missing world cup ‘22 tumblr 😔
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missing world cup ‘22 tumblr 😔
This month, in my country, there's a challenge among men to not masturbate/have sex for a month. Do you think the drivers would participate, or Dean Huijsen? If so, would they win?
the one month challenge
pairing: some selected f1 drivers/footballers x gf!fem!reader
summary: what the request says really ._. // headcanons
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), unprotected and protected sex, p in v, eating out, blowjob, masturbation, mention of toys, themes of possessiveness, light degradation | barely proof read <3
a/n: oooh this is exciting! love a quick drabble since i'm notorious for waffling. i'm so curious what country this is from!!! anyways, hope you like it ♡︎ if anyone wants a part two with other people lmk.
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist
oscar piastri
honestly he's not that into it initially. he couldn't give a damn because it's not about his pride or ego. the man just wants to feel good and make you feel good. why would he want to stop that? but then you start with the teasing.
"i think you're saying no because you're afraid you'll lose, osc."
he looks at you blankly. "what?" i'm not afraid i'll lose... i just think it's stupid."
POST MATCH
✮⋆˙ where you enjoy the rest of the night after one of his matches
✮⋆˙ staring: anyone you like x fem reader
✮⋆˙ a/n: i spent hours searching here for a player who fit what i wanted to write about, but i didn't find one so i'll let you guys choose. i hope you guys enjoy it <3 it's just a silly little thing
He had told you that he might not be able to meet you before the match, but he promised to meet you soon after.
So you waited for him in the parking lot, leaning against the side of the car he'd driven you home on your first date two weeks ago. You're seeing people leaving, some players, some members of the coaching staff, people from his world.
His world. This is the first time in a month and a half of conversation that you're really seeing his world, his life.
And apparently he's letting his people know about you, since his best friend in the squad walked past you and winked – not in a flirty way, more like "I know what you two are up to" way.
He doesn't intend to hide you from anyone, he's not that type. He knows he would only hide you from the world if that were your wish. And that's what is not happening right now, actually. His mother already knows about you, his friends back in his hometown already know about you too.
He couldn't keep it a secret even if he wanted to.
The invitation to watch the match came last weekend, after long conversations during the nights and him almost missing training the next day because of it.
It's just that you two were acting like lovestruck teenagers, but the feeling was inexplicable. He makes you feel good and you make him feel good, so there's nothing wrong with acting like you're both 13, right?
"On a scale of 0 to 5, how many stars does my performance deserve?"
His voice startled you, perhaps because you were too lost in thought. He saw you trembling slightly and placing your hand over your heart, this made him smile slightly.
"Sorry," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, "I think this will make you give me fewer stars than I really deserve."
You rolled your eyes playfully, "Good thing you know," you returned the smile, "joking aside, you did very well."
He bowed in thanks, eliciting a loud laugh from you that quickly covered your mouth and looked around.
"Don't be shy," he whispered before changing position and standing in front of you.
You swallowed hard, adjusting your posture and crossing your arms in front of your chest – maintaining eye contact was proving difficult because this man possessed some kind of magic which caused your confident spirit to almost leave the room completely.
"I'm not shy," he raised an eyebrow after hearing your words, "can we talk about your match?"
He ran his tongue over his lower lip, "Sure, we can talk about the match."
He crossed his arms just like you, his eyes repeatedly darting between your mouth and your eyes.
"You can't act like a normal person," you pretended to whine and put both hands over your face.
"I'm acting like a normal person," he lowered his voice as he shifted positions once more, standing beside you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him with a smug smile on his face.
He ran his hand along the edge of the car window, biting his lip, "Want to talk about the match somewhere else?"
You sighed and nodded, "Sure. Would the team nutritionist be very angry if you ate a hamburger with me?"
He chuckled lightly, "No. Once a week doesn't hurt, and I deserve it because I played a good match."
He opened the passenger door for you.
"If you say so."
ᥫ᭡
"You didn't tell me," he said after taking a bite of the french fry he was holding, "Would you go to the stadium again if I invited you?"
You looked at him and smiled, "maybe. I thought it was an amazing experience, and my favorite part was watching you try to find me among so many people."
He rested his head against the car's headrest, "Did you notice?"
You nodded, "Yeah. Every chance you got, you seemed to be looking for someone."
