inwhich! you, a professional ice figure skater, bumps into a man with a big frowny face while dropping off lunch for your brother during practice.
frannytalks! english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes. i really hope you like this! please like, reblog, & comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist!
the security guard at the entrance barely glanced at you before waving you through. you had been here enough times dropping things off for your brother that nobody really questioned it anymore.
with a bag of food in one hand and your phone in the other, you walked through the training center, looking around for him.
“raphinha?” you called, peeking into one of the hallways.
“he’s still out on the pitch.” one of the staff members smiled, pointing toward the doors.
“thank you.” you smiled back, adjusting your grip on the bag.
you pushed through the doors and immediately regretted not bringing sunglasses. the afternoon sun was bright, reflecting off the field, right into your face.
players were scattered around, some training and some talking near the sidelines. you spotted your brother almost instantly. he was talking to a coach across the field.
before you could start walking toward him, a voice caught your attention.
“you shouldn’t be standing there.” a guy said as he walked past you.
you looked up, he had dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a serious expression.
“move out of the way. people are training.” he said before continuing toward the sidelines.
you blinked, no one had ever been straight up rude to you, apart from your rivals fans and such.
he just kept walking, and you stared after him for a second, hoping he’d redeem himself and say he was joking but he didn’t.
you brushed it off and continued toward your brother. “hey.” you smiled, handing him the bag.
raphinha immediately took it from you. “you’re a lifesaver.” he smiled, already opening it.
you glanced back toward the field. the same guy was standing with a few teammates now.
“who’s that?” you asked while pointing toward the boy.
raphinha followed your gaze. “ah, that’s pablito gavi.” he answered.
“why? you think he’s cute?” your brother jokingly raised his eyebrows.
you hummed. “no. i think he’s rude and like a mr. frowny face.”
raphinha nearly choked on his drink. “what?”
“your friend.” you said, nodding toward the field. “he told me to move.”
raphinha laughed. “that’s all?”
“yes.” you mumbled.
“that’s not rude, y/n.” he nudged you.
you gave him a look. “he literally walked up to me, told me to get out the way, and left.”
raphinha shook his head, still smiling. “trust me. that’s just gavi.”
“my point still stands, he’s rude.” you rolled your eyes.
“good thing my friends are off limits anyways.” he winked at you, which caused you to roll your eyes once more.
raphinha always made it very clear that his friends and teammates were off limits, but in reality any human being was off limits for him. you hadn’t tried out dating at all because of how protective he’d get.
“whatever, i’m gonna go now.” you said, already standing up before he even had time to respond properly.
he barely looked up from his food, “you always do that.” he said, voice muffled slightly as he kept eating.
“do what?” you asked, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder.
“run away when i say something you don’t like.” he smirks.
you closed your eyes and let out a small breath through your nose, glancing once more across the training field towards gavi without meaning to.
“i’m not running away.” you said flatly
raphinha finally looked up, eyebrows slightly raised, amused again “sure.” he said, dragging it out a little.
you didn’t answer that instead you leaned down, kissed his cheek quickly out of habit, and straightened again.
“text me later.” you said, flashing him a soft smile.
“yeah yeah.” he replied, already distracted again by his sandwich.
you walked off without looking back.
-
the olympics came faster than you wanted them to and your skates felt tighter than usual, or maybe it was just your brain convincing you of things that weren’t real.
you kept flexing your fingers, then stopping yourself because you didn’t want to overthink it.
your coach spoke from behind you, trying to encourage you before you started, but it sounded so far away that you didn’t hear any of it.
when your music started everything felt crowded. you moved through the ice smoothly just like you had been practicing for the past couple of years.
by the time you landed your final jump, your chest was burning and your breathing was uneven, but you kept going and kept pushing until the music finally ended and you came to a stop in the center of the rink.
for a second there was nothing but silence, then the arena broke open with sound. you flashed a big smile towards the crowd and made your way over to your coach.
you sat through a couple more performances, then came the time to announce the winners. they called bronze, then silver, you were sure that there was no hope for you getting gold, so you tried to accept the fact you lost.
then, they announced the stats for the gold winner and you stood there blinking, your hands slowly rising to your face as the score flashed on the screen and your name popped up at the top. it made your stomach drop.
you stood in shock, it didn’t even feel real at first. your coach reached for you quickly, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a tight hug which made you snap back into reality, your face instantly flooded with happy tears.
after that it was all noise and flashes and movement again, flowers being handed to you, cameras getting too close, and people saying your name over and over trying to get your attention, it was overwhelming.
before you left you did a couple quick interviews and said your goodbyes to everyone, thanking your coach once again.
then finally, you were back in your hotel room with the city lights glowing faintly outside the window.
your medal sat on the bed beside you, you still couldn’t believe it. you picked up your phone, to a notification from your coach sending you some pictures from your performance.
