Please write a fernando fic
IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE. I LOVE IT SO MUCH
I don't think I breathe for the last thirty seconds of the clock. I'm standing between Fernando's mom and his little brother, my hands locked together so tight my fingers hurt, my whole body buzzing like I might float right out of my skin. The Florida air is warm even at night, thick and loud and electric, and the stadium feels like it's vibrating under my feet. The scoreboard glares down at us, the numbers frozen, and everyone around me is screaming already, like they know before it actually happens.
When the clock finally hits zero, it's like the world explodes.
The sound hits me first. A roar so loud it feels physical, like it slams into my chest and knocks the breath out of me. Fireworks go off above the stadium, confetti cannons erupt, and suddenly there are people crying, laughing, yelling, all at once. Fernando's mom grabs my arm and sobs, her face crumpling as she pulls me into her. His little brother is jumping straight up and down, screaming Fernando's name at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking.
"He did it," his mom keeps saying, over and over, like she needs to convince herself it's real. "He did it. My baby did it."
I'm crying too. I didn't even realize it until tears drip off my chin and onto my hands. Six years. Six years of early mornings and late nights, of ice baths and bruises, of losses that hurt so bad he couldn't talk afterward and wins that felt good but never felt like enough. Six years of believing in him when the world doubted, of watching him carry the weight of expectations like it was carved into his bones.
And now this. The Super Bowl. He won the Super Bowl.
I look out at the field, at the chaos of it all. Players hugging, helmets tossed aside, grown men dropping to their knees and crying. Somewhere in the middle of it is Fernando, surrounded by teammates, cameras shoved in his face, his smile so wide I can see it from here. He looks unreal, like a dream I'm scared I'll wake up from.
His dad wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. He's crying too, his shoulders shaking. "Thank you," he says into my hair, voice rough. "Thank you for loving him the way you do."
I shake my head, crying harder. "There was never a choice," I say. "It's always been him."
We make our way down toward the field when the staff finally lets family through. It's chaotic, security trying to direct people, media everywhere, but somehow we get there. My shoes sink slightly into the turf, and that's when it really hits me—we're standing on the field of the Super Bowl, confetti sticking to my clothes, the smell of sweat and champagne and fireworks thick in the air.
The trophy presentation feels like a blur. I watch Fernando walk up to the stage, his jersey streaked with dirt, his hair plastered to his forehead. He takes the trophy with shaking hands, lifts it over his head, and the crowd goes insane all over again. I scream until my throat hurts, until my voice gives out completely.
"That's my brother!" his little brother yells, pointing like someone might not know.
When Fernando finishes speaking, when the interviews finally slow, I see him scanning the crowd. Even from a distance, I know what he's doing. He always looks for us. His eyes land on his parents first, and his face breaks into something softer, something almost disbelieving.
I hang back, letting him go to them. This moment belongs to them too. He wraps his mom in his arms, and she laughs through her tears, gripping him like she might never let go. He hugs his dad next, forehead pressed to his, both of them crying openly, no shame, no holding back.
Then his gaze shifts, and it finds me.
The world narrows to just us. The noise fades, the cameras disappear, and all I can see is him walking toward me, his eyes red, his smile trembling. I don't wait. The second he's close enough, I run and jump, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck.
He catches me easily, like he's done a thousand times before, but this time feels different. He buries his face in my shoulder and sobs, his whole body shaking, and I hold him as tight as I can.
"You did it, Nan," I cry, my words breaking apart. "You did it. I'm so proud of you, baby. I'm so proud of you."
"I couldn't have done this without you," he says into my neck, his voice wrecked. "I swear to God, I couldn't."
We cling to each other in the middle of the field, surrounded by celebration, but it feels private, sacred. Like this is our moment, carved out of all the noise.
He slowly lowers me back to the ground, his hands lingering on my waist, his thumbs brushing away my tears. He looks at me like I'm everything, like I'm home.
"Baby," he says softly. "You make me the happiest man ever." He swallows, his jaw tight. "I can't thank God enough for everything he's given me."
My heart starts pounding harder, like it knows something my brain doesn't yet. He takes a step back, his hands shaking as he reaches up and pulls the chain from around his neck. I recognize it instantly. He's worn it for years. I've kissed it for luck before games, teased him about never taking it off.
He slips something off the chain, and when I see the ring, my breath leaves my body completely.
"Fernando—" I start, but my voice dies as he drops to one knee in front of me, right there on the field, confetti swirling around him, the stadium still buzzing.
He looks up at me, tears streaming down his face, his smile wide and terrified and hopeful all at once. "Y/n," he says, my name trembling on his lips. "You've been my everything for six years. You've stood by me when I was nothing and loved me like I was already everything." He laughs softly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't want another win, another loss, another day without you by my side. Will you marry me?"
I don't even hesitate. "Yes," I sob. "Yes, Fernando. A thousand times yes."
He stands so fast he almost stumbles, slipping the ring onto my finger with shaking hands before pulling me into his arms again. I bury my face in his neck, crying so hard my chest hurts.
"I love you," he whispers. "I love you so much."
I clutch his jersey, my heart racing, and before I can overthink it, before fear can steal the moment, the words spill out of me.
"I'm pregnant, Nan," I whisper into his ear. "We're having a baby."
For a second, I panic, wondering if I ruined the moment, if it's too much, too fast. But then he pulls back, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.
I nod, tears pouring down my face. "I found out last week. I was waiting for the right time."
His face crumples, and then he's sobbing again, full-on sobbing, his hands cradling my face like I'm something precious. "A baby," he repeats, laughing through tears. "We're having a baby."
He presses his forehead to mine. "I won the Super Bowl," he whispers, almost disbelieving. "I'm marrying the love of my life. And we're having a baby." He lets out a broken laugh. "I don't deserve this."
I kiss him, slow and messy and full of tears. "You deserve everything," I say. "You deserve all of it."
He pulls me into his arms again, holding me like he never wants to let go, and for the first time, the future doesn't feel scary. It feels bright. It feels like home.
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