"I was nervous," he admitted, "And worried about whether you were enjoying it or not."
Your smile softened, "I was genuinely happy for being there. I loved watching you play."
"Yeah?" he leaned in slightly to get closer to you.
"Yeah."
He gently touched a strand of your hair, as if it were something too precious.
"Your hair is very beautiful," he smiled.
"Thank you," you chuckled softly, "But is that all you have to say to me?"
He shook his head in denial instantly, "I want to tell you so much more. But before anything else, I have to ask you something."
"I feel like I already know what you're going to ask," you pressed your lips together.
"Do you feel it?" he continued, smiling, "It's a favor I need, something that could save my life."
"Save your life?"
He nodded and lowered himself, gesturing for you to lower yourself as well, looking around as if there were someone else nearby besides the two of you.
"When I was younger," he whispered, looking into her eyes as if he were about to tell her the biggest secret of his life, "I was swimming in a lake when a mermaid tried to pull me under. She couldn't, but she looked into my eyes and said something that changed my life forever."
You did your best to hold back your laughter and try to go along with his craziness.
"What did she say?"
He widened his eyes and stared intently at you, "She said she had cursed me, and the only way to break the curse was by receiving a kiss from a beautiful maiden whose features she described to me, and now I tell you, they are the same as yours."
You're trying to figure out if he was being serious or just indirectly asking for a kiss, but a laugh escaped anyway.
"Will you rid me of the curse?" he pouted.
You pretended to think, "What do I get in return?"
"A place in heaven for having a good heart and helping a helpless man."
She laughed in disbelief, "You're a good player and a good actor, congratulations."
He placed his hand on his chest, "I'm dying. Where's my kiss?"
He reclined his seat and closed his eyes while you stared in disbelief.
"That's unbelievable," you laughed before bowing to his request, "but lucky for you that I'm truly a kind-hearted girl."
He gave a wide smile before feeling his lips touch yours. It was a quick peck, just to tease him.
"There. You are free from the curse."
He opened his eyes slowly, "Is that all?", he was being playful.
"You're very ungrateful, aren't you?"
He sat down again, "Never. You saved my life with that little kiss," he kissed your cheek, "an angel."
"A savior of cursed lives."
He chuckled, "The best, by the way."
Heyy queen, not sure if your taking requests atm but would you be open to doing the ‘current boyfriend’ tik tok trend with the Barca boys??
Love your work xx
current boyfriend
pairings: pablo gavi x reader,, pedri x reader ferran torres x reader, pau cubarsi x reader, hector fort x reader, alejandro balde x reader, lamine yamal x reader, marc bernal x reader
summary: in which you do the current boyfriend trend on your boyfriend
warnings: none!
pablo gavi
you’re tucked against pablo’s side on a rainy afternoon in barcelona, his hoodie drowning you, your legs tangled with his under the blankets. the soft hum of the tv plays in the background, some old barça match he keeps watching like he doesn’t know how it ends.
he’s got his phone resting on his stomach, barely paying attention. you, on the other hand, are holding yours up sneakily — recording already.
you glance at him, then at the camera, trying not to smile.
“vale,” you whisper to yourself, clearing your throat dramatically. “hi everyone! so today we will be seeing how well my current boyfriend knows me.”
pablo’s head turns so fast you nearly drop the phone.
“¿cómo que novio actual?” he says, brows furrowing, voice full of dramatic offense. “perdona?”
you can’t help it — you burst into laughter.
he sits up, pushing the blanket off his chest like he’s ready to fight an invisible threat.
“actual? like… like i’m temporary?” he blinks, eyes wide. “so what am i? a trial version?”
you’re giggling uncontrollably now, clutching your stomach as he starts pacing the end of the bed like a man betrayed.
“ah, i see. this is why you didn’t want me to meet your tía at easter. you were planning my expiration date.”
“pablo!” you squeal, still laughing, “it’s a tiktok trend!”
he stops mid-step and looks at you, dead serious. “you think trends will save you when i’m heartbroken? huh?”
you fall back onto the bed in tears (from laughing), and he finally cracks a grin. crawling back over, he snatches your phone and flips the camera around.