-
yourusername: 🤍
liked by raphinha, pablogavi, alexconsani, and 4.7 million others
raphinha talento 😍🔥
⤷ yourusername 🤍
madelineargy thought you couldn’t get any sexier 😍
⤷ yourusername literally all you bb 😘
lamineyamal así mero y/n ❤️🔥
⤷ yourusername la niña malaaa 🥹🤍
maoshimada1030 inspiration 😍
⤷ yourusername can’t wait to see you on the ice one day <3
sofyasamodelkina deserved
⤷ yourusername thank you luv, you did amazing too 🥰
igotyuandme can i kiss you
⤷ yourusername you know you don’t need permission ;)
meganskiendiel letting everyone know she’s taken btw
⤷ yourusername let the world know 👀
⤷ candacefitinyou doomed yaoi
⤷ davids.257 someone write a fanfic rn
ynbiggest1fan she’s so perfect wtf
scootiecarrot gavi in her likes??
⤷ che4sofie i mean her brother is raphinha..
⤷ pinkiepiecult #noticing 👀
-
after you hit post you set your phone down for a second like you always do after you post something.
you instantly picked it up again, impatient and nervous about what everyone is saying. you scrolled without thinking too hard, watching your name appear everywhere, edits already being posted, and congratulations from a bunch of people you had never met.
then you noticed something, gavi had liked your post. you stared at it for a moment, confused why he would like it. you figured since a couple of his teammates, including your brother, had reposted it, he probably just clicked and liked it for no reason.
you clicked on his profile, curious, only to see he had 19.4 million followers. you scrolled a bit and saw how passionate he was about soccer.
you also noticed that he always has that annoyed look in his face, even when taking a selfie. you smiled to yourself realizing maybe he wasn’t being intentionally rude to you.
you were still scrolling when your childhood bestfriend, kristiane, called you.
“holis my sunshine!” you heard her say through the phone, using your nickname.
“krispy! hii.” you smiled into the phone.
“you did fucking incredible, i’m so sorry i missed it.” she said softly.
“it’s okay, i know your job never lets you off. i’ll see you soon anyways.” you reassure her.
“can’t wait! also, are you talking to someone and haven’t told me yet!?” kristiane laughs into the phone.
you furrow your eyebrows, confused on what she’s talking about, “what, no? you know you’d be the first person i’d tell.”
“then what’s up with all these edits that keep popping up on my feed?” she says.
“what edits? send me one.” you put her on speaker and wait for her to send you a video.
“with one of your brothers teammates.” she sniffles, “i sent it.”
you quickly open the tiktok she sent and see a silly edit with taylor swifts song, “lover.” in the background.
“kristiane, i promise you there’s nothing going on.” you laugh in disbelief.
“mhm.” she says dragging out the word.
“i promise! he literally just liked my recent post and that was it. i don’t know how these people are so quick with it.” you sigh, closing the app.
“you know how those barca fans are though.” you can feel her smirking through the phone, “watch out for his crazy fan-girls y/n.”
“jesus christ.” you say letting out a soft laugh, “i’m gonna head to bed, i’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
“awe y/n it’s only been like five minutes,” she pouts, “but goodnight sunshine, sleep tight.”
“goodnight, love you.” you say while hanging up the phone.
you place your phone on low power mode and set it on the nightstand next to you, placing your gold medal right next to it.
then, you turn off the lamp and lay on your stomach, closing your eyes and falling asleep.
Summary: How they would react at you calling them by their name instead of their nickname.
Warnings: cursing.
Pedri
"Flaco!"
You call from the laundry room, you were searching for the mop because of something that spilled.
You don't hear him answering you. "Flaco." You call again, giving him a few minutes to call back. You sigh, finding the mop without the mopping part. "Flaco!" You shout, trying for him to hear you.
You leave the mop there, knowing that it was easier for you to clean the spill with napkins than to find it.
"Pedro!" You call, grabbing a few napkins to clean the mess.
He hears you from the outside of the house, where he is playing with Nilo. He walks inside, finding you cleaning something.
"Did you just call me Pedro?" He asks,
"Si, please turn off the spaghetti." You say, throwing the napkins on the trash can. "Also, I called you like a thousand times. Where were you?"
"I was outside with Nilo." He explains, pointing to the door. "You never call me Pedro." He says, confused at you.
You smile at his confused expression, pitching his cheek.
"I was going like < flaco, flaco, flaco > and no answer, so I used your name." You explain, shrugging. "Pass me the sauce, please."
"But Pedro?" He shakes his head. "I'm your flaco, guapo, bebé. Not Pedro." He pouts.
"Isn't that your name?" You ask, squinting your eyes at him. "Pedro." You say, teasing him.
"Don't call me that." He pouts even more. He walks over to where you are, placing his chin on top of your shoulder. "I'm your flaco." He says, hugging your body.
"You are going to burn yourself with the hot pot, Pedro." you smile, pitching his hand lightly. "Food is almost done, seat down."
