side of Héctor you thought only you knew.

Your hands trembled as you read through the messages, each one a dagger to your heart. Héctor spoke of his fears, his dreams, and his deepest insecurities with this woman, things he had once shared with you. It felt like a betrayal far worse than any physical infidelity. He had opened his heart to someone else, leaving you out in the cold. Determined to confront him, you waited for Héctor to return from training. As he walked through the door, you could see the exhaustion etched on his face. But your pain overpowered any sympathy you might have felt.

"Héctor," you began, your voice quivering with a mix of anger and sorrow, "I need to ask you something." He looked at you, his eyes widening in surprise. "What is it, mi amor?" You couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "Who is she, Héctor? Who is the woman you've been pouring your heart out to behind my back? “His face paled, and he took a step back, as if your words had physically struck him. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me!" you shouted, holding up your phone. "I've seen the messages. I know everything." Héctor's shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. "It's not what you think," he pleaded. "I never meant to hurt you. It was just... I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wasn't in this world."

"Someone who wasn't me," you finished for him, your voice breaking. "You betrayed me, Héctor. You shared your soul with someone else while I stood by your side, believing in us." He reached out to touch you, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing larger with each passing second. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I never wanted this to happen."

"But it did," you replied, your heart shattering. "And I don't know if I can ever forgive you." As you turned to leave, Héctor's voice echoed in the empty room, a haunting reminder of the love you had lost. "Please, don't go. We can fix this. I love you."

You paused, your back to him, tears streaming down your face. "Sometimes, love isn't enough," you said softly, before walking out the door, leaving Héctor alone with his guilt and the wreckage of your once-perfect relationship.

[ballsbalb]

what goes through a coach’s head when they decide to sub on a player who’s been extremely publicly struggling with confidence issues, hasn’t played much all tournament & clearly isn’t trusted by the manager

he was, quite literally, shaking on his walk up to the penalty spot.

it’s a ridiculous decision to put him on that late— if you want to put him on, put him on earlier so he can get his feet settled. don’t put him on that late, and don’t put him that high on the list.

it’s just terrible man management.

[peligrosapop]

🥰los bebés🥰

[pablotorresgf]

these are my bfs but they js don’t know it yet 🤗

[wosoandstuff]

I'm feeling bad for Vitor Roque's situation, why rush to bring him if they weren't going to use him? And now with what his manager is saying, that they won't accept a loan and if he leaves Barcelona it will be by sale... What the hell is going on with Xavi, Laporta, and everyone involved with it?

Tanta vaina que hicieron pa' un coño.

[cucubarsi]

He looks so gooooodd

[pablotorresgf]

robbery at the bernabeu again but what’s new 😭? anyways i js find it funny how madrid fans deny the vardrid allegations when mostly all of their former players have talked abt the unfairness when they play vs them. 🤷 the one & only sergio ramos talked abt how the referee was always on reals’s side during the game vs sevilla…. even CR7 was mad when he played against real during his time at man utd stating that the referee was being unfair 😂

[pablotorresgf]

golazooo from joao felix tdy but can i js say how stressed out fort made me tdy, ofc the close goal was something but he was not keeping up w his man at all they would get past him so easily it was like he had no pace 😭 from the time he’s played tdy was js not that good he also got too cocky in different occasions & gave the ball away

[peligrosapop]

Pau🤫Gavi