“listen,” he says, addressing the imaginary audience with one hand around your waist, “i am not her current boyfriend. i am her only. su único. por siempre.”
you try to roll your eyes but he kisses your cheek dramatically, then mumbles into your skin:
“y si algún día dice que me va a dejar… no va a poder. porque ya la puse en el grupo familiar.”
“you added me to the family whatsapp, pablo. that doesn’t make us married.”
“sí que sí. you’ve seen the memes. it’s forever now.”
you look at him, still flushed from laughter, and suddenly he’s soft. less chaotic. just him. warm brown eyes, a slightly crooked smile, and the way his thumb brushes against your hip like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.
“oye,” he says, quieter now, “if i was actually your current boyfriend… would you tell me if you were planning to replace me?”
you blink. he’s joking, but also kind of not. there’s a flash of real feeling behind his teasing.
you lean in and kiss him, slow and certain.
“you’re not my current anything, pablo,” you murmur against his lips. “you’re my always.”
he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.
then — with zero warning — he grabs the phone again.
“and that’s how you win, chicos. take notes.”
pedri
you’re curled up on pedri’s bed, face half-buried in his pillow, phone in one hand, feet nudging at his side. he’s sitting up next to you, back against the headboard, scrolling aimlessly through some article about barça tactics like it’s the most thrilling novel on earth.
he doesn’t notice you start recording. not at first.
you turn the camera toward the two of you, face blank, voice casual.
“hola chicos,” you whisper. “today im here with my current boyfriend.”
his head turns so fast it’s like he heard a whistle blow.
“¿qué?” pedri says, blinking. “current boyfriend?!”
you turn to him, eyebrows raised like you’ve just been asked what 2+2 is. “yeah?”
his mouth opens. closes. opens again. he looks genuinely stunned. like he’s been called offside while standing still.
“‘current boyfriend’?” he repeats slowly, like he’s trying to translate it into something that makes sense. “me estás vacilando, ¿no?”
you furrow your brow, all wide-eyed innocence. “what? that’s just… what people say.”
“no, it’s not,” he says, staring at you like you’ve personally rewritten the dictionary. “that’s what you say when you’re... i don’t know. rotating the squad.”
you blink. “rotating the squad?”
“like you’ve got backups. a bench.”
you gasp. “you think i have backup boyfriends?”
pedri folds his arms across his chest, staring you down. “well. apparently i’m the current one, so.”
“pedri,” you giggle, crawling over to him. “you’re being silly.”
“am i?” he says, fake offended. “who’s next, then? ferran? ansu? don’t lie.”
you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “hmm. héctor.”
“wow,” he says. “so you’re into the young guys now. okay.”
you lean your head on his shoulder, still recording. he stays frozen, arms crossed, pretending to be emotionally wounded.
you poke his cheek. “you know i’m joking, right?”
“don’t talk to me,” he mutters, nose scrunching as he hides his smile. “i need to reevaluate my relationship status.”
you kiss his jaw softly. “you’re not my current boyfriend.”
he perks up slightly. “no?”
you shake your head sweetly. “you’re my favorite one.”
his face drops again. “that’s worse.”
you laugh, full-on now, as he reaches over and tries to snatch your phone.
“delete it,” he says, but he’s grinning. “delete it or i’m telling your mom you bullied me.”
ferran torres
you didn’t mean to prank him.
well. okay. you kind of did.
you’d seen the “current boyfriend” videos all over tiktok lately—girls casually calling their long-term boyfriends “my current boyfriend” and capturing their reactions. most of them blinked. some looked offended. some acted like it was the end of the world.
you had a strong feeling ferran would fall into the last category.
he was in your kitchen now, quietly snacking on cereal out of the box, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, hair still messy from his post-training nap.
you turned your phone to selfie mode and whispered, “okay guys... this is my current boyfriend.”
you angled the camera toward him.
ferran looked up, mid-chew. smiled automatically—then blinked.
“…wait.”
he squinted.
“current?”
you bit your lip, trying not to smile.
he slowly lowered the cereal box like it was suddenly very heavy. “what do you mean current, cariño?”
“you know,” you say, way too casually, “like… my boyfriend for now.”
he tilted his head, fully confused.
“for now??? am i... am i on a trial period or something?” he blinked. “is there a deadline?? did i miss a meeting???”
you cracked, laughing into your sleeve.
ferran pouted. properly pouted. full lips pulled down, forehead creased, arms crossed loosely in front of him like a kicked puppy.