"Flaco." He hug you tightly. "Say it."
"I don't know what you are talking about." You laugh, trying to escape his hold. "Pedro"
"Bua, you are killing me." He sighs, letting his hold go.
You smile at him, how cute he looked while pouting and giving you those puppy eyes.
"Grab the plates," you say, pushing him towards the cabinets. "Flaco." You whisper.
He pauses, turning his head to where you are. "Repitelo!" He points at you, leaving the plates on the counter. "Go on, repeat it!"
"What are you doing?" You laugh, hugging him as his arms wrap around you. "You are so funny, flaco." You smile, giving him a kiss on the top of his nose. "Or should I say platanito?"
"Love that nickname." He smiles.
"Okay, let's use that one." You laugh, pushing him lightly. "Platanito."
Gavi
"Can you pass me the remote, ojitos?" You ask him.
He was on his phone while you two were sitting on the couch. You put on a movie but your phones seemed more interesting.
"Ojitos." You call again, taking the eyes from the phone. "Ojitos?" You say, looking at him being dso focus on the phone.
You try to reach for the remote, failing for the third time. You turn no look at him, he was still on his phone, watching this video.
"Pablo!" You call, tired already.
He looks up for the phone. "Si?" He asked
"Pass me the remote, please." You smile at him, stretching your arm for him to pass it to you.
He frowns, grabbing the remote. "Sorry, didn't hear you."
"Thanks, Pablo." You smile, turning the tv off. "That movie was boring."
You return to your phone, checking your tik tok for new things. Pablo, on the other hand, is looking at you with a frown.
"Look at this." You giggle, showing him the tik tok. His questioning eyes are looking at you. "What's wrong?"
He pouts even more, you only use his name when you are mad or you are fighting, so he wonders if that's the case.
"You call me Pablo."
You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at him. "Oh, don't be mad. You weren't listening, and I needed the remote." You say, moving closer to him. "Love you, ojitos."
He changed his expression, smiling and getting closer to you. "That's better."
Ferran
"Can you hand me the sauce?" He asks, placing the meat on the grill. "Please."
He was fresh out of the hospital, wanting to cook for his friends and family. He was trying to feel like he could do normal things, even tho he couldn't eat that heavy for a while.
"I still think you should be resting, nene."
"I'm fine, I'm a shark. Don't worry about it." He smiles, placing more food on the grill. "Sauce, please."
You nod, going back to the kitchen to grab it. You notice that there were two types of sauces.
"Nene, I have two sauces here." You say loudly for him to hear you. "Nene!"
You wait for a few seconds, nothing. Ferran was too busy watching a tik tok to hear you calling his name.
"Nene!" You try one more time, still nothing. You roll your eyes, walking back to where he is with both sauces on your hands. "Ferran!"
"Hey! I learned how to do chimichurri on this tik tok." He smiles, showing you his screen. "Why do you have both sauces?"
"Cause I called you to ask which one, but you never answered." You hand him one sauce. "Also, we just bought chimichurri, Ferran."
He looks up to you. "Are you mad?" He asks, frowning a little bit.
"No, why?" You ask, confused at his question.
"You don't call me Ferran, like ever. I'm Ferran to my sister, to my mom, to my dad, to the culers, but to you, I'm not."
You smile, getting closer and hugging him from behind. "Sorry, I keep forgetting you are mi nene."
Fermin
You walk inside of his house, a small cake box on your hand. You left your things on the table next to the entrance.
"Guapo!" You left the cake on the table, sitting down on a chair. "Guapo!"
You frown, Fermin texted you earlier that he was home. You meet up to him because you were going to a friend's birthday party and she asked you to take the cake.
You wait for a few minutes, still nothing. You walk upstairs, trying to find him to get going.
"Guapo, are you here?"
You open the door to his room, finding him watching something on tik tok with so much volume it was obvious why he couldn't hear you.
"Fermin!" You shout.
He throws the phone somewhere, grabbing his chest with both hands. He looks at you with wide eyes, scared because of your shout.
"Joder, me he cagao'" He says. "You never use my name, and now you come here and shout at me."
You roll your eyes. "I called you like three times, I thought you were asleep." You explain. "Put your shoes on, let's go."
He nodded, doing what you told him. You walk downstairs to see if you had everything you needed.
"Can we agree on you never calling me by my name again?" He asks, grabbing the car keys. "That was scary."
You chuckled at him, he looked so worried. "Vale, guapo."