“wow. i was gonna share the cereal with you,” he muttered.
“you never share cereal with me.”
“yeah well. current me was about to.” he glanced at your phone. “are you recording this?? oh my god.”
you put your phone down and walked over, wrapping your arms around him lightly. he didn’t hug you back immediately. just stood there, all soft and betrayed.
“you know you’re not just my current boyfriend, right?” you said into his hoodie.
he was quiet for a second. then—
“…okay but like. just to be clear. i’m the final boyfriend? like. endgame? credits roll?”
you smiled into his chest. “final boss.”
he let out a tiny sigh of relief, rested his chin on your head, and mumbled, “okay. but no more ‘current’. i almost had a heart attack. i thought i got dumped mid-cheerio.”
pau cubarsi
you were half sprawled on the couch, bored, lazy, and dangerously close to falling asleep, when your phone buzzed with yet another “current boyfriend prank” video.
you’d seen like six today, and every time, the boyfriend's reaction made you giggle. confused, dramatic, sometimes genuinely offended.
and now you were eyeing pau, who was across the room trying very seriously to fold laundry—his tongue poking out slightly as he focused on folding a t-shirt into a perfect square.
too perfect an opportunity.
you opened your front camera, hit record, and called out in your sweetest voice, “hey guys, just wanted to introduce you to my current boyfriend…”
pau looked up instantly, soft brown eyes lighting up—until he processed the words.
“...your what?”
you tried not to laugh. “my current boyfriend.”
he blinked. once. twice. his whole expression shifted—eyebrows furrowing, nose scrunching, lips forming the tiniest pout.
“current?” he stood there holding your hoodie like it had personally betrayed him. “what do you mean current, amor?”
you bit your lip, pretending to stay casual. “you know… the boyfriend i have right now.”
he dropped the hoodie. full-on stared at you. “so i’m just a phase now? like… like a monthly subscription?”
you snorted.
“pau—”
“no no. don’t even,” he cut in, arms now crossed over his chest. “what happens after me? is there a waitlist? auditions?”
you couldn’t stop giggling now. he was so serious about it, even as his pout deepened and he looked away like the most offended golden retriever alive.
“i folded your clothes,” he added quietly. “i was gonna make you toast.”
“and i love you for it,” you grinned, putting your phone down and padding over to him. you wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. “you know i’m joking. you’re not just my current boyfriend, you’re my forever boyfriend.”
pau looked down at you, still pretending to be mad but already melting. “you can’t just call me current and then snuggle your way out of it.”
“i can if you like snuggles.”
he let out a dramatic sigh. “…i do.”
you reached up to boop his nose. “thought so.”
he finally smiled—barely—but then buried his face in your hair and mumbled, “i’m unfollowing you on tiktok.”
“no you’re not.”
“okay but only because you smell nice.”
hector fort
you’d been meaning to try the “current boyfriend” prank on héctor for days... héctor is chill. confident. annoyingly hard to rattle. but you knew if you caught him off guard, you’d get something out of him.
and today felt like the right day.
he was lying on your bed, arms behind his head, scrolling through something on his phone with his usual “i’m bored but also deeply unbothered” expression. he was wearing grey sweats, socks half on, one of his training shirts, and just existing in your space like it was his second home.
you hit record quietly.
“hey guys,” you said, voice sweet. “just wanted to show you my current boyfriend.”
his eyes immediately flicked over to you.
“...sorry?” he raised an eyebrow. “current?”
you blinked innocently. “yeah. my boyfriend at the moment.”
he let out a small laugh. one of those “you’re not serious” kinds of laughs.
“nah. no way you just said that.” he sat up slightly, resting on one elbow. “you really called me your current boyfriend? that’s crazy.”
you bit back a smile. “what? you are.”
he gave you a look. “babe. be serious. i’ve met your mom. i have a drawer here. i help you parallel park. we’re past current.”
you snorted. “parallel parking makes you permanent?”
“yes.” he leaned forward, still smirking. “also you kissed me this morning and said ‘i’m obsessed with you’ so...”
“i don’t recall—”
“i do. you were wearing my hoodie. looked very in love. kinda embarrassing for you.”
you groaned. “you’re so cocky.”
he shrugged, smug as ever. “i’m your forever boyfriend. you said it, not me.”
alejandro balde
you’d been scrolling through tiktok all day, watching all these “current boyfriend” prank videos where girls called their boyfriends “current” and got hilariously confused or offended reactions.
and then you caught alejandro just chilling on the couch, sneakers off, socks barely hanging on, flicking through his phone with that lazy grin of his.
you smirked.
“okay, let’s see what happens.”
you grabbed your phone, hit record, and with your sweetest, most casual voice said, “hey guys, this is my current boyfriend.”
alejandro looked up instantly, eyebrow twitching. “wait, current?”
you smiled, trying to keep it innocent. “yeah, like, the boyfriend i have right now.”
he blinked, then gave you a mock scandalized look. “current? so like… i’m temporary? a loaner? what’s the deal?”
you laughed. “no! it’s just a prank, chill.”
he threw his head back dramatically. “ay nooo, you’re breaking my heart over here.” then he wiggled closer and poked your side, grinning. “but if i’m just current, does that mean you might get a better one next week?”
you rolled your eyes but smiled. “no one’s better than you, ale.”
he smirked, looking all confident but his eyes softening. “good answer. because i’m staying.”
then he reached over and stole a quick kiss, still grinning. “current? nah. i’m forever.”
lamine yamal
you and lamine had been hanging out all afternoon — just snacks, music, and lazily throwing popcorn at each other while you argued over who had the better spotify taste. (spoiler: it was you, obviously.)
he was lying across your bed now, halfway on his stomach, hoodie sleeves all bunched up, phone in one hand while his other reached for snacks he wasn’t even looking at.
you sat down at the edge of the bed, grabbed your phone, and pressed record quietly.
“hey guys,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice level. “just wanted to show you my current boyfriend.”
you angled the camera to show lamine, still flopped on the bed. he turned his head slowly.
“…your what?” he blinked. sat up slightly. “nah. say that again.”
you smiled innocently. “my current boyfriend.”
he made a face — somewhere between “wtf” and “am i being pranked.”
“current is wild,” he muttered, sitting all the way up now. “you sayin’ there’s, what, a next one coming soon? someone on the bench or what?”
you laughed, trying to stay in character. “i’m just saying… things change, you know?”
“nah nah nah,” he said, holding up a hand, clearly fighting a smile but also a little bit serious now. “you can’t say stuff like that. i do math homework with you. i let you put your makeup on me last week. i carried your tote bag.”
“and i appreciate it, current boyfriend.”
he gasped. dramatic.
“don’t call me that. take it back.”
“you’re so offended.”
“i am offended,” he said, half-laughing. “i thought i was him. i thought i was ‘final boss boyfriend’. this is crazy.”
you giggled and finally leaned in to stop recording, flopping onto the bed beside him. “baby, i’m joking.”
he rolled his eyes but you could tell he was smiling for real now.
“you better be. ‘cause i already planned our next 5 dates and i’m not deleting them.”
you turned to look at him. “you planned five?”
“yes. and one of them includes gelato. you’d regret losing me.”
you laughed again, pressing your face into his hoodie. “you’re ridiculous.”
he smirked, brushing a crumb off your forehead.
“and permanent. don’t forget that part.”
marc bernal
you were sitting on your bedroom floor, half-folding laundry, half-pretending to be productive, while marc lay stretched out on your bed — arms behind his head, legs crossed, watching you with that small, steady smile he always had around you.
he wasn’t saying much, just watching. you knew that look. it was the “i like being here” look. the “i’m too comfortable to move” look. the “you’re my peace” look.
you smirked to yourself and grabbed your phone.
“okay,” you whispered into the mic, “so i just wanted to show you guys my current boyfriend.”
marc blinked. slowly sat up.
“…your what?”
you kept a straight face. “my current boyfriend.”
he just stared for a second, head tilted slightly, his expression somewhere between confused and mildly offended.
“current?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “like... as in, temporary?”
“mhm,” you said, pretending to focus on folding a hoodie. “he’s great for now.”
he let out a short breath, then slowly got off the bed and walked over, sitting down next to you on the floor.
“so when does my contract expire?” he asked, teasingly calm. “or do i get to renegotiate?”
you smiled, finally meeting his eyes. “depends. you offering long-term?”
marc gave a soft little huff of a laugh, then leaned his shoulder against yours.