Can you please do more something for Gavi where everyone is at a team barbecue for dinner at raphas and Keyne, miles, Gael, Anna and Laura etc. are all there playing together and Gavi basically has major baby fever the whole time!
baby fever
pairing: pablo gavi x reader
summary: in which pablo gets baby fever watching you play with his teammate's kids
warnings: none!
a/n: i couldn't stop myself from writing the little bonus part and i also have baby fever now...
the sun melts like honey across the grass.
it’s late afternoon, the kind of lazy golden hour that makes everything feel slow and a little unreal. the sky is blushed with heat, music drips soft and low from the speaker tucked near the pool, and the air smells like sunscreen, charcoal, and someone’s cologne carried in the breeze.
you’re stretched across a blanket under a wide tree, warm skin pressed against the earth, surrounded by chaos in miniature form.
gael is curled against your hip like a sleepy kitten, sticky fingers wrapped tight around your dress. miles is in your lap, chewing on something that might’ve once been a cracker, humming a nonsense tune while you stroke his hair. keyne is spinning in circles just beside you, dizzy and giggling, arms outstretched like he’s about to fly.
you can feel the sun on your collarbone. your drink is sweating in your hand. mikky, taia, and laura are lounging beside you, soft and content, the kind of calm that only comes when the kids are entertained and no one’s currently crying.
"you’ve got a fan," mikky murmurs, glancing over the rim of her sunglasses.
you hum, not really listening.
"no," taia adds, grinning, "you’ve got a worshipper."
you follow their gaze across the yard, past the grill and the long table full of empty plates and laughter, to where pablo is standing with his beer half-forgotten in one hand, head tilted, eyes soft and full and stuck on you.
he’s not even pretending to be subtle.
he’s standing there, shirt a little wrinkled, curls slightly damp from the pool, sun touching the line of his jaw—and he’s looking at you like you’re something holy. like you hung the stars, then bent down and kissed the tops of three toddlers’ heads just for fun.
your lips curve. “he’s staring.”
“he’s in love,” laura sings, low and amused.
“he’s having a full mental breakdown,” mikky whispers, watching him blink slowly, totally unaware of the teasing happening in real time.
from across the yard, ferran catches pablo’s expression and nearly chokes on his drink.
“hermano, breathe.”
lamine’s already laughing. “he’s thinking of baby names already”
“he’s gone,” frenkie says, clapping him on the shoulder. “like… wedding ring in the pocket gone.”
pablo doesn’t say anything. he just keeps watching you, arms full of sunlight and someone else’s baby, laughing softly at something keyne said that made no sense at all. the kind of laugh that makes your shoulders shake gently, that makes miles look up at you with wide, adoring eyes.
it’s stupid. and simple. and it knocks the wind right out of his lungs.
he comes over eventually, barefoot and flustered and acting like he just happened to be passing by, even though everyone knows he’s been waiting for an excuse to get closer.
he drops down onto the blanket beside you, all warm limbs and quiet awe, and lets miles climb instantly into his lap like it’s muscle memory.
“hi,” you say, soft and teasing, brushing a leaf out of his hair.
“hi,” he breathes back, eyes locked on yours. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you raise a brow. “because i’m covered in applesauce?”
“because you look like this,” he says, voice like warm velvet. “like you were made for it.”
your fingers curl gently around his. “for what?”
“this,” he whispers, eyes flicking down to where miles is dozing against his chest. “you. little ones. sunshine. soft days. i want it all with you.”
your throat catches. the kids are babbling again. someone starts the playlist over. and still—his words sit heavy and sweet in your stomach like honey.
“you’ve got baby fever,” you say softly, biting back a smile.
“no,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you fever.”
you blink. then laugh, head tipped back, the sound like wind chimes in the summer.
pablo leans in, lazy and golden and glowing, his mouth brushing the curve of your shoulder. “say the word and i’ll build you a nursery tomorrow.”
you hum. “what if i just want a nap and a snack?”
“that can be step one,” he grins, nuzzling into your neck.
miles shifts slightly in his arms. keyne plops down beside you with a dramatic sigh. gael’s small hand finds yours and curls around it, sticky and warm.
and suddenly, the world feels a little slower. a little softer.
you look at pablo—so full of something tender you don’t have a name for—and press your forehead to his.
“you’d be a good dad,” you whisper.
his lashes flutter. “say it again.”
“you’d be a really good dad, pablo.”
he smiles then—crooked and glowing, like you just gave him the moon.
and somewhere across the yard, fermin yells, “you two making babies over there or just planning it?”
you don’t even flinch. pablo just kisses your cheek.
and you—cradling sunshine and chaos and a boy who’s already halfway yours—just smile.
bonus:
the house is quiet now.
not silent—never that, not with three under-fives asleep (or almost asleep) somewhere in the vicinity—but quiet in the way that feels full. like something soft breathing under your skin.
the team barbecue faded hours ago. the sun dipped behind the trees, and slowly the backyard laughter gave way to yawns, half-finished desserts, and sleepy kisses goodbye. the others left one by one, until it was just you, pablo, and three very overstimulated toddlers crashing from their sugar highs.
somehow, you offered to stay the night and babysit. somehow, pablo said yes before you even finished the sentence.
now you’re both sitting on the living room floor—barefoot and pajama-soft—amid a nest of pillows and crumpled blankets, half-buried in baby wipes, storybooks, and a plastic sippy cup that no one can seem to locate.
miles is curled against pablo’s chest, thumb in his mouth, breathing slow and heavy. pablo’s shirt is slightly damp from a bottle incident, but he doesn’t seem to care. he’s swaying gently, back pressed against the couch, whispering something low and sweet in spanish that you can’t quite make out.