“preciosa. i already signed for forever.”
you laughed under your breath. “you sure?”
he nodded. “one hundred percent.” then, just a little pouty, added, “but it did hurt. hearing you say current. like i’m on loan or something.”
you nudged his arm. “i was just messing with you. you’re my one and only, bernal.”
he gave a small, quiet grin, and you could tell he’d already forgiven you.
“…still rude, though.”
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby,, @vicolette, @bernalswifeyy lmk if you want to be added/removed!
THE BARÇA BOYS AS BOYFRIENDS
⁀➴┊includes: ferran torres, pedri gonzalez, pablo gavi, alejandro balde x 𝒇!reader
FERRAN TORRES
⁀➴┊okay, first things first. i think ferran just likes his women smart. he loves to be able to learn from you, to look up to you. he loves to admire you. whenever you’re telling him a story about what happened at work, he’d listen so intently, his eyes glistening. or whenever you use specific jargon, he’d literally think to himself in wonder that he’s bagged such a smart, intelligent and competent girl.
IN WHERE : having sex with the fc barcelona boys.
THIS ONE SHOT IS : fem!reader x fc barcelona boys
INCLUDES : hector fort, fermin lopez, pedri gonzales, ferran torres, alejandro balde, pau cubarsi
note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.
w: smut.
request open!
HECTOR FORT:
Hector is pretty easygoing when it comes to sex, well, it depends on the day. If he's tired but also horny, he can go slow and deep while pulling your hair from behind.
But if he comes home angry, it's a different story; he prefers to go fast and rough, making your bodies collide, echoing in your room.
Hector is also a fan of fucking with Anuel's music playing in the background, especially. Hector gets turned on, and if you fuck with Anuel's "Or Nah," ugh, you won't be able to walk tomorrow.
FERMIN LOPEZ:
Fermin does it however you ask: fast, slow, hard, soft, however you want and whenever you want, but his favorite is fucking before and after games.
Before games, it's like good luck; after games, it depends on how the team did. If things go badly, he gets even and fucks you hard. If they win, he does it quickly and with kisses.
PEDRI GONZALES:
Pedri is a madman when it comes to sex. Anywhere, anytime, but with you and only with you.
Tongue, fingers, he knows how to use everything at his disposal.
Pedri likes rough sex, pulling your hair, telling you what to do, controlling your orgasm, or simply anything that involves him dominating you.
FERRAN TORRES:
Ferran is a serious man when it comes to sex. He seeks to take you to the limit, until you even forget your name. He likes a good, hard fuck.
Nothing better than watching your wife squirm for you while you fuck her. He loves it, especially if you moan his name, begging for more of him.
Like Fermin: he fucks you before the games for his good luck. It's a quickie, and after the game, you can continue.
ALEJANDRO BALDE:
Alejandro is playful. He likes to talk during sex and laugh at you. He also controls your orgasm or just lets you want it and that's it.
Could say he likes it when you beg him or tell him how good he feels. He's satisfied with that and loves the little voice you make while you tell him.
PAU CUBARSI:
Cuba is a sweet guy. He likes to kiss you while you're doing it and occasionally laugh at the sounds of pleasure you make.
Pau likes flattery. Fuck him while telling him he's a handsome guy, and he'll do it with even more desire and talent. If you like, you can pull his hair or bite his shoulder; it turns him on because he knows he's doing it right.
If you ask him, he can be rough, but he has a hard time treating you badly or talking dirty to you. He can't; he's too embarrassed.
❝ justageekk, 2025 ❞
Kisses —FC BARCELONA.
summary: What are their kisses like or how do they like to kiss you?
warnings: none. cute, soft, fluff, headcanon.
—Pedri Gonzalez.
His kisses are too long and affectionate. He likes the sensation of feeling you close to him, he thinks it is intimate and the most tender way to show love.
He could spend hours kissing your lips, soft and delicate, showing you how much he likes your lips. He is very shy at times but if you kiss him first, he will not be able to stop.
like i’d ever fall for a culé… right? ✶ HF32
english isn’t my first language, enemies to lovers and a little bit suggestive content
── ✦ ──
You hated Barça players. Straight up. Okay, maybe hate was a strong word. But something about them just rubbed you the wrong way. Was it the arrogance? The way they walked around like football gods? Or was it that your heart had been white since the beginning of time, and anything that smelled remotely blaugrana made your blood pressure spike?
Probably the last one.
And yet, there you were. At a party in Madrid. Surrounded by unfamiliar jerseys, laughter, loud music, and for some reason players from the rival team.
More specifically, Héctor Fort.
You weren’t sure how he even ended up there (rumor had it he was friends with a couple Atlético players), but the point was: he was there. Right in front of you. Wearing that “I know exactly the effect I have” smile, his hair artfully messy, and a tight black shirt that, honestly, was not helping your anti-Barça stance.
“Mind if I come closer?” he asked, holding a drink in one hand, eyes locked onto yours with shameless amusement.
You gave him a flat stare. “Only if you’re not about to bring up the 2009 treble.”
“And what if I talk about the one that’s coming next?” he replied smoothly, leaning against the wall beside you.
You rolled your eyes.
“Not even in your dreams, Fort.”
He laughed — clearly enjoying this. “You know my last name? I’m flattered.”
“I screamed it once when you scored an own goal. One of the best days of my life.”
He clutched his chest in mock pain. “And here I was, about to offer to buy you a drink. Life is cruel.”
“Buy it for someone easier,” you said, turning your back on him and walking back to your group of friends.
But of course, he didn’t leave.
Because he was Héctor Fort. And you’d just bruised his ego. Now, you were his challenge.
It didn’t stop that night. It never did.
You started running into him at events, mutual hangouts, rooftops where someone always happened to invite “that group of Barça boys.” And every single time — he was there. With those flirty lines. With the way he leaned in just enough to hear you better. With that annoying accent you were starting to maybe find attractive.
And each time, you replied with sarcasm.
“So… switched sides yet or still playing for the villains?”
“How are you gonna resist me when ‘visca el Barça’ doesn’t even make you flinch anymore?”
“You know, you’re kinda hot when you pretend to hate me.”
And you who had sworn never to smile at him started doing just that. Without even realizing it. Because that stupid flirt knew exactly what he was doing.
One night, after a particularly intense match (which Madrid obviously won), you ran into him outside a rooftop bar. He was alone. So were you.
Both of you stopped.
“Here to rub in the score?” he asked, flashing that crooked smile he wore when he was tired but still ready to play.
“Do I need to? I saw you disappear in the second half. Looked like it hurt to watch Bellingham celebrate.”
Héctor chuckled quietly, stepping closer.
“What really hurts is you still pretending you don’t want to kiss me.”
Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Come on,” he murmured, leaning in way closer than what was polite. “I’m not the only one feeling this. Don’t look at me like that if you’re not going to do something about it.”
You said nothing for a second. The air between you shifted heavy, electric. You were one bad decision away from something irreversible.
“I would never hook up with a Barça player,” you whispered.
“Then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me,” he said calmly. Confident. Like someone who already knew you were shaking.
You bit your lip.
And said nothing.
Because you couldn’t.
Because… maybe you did want him.
Because that annoyingly charming idiot had slipped under your Madrid jersey and into your head.
Nothing happened that night. But after that, everything changed.
Your texts with him became more frequent. Your “I’m not into you” turned into “you’re so annoying.” And your “you’re so annoying” slowly transformed into I think about you more than I should.
And when Héctor texted you after El Clásico saying: “We lost… you coming to comfort me or still pretending you feel nothing?”
Your reply was: “I’m on my way. But don’t think I like you.”
He replied with just one word: “Liar.”
You said you were going just for fun. That it was just to mess with him. That it didn’t mean anything.
And yet, there you were. Standing in front of the hotel where Barça was staying in Madrid. Heart pounding. Phone shaking in your hand. His last message still on the screen.
You hated him. You hated that he was right. Because you’d said you didn’t like him, that it was a game, that you’d never fall for a guy like him. But you thought about him. You thought about him way too much.
Héctor came down a few minutes later. No hat, no rush. Like he didn’t care who saw him. Like he already knew you were coming. Like you did, too. “I didn’t think you’d actually show,” he said, in that low, soft voice he only used when he wasn’t joking.
“I didn’t come for you,” you replied quickly, arms crossed.
“Oh no? Then why?”
“For… pride. To prove you don’t affect me.”