“you’re doing so well,” you murmur, kneeling beside him, brushing curls off his forehead.
he looks up at you, and god—his eyes are sleepy, golden, full of something so tender it makes your throat ache.
“he’s perfect,” pablo whispers, like it’s a secret. “they all are.”
you glance over. keyne is finally asleep in the playpen you dragged into the room, one sock off, a toy car clutched in his fist. gael is draped across the loveseat, one leg hanging dramatically over the armrest like a tiny exhausted king.
you sink onto the floor beside pablo, leaning your head on his shoulder. his arm shifts, settles around you without needing to think. miles stirs, sighs, settles.
“i don’t know how mikky and taia do this every night,” you whisper.
pablo hums. “they’re superheroes.”
you’re quiet for a beat. the lamp in the corner casts everything in gold. the air smells like lavender bubble bath and faint traces of barbecue smoke from the open kitchen window.
“you think we could do it?” you ask, almost too soft to hear.
he doesn’t even hesitate. “yes.”
your breath catches. “you didn’t even let me finish the question.”
“didn’t have to.” he turns slightly, careful not to wake miles. “you mean us. this. babies and bottles and falling asleep in the middle of the living room.”
you nod, throat tight.
“yeah,” he says again, quieter now. “i want that with you.”
his fingers find yours under the blanket. slow. warm. familiar.
“you sure?” you tease gently. “what if they all end up like keyne? he made me eat a leaf this morning.”
pablo grins, lazy and full of adoration. “then we’ll eat leaves together.”
you laugh, muffled into his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m yours,” he corrects, lips brushing your temple.
and it’s true. in every sleepy, sticky, love-drenched way that counts—he is. completely. without question.
outside, the wind shifts through the trees. inside, the soft sounds of breathing, the warmth of pablo’s hand, the steady weight of miles tucked between you like he belongs there.
maybe he does. maybe someday, a few more little ones that do belong there. that are part of you both.
but for now—just this.
just pablo’s heartbeat under your cheek, the quiet hum of the night, the almost-whispered promise in the way he holds you close.
like he already knows.
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!
Can i request something like pedri having a crush on a older girl like not too much in his teen years and then he saw her again after so many years and so many feelings came back right after seeing her. You can choose how the story would end.
Thank you 🙂😇
౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Pedri - Ghost of a Girl.
⋆｡˚Pairing - Pedri x fem!reader
౨ৎ Summary - Back at school in Tenerife, Pedri had a crush on a girl in the class above. When he left school and eventually the island, he thought he would never see you again but there you were one night under the warmth of a Barcelona streetlamp.
⋆｡˚Word Count - 2.9k
౨ৎ Warnings - fluff!
a/n - girllll i loved this request!
౨ৎ
It's offseason, and Pedri alongside the rest of Fc Barcelona have just completed another incredible season. A la Liga championship, and a Copa del Rey trophy added to the glass cabinet. It was cause for lots of celebration, and lots of alcohol. I mean, it was the only time they could infuldge, come the new seasons beginning it would be a strict diet and constant micro managing of what fuel goes into the body in order to perform the best on the field.
But pre-season was still weeks away. That's why tonight Pedri, alongside some teammates, has walked out of a bar in the late night intoxicated by too many rum and cokes.
Barcelona at 2am was a sleepy kind of magic. The streets, still warm from the day’s sun, shimmered faintly beneath the orange glow of antique street lamps that lined the cobbled lanes. The air carried the sweet scent of half drank cocktails and blossoming memories. The city was winding down but not quite asleep; music spilled lazily from tucked-away bars, laughter echoed in bursts from alleyways, and the occasional rev of a motorbike as a remainder that this city never truly stopped. It was the hour where secrets lived, and Barcelona cradled them all in her dim, golden arms.
"bicicletas, deberíamos montar las bicicletas." (Bikes. We should ride the bikes.) A drunk Gavi hiccupped as his arm lay around a young Hector's shoulders.
Pedri shook his head with a disastrous laugh but his own mind, full of liquor and wisdom, was actually thinking that the idea of riding a bike through the city was a good idea.
"No. No." Someone tried to protest, preaching maturity over stupidity. The wag of a finger made all the boys begin to laugh even harder.
"Si Flick descubre que estamos muertos" (If Flick finds out we are all dead)
"Ah" Gavi threw his hands up, "How would he know?". It was like he had forgotten they played football for one of the most popular clubs in world football and there was most definitely going to be some video of them riding bikes drunk through the city centre on social media tomorrow.
Pedri ran a hand through his curls and stumbled slightly as he caught his balance, a crooked grin on his face. He wasn’t as loud as the others, never had been, but he soaked it all in-- the laughter, the recklessness, the freedom. Nights like this were a sacred rarity. The chance to just be young boys capitalising on brazen immaturity.
Gavi’s grin widened, mischievous and entirely too proud of whatever was brewing in that half-drunk brain of his. "Carrera hasta Plaça Reial." (Race to Plaça Reial.)
A chorus of cheers and groans erupted from the group as some booed the idea while others hollered in agreement. But then someone said the word 'Bien' and now here they were, all on battered rental bikes, clinging on the creaking handlebars and zooming down the bike lanes under warm lampposts. Just boys on bikes, drunk on success and rum, coasting through the heartbeat of a city that had given them everything.
Gavi had surged ahead, yelling something incoherent about being the "fastest in all of Catalunya" while Hector rang his little rental bell like it was a war horn. Pedri trailed just behind, the warm breeze rushing through his curls and his cheeks sore from smiling too much.
They turned a corner near Carrer del Bisbe, the street opening slightly into a quieter square flanked by ancient buildings and the low hum of a jazz band still playing inside a half-closed bar.
And that's where you were waiting. That's when he saw you for the first time in about six years. A ghost of his memories in Tenerife.
You were standing alone, dressed in white lace and golden jewellery, alone under a streetlamp. Soft golden light all around you like an angel sent from heaven. A cigarette pinched delicately between your fingers. He wondered when you had taken up such a bad habit.
Pedri’s bike slowed.
Because it was you.
You from the year above at school. You with the wide eyes and plump lips. You with the curly hair and soft skin that was always kissed by the sun. A sketchbook always sticking out of your bag, and a lollipop in your mouth on lunch break. You who always had a path of boys falling at their feet. He watched you always, fantasising about you like you would have ever agreed a date with a boy like him.
You hardly ever spoke, maybe once or twice at a few parties here and there but age separated you both. Different classes, different schedules. Then, it was football. Then, it was your graduation. You left the island for University in Seville. Pedri knew that because he checked in from time to time. Usually late at night when he gets the gift of seeing you in a memory.
But tonight is no memory. It's present. It's here. You're are here.
He feels like he's looking at a mirage. Like maybe the rum and cokes were finally catching up with him. Why are you here? In all the places in all the world how is it that you are stood waiting on a bike lane in Barcelona on the night he has drunkenly decided to use the city bikes for the first time in his life.
Pedri ran a hand through his curls, heart pounding in his chest. There was no way. No way this was real.
He blinked hard, once. Twice. But you didn’t disappear.
You adjusted your skirt, staring up at the stars in the night sky. Your weight shifting from one foot to the other. Your hair fluttered slightly in the breeze. It wasn’t even the wind, really. At least it didn't look like it to Pedri. No, it was like the night was moving around you. Like the universe had pressed pause for a second, just to let him feel it. Let him really see you.
Ahead, the boys were slowing to there own stop. Looking back and seeing there teammate unable to stop looking at the girl under the streetlamp. They looked between each other laughing, murmurs about how it was like it was Pedri's first time seeing a girl.
“¡Eh, Romeo!” Gavi shouted back, wobbling slightly on his bike as he tried to balance one leg mid-turn. “¿Te enamoraste o qué?” (Did you fall in love or what?)
A few of the others laughed, echoing the teasing in loud drunken tones that scattered through the square like birds startled from a rooftop. Pedri barely heard them.
Because that’s when you looked up.
Eyes locking onto his like they had been pulled by a string neither of you had known still existed.
Your brows furrowed, the soft curve of your mouth parting slightly. A beat. Then two.
“Pedro?” you said, your voice quiet and shaped by disbelief.
He was aged, much different from the skinny boy at island house parties. You didn't even really know him, you began to question whether it was weird that you even remembered him. You knew he was doing great in football and fame but had you just made it seem like you were a fan girl. Or, should you have called him Pedri? Was Pedro now a reserved name for family.
When Pedri heard you call him his name in that sweet canary accent, his heart skipped a beat. He felt like he was sixteen again and yearning for you to just smile at him in the hallway.
But this wasn’t a hallway. It was a quiet square in Barcelona. And you were smiling. Carefully, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to.
Pedri stepped off the bike, the metal frame clanking awkwardly to the pavement behind him.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” he said, a little breathless, trying not to sound like a boy who had daydreamed of this moment far too many times.
You bite back a small laugh because honestly, it was ridiculous for him to think anyone from your small town back home wouldn't remember him. He was like a god these days.
"Por supuesto que te recuerdo" (Of course I remember you)
He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.
A silence seemingly stretched on.
You looked down at the cigarette still burning lightly between your fingers, and with a half-smirk, you dropped it, crushing it under your heel. "Shouldn’t be doing that."