He smiled. “Then stay. And prove it.”
He gave you that look the one that wasn’t just a look. It was a statement.
You both went to the top floor. Not his room, obviously. The rooftop. It was empty. Quiet. Just a couple lights and the distant hum of a city that never really sleeps.
You sat at the edge, pretending to be calm. He stayed standing, watching you like every little move you made fascinated him.
“I don’t get why you bother me so much,” you muttered. “Because you like me.” “No.” “Yes.”
You glared at him. But it wasn’t hate. It was that other thing. That burn in your mouth every time you were near him and didn’t kiss him.
“I don’t like you.” “Then look me in the eyes and say it,” he replied, stepping closer.
You did.
And you couldn’t say it.
Because it wasn’t true anymore.
“This is stupid,” you whispered. “Then kiss me. Show me it means nothing.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” you snapped but you were already standing, barely a breath away from him.
“I’m not asking you to fall in love. Just stop lying.”
You froze.
You could feel his hands close, feel his presence, the heat, the tension building in your chest. Like your whole body already knew what you wanted before your mind caught up.
“I’d never hook up with a culé,” you whispered, almost like a mantra. But it was losing power.
He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath from yours.
“And I shouldn’t want a madridista who hates me. But here we are.”
You stood there. In that dangerous silence. That line between walking away… or giving in.
And you wanted to leave.
But you wanted to stay even more.
And that terrified you. Excited you. Set you on fire.
“You know what the worst part is?” you whispered, not moving. “What?” “I didn’t even like you.” “And now…”
His fingers brushed your cheek. Barely. Like he was asking for permission.
And you didn’t stop him.
“Now you annoy me in a different way,” you murmured, voice shaking.
He smiled.
“Then kiss me.”
Your lips were so close, the next move could change everything.
And he knew it.
Because you weren’t his enemy anymore. You were his obsession.
You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe him. Maybe you. Or maybe the universe had just gotten tired of the tension and shoved you two together.
What you did know… was what happened next.
His mouth crashed into yours with a mix of frustration and hunger. Like he’d waited too long. Like he needed to prove, once and for all, that this wasn’t a joke. That it wasn’t a game. That it was you.
It was a rough kiss. No softness. Tight lips. Hands gripping your waist. All that pent-up energy finally set free.
And you kissed him back.
With every ounce of the frustration you’d buried. With all the want you refused to admit. With the overwhelming urge to rip off your white jersey and forget the colors just for tonight.
His fingers traced your back, tangled in your hair. He pulled you closer closer like any space left between you was an insult.
You were breathing against his mouth, between kisses, barely catching air.
But you didn’t want to breathe. You didn’t want to think.
You pushed him gently against the rooftop wall, hands on his chest. You felt the heat of his skin through the fabric. He let out a low breath against your neck, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Fuck…” he murmured against your jaw, lips trailing your skin. “I swear I didn’t know how bad I wanted you until now.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. Because it hurt, too. You’d fought this for so long. And kissing him was surrendering and at the same time, the most freeing thing you’d ever done.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you lied, voice trembling.
“Then kiss me like that again,” he said, biting softly at your lower lip. “And tell me you feel nothing.”
So you did.
You kissed him like you were trying to forget him and memorize him at the same time.
Your legs were shaking. His hands slid down your sides with dangerous slowness. Your back hit the cold wall, and instead of pulling away it just ignited you even more. You needed him closer. Deeper. More.
“What are we doing?” you whispered, forehead pressed to his.
“Something we shouldn’t… but I can’t stop.”
His lips trailed down your neck. Short kisses. Like little promises you didn’t yet understand. Your fingers slid under his shirt. He shut his eyes and exhaled deep and shaky.
“We’re not going further here,” you said suddenly, trying to take back some control.
“I know,” he whispered, eyes dark and full of want. “But don’t ask me to walk away from you tonight.”
And you didn’t.
You stayed.
Wrapped in each other’s arms. Kissing in silence. Touching like the world outside the rooftop didn’t exist.
And when you finally went back downstairs, lips swollen, shirt slightly rumpled there was no pretending anymore.
It wasn’t a war.
It wasn’t a rivalry.
It wasn’t pride.
It was Héctor.
And he had won you in the one way you never thought you’d fall: by kissing you until you stopped fighting.