Pedri laughed gently, his eyes lingering on you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. "No pensé que fueras del tipo de cigarrillo" (i didn't think you were the cigarette type)
"No pensé que fueras el tipo borracho en una bicicleta alquilada a las 2 a. m." (I didn't think you were the drunk on a rental bike at 2am type)
Pedri laughed looking away briefly with a nod like he had been caught out. Then he shrugged his shoulders with a grin.
"Why are you here?" He asked.
"A friend’s birthday. I was waiting for a taxi but” you held up your phone, screen cracked and frozen on a cancelled ride. “Yeah. No luck."
Pedri nodded, glancing back at the pack of boys now huddled in curious and giddy expressions, Hector dramatically fanning himself while Gavi couldn't stop hit cheeky grin. Pedri turned back to you. It was probably a bad idea.
“I can give you a ride,” he said.
You blinked. “On those?”
Pedri followed your gaze down to the battered rental bike. One handlebar was crooked, the front basket rusted, and the back tire looked like it had seen better centuries.
Then, with that lopsided smile that always came just before he did something impulsive, he nodded toward the front of the bike.
"Sit on the handlebars."
You blinked. "¿en serio?"
He gave a small shrug, that sheepish look on his face again. "It’s either that or stay here dodging drunk boys with bells."
Slowly, you stepped toward him, and he steadied the bike as you swung one leg over the front frame, easing yourself onto the handlebars and your legs hanging over the basket. It was awkward at first, but Pedri reached out, his hands resting on your hips for a second. Just to steady you, he told himself. Then, he guided you into place.
"Lean back a little," he murmured, voice soft near your ear and low. Coarse. Heat flutters up your skin.
Your back settled gently against his chest, his arms coming up on either side of you to grip the handlebars properly. You could feel his heartbeat against your spine. Fast. Warm. Like yours.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
You nodded, smiling. You were more comfortable than you should have been. I mean you didn't even know this man, not really.
He pushed off slowly, careful not to wobble, the both of you gliding out into the street like a slow scene from a coming-of-age film, streetlamps glowing in a mirroring warmth.
As you caught up with the rest of the boys, they all quieted down. One by one, they turned to see the pair of you. They watched you perched on the handlebars, leaning back against him, his hands gripping either side of you.
No teasing. No wolf whistles. Just that knowing look to their teammate.
That look. Like they were all suddenly sixteen again and one of their best friends had just secured the girl he had been wanting for his whole life.
Gavi gave Pedri a slow grin. Hector raised his brows and gave a single nod like, nice, man. One of the others whistled low under his breath, not at you, but at the situation.
Pedri shook his head with a smirk, eyes fixed ahead. "No digáis nada." (Don’t say anything)
He cleared his throat. "Uh.. this is Y/N. She’s from back home."
The guys gave small nods, murmurs of polite “Hola”s and soft smirks passing between them. Y/N. So that was her name. A girl from the island that seems like a pretty ghost from their friends past.
Gavi gave you a charming smile and nodded once. “Encantado,” he said, like he was trying very hard to behave himself. You smiled back, amused, and gave a little wave to the rest. Then, you continued on into the night on a bike path in Barcelona, you head against Pedro's shoulder. Your hands faintly touching as they rested on the handlebars. Something magnetic and mature between you. Something aged from school.
The city was beginning to settle around them now, the night thickening, slower, softer. Somewhere, church bells rang the new hour in.
"¿Donde está tu hotel?" He asked, hot breath mixed with lingering cologne against your skin. You swallow.
You told him the name, it wasn't far. Another ten minutes on the bike. Pedri told the boys to wait here while he took a detour to take you home for the night and off you went.
The streets were quieter now, the city folding itself inwards. Your skirt fluttered against the warm breeze, and every now and then your arm brushed his as he leaned to turn. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to.
Eventually, the hotel appeared, beautiful ivy climbing up the dark balconies, one flickering light still on at the reception. Pedri brought the bike to a slow stop just outside the entrance.
You slid off, adjusting your dress, suddenly unsure what to say now that the ride was over.
He stood there awkwardly, holding the bike between you like a buffer. "So… you’re here just for the weekend?"
"Si, for now. I'm moving here for a new job in a month" You nodded. "But I leave on Tuesday"
Pedri's ears perk up at the mention of you moving to his city. The idea that you would exist in the same place, so close. The girl of his dreams, the ghost of his boyhood desires. Here. The gift of endless potential for a future on the horizon.
You feel the same. What you know he's feeling because it's written in the wide pupils of his honey irises. You didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at him. And then you asked, “Do you want to see me again before I go?” You never usually had that confidence, but this was moment you didn't want to waste. The boy from Tenerife was now the man in Barcelona. And god, he was the most attractive person you had ever seen.
His breath caught. He hoped you didn’t notice, but you probably did. You always noticed more than you let on.
"Yeah," he said, his voice like gravel, but soft. "I do." He can't believe this is his life.
You pulled your phone from your small bag. "Here."
He laughs at the cracked screen. But then he grabbed it, typing his number in with both hands. Contact name - Pedro. The way you had said it earlier, because he liked that. He liked that you knew him as a person before the football.
Then he handed the phone back.
"I'll text you tomorrow." He said, with natural blushed cheeks you remember he got when he drank to much at parties. The boy still existed in him in subtle ways, the same way that girl still existed in you. The girl that tried not to make it obvious that she noticed him in hallways. That she looked at him a little too often, the boy from the year below. The one that pretended she wasn't watching him on the field on sports day because she always knew he was destined to leave the island for something greater. And she would be too. Life dividing them inevitably. But now life had brought them back.
You nodded. "I'll be waiting, Pedro". There was something sultry about the way you said it. Something that instantly turned him on. His name from your puffy lips. Oh, he could get used to that.
You stepped back toward the entrance, but turned just once, looking over your shoulder.
And it floored him.
That look.
That glow, that hair, that skin, that smile. Everything. Everything about you always.
"Gracias por el viaje" You waved and then turned off into the hotel. Gone into the night, into the soft hum of the lobby.
Pedri stayed where he was, unmoving, like his body hadn’t quite caught up to the rest of him. He let out a slow breath, ran both hands through his curls, and then just stood there, staring at the spot where you’d been.
Dios mío
How were you real?
He eventually turned back toward the boys, dragging the rental bike behind him like it had lost its wheels. The city felt quieter now, but his head was loud and full of only you. Your bare legs, your touch, your smell.
As he approached the group, Gavi clapped his hands slowly, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, well, well.”
Pedri rolled his eyes, cheeks still flushed, but there was no denying the way his lips kept twitching toward a smile.
sy: your husband and daughter play football together, but he wont let her win.
a/n: who else is in love with dad gavi 🙋♀️
warnings: 0
“mamá,” julia whined softly, clutching onto your hand. “papá is being mean again.”
you chuckled knowing what pablo was like. “what’s he doing amoricto?” you said, crouching down and tucking her brown curls behind her ear.
“he’s not letting me win!” she pouted, “he says i’m too bad at football…”
just as though he heard you both, gavi waltzed in with the ball loosely in his arms, grinning widely and dragging his muddy trainers onto the lament.
“hey niña, why did you run off? i thought we were playing.” pablo questions gently to the little girl hiding behind your shoulder.
“no! only you were playing,” she said in defense. “you don’t even let me touch the ball!”
you stifled a laugh at your daughter bickering with your husband for his agressive remarks. even for his child he didn’t change.
“pablo maybe you should just let her win some,” you suggested with a grin, whilst shooting him a knowing look.
“yeah! you should!” julia squeaked back at him.
“what? and lose my winning streak?” he scoffed playfully, letting the ball fall from his hands to cross them over his chest.
julia only frowned at your husband, muttering silly words like matón and malo quietly to herself.
“let her win,” you mouthed over to him. “don’t be so mean.”
gavi teasingly rolled his eyes, then began padding closer to the two of you on the floor.
“jules?”
“mmpf!” she grunted back at him, turning away to face the bottom of the counters.
“i’m sorry hermosa.”
julia stayed firm. she didn’t wince, didn’t move.
he then grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and pulling you in for a light kiss. “i’ll take mamá out to play with me if you don’t.”
the sly side-eye she gave him made you grin, still facing him with her back. “no.. you won’t.”
a carbon copy of her dad.
stubborn.
“oh yeah?” pablo challenged, heaving you up from the ground and into his breadth arms. “c’mon bebè—”
“nooo!” she suddenly yelled, running to hit him on his knee and grasping onto your hand again.
“mamá is mine,” julia huffed, now wrapping her arms around your leg. “she’s not yours anymore.”
he tutted, repeatedly tapping his foot on the ground. “i mean, agree to disagree.” you could of punched him yourself as of now, cheeks flushed.
“it was a secret—she told me last night that she prefers me.” he teased, earning a scolding from you.
“really?” julia gasped, gleaming her beady hazel eyes up at you. just as you had predicted. pablo had already taught her how to use them against you.
i mean, fair play. you expected it to be later.
“no.. i’m both of yours, vale?”
“nuh-uh! he doesn’t deserve you mamà, he’s a meanie!” your daughter frowned, squinting her eyes at her father to appear mad.
“am not.”
“are too.”
he sighed. “bueno preciosa, we should play a game to see who loves mamá more, deal?”
“deal!” she quickly released her left arm from you and outstretched to her dad. “if i win, i love her more. you win and you love her more.”
OUTSIDE. “mamá, you watch sí?” she shouted to you from the other end of the garden. “si, si.”
you rested comfortably on the silk of grass, threading dandelion flowers through one another to create a chain. you might aswell get comfy, this was gonna be a long game.
the first 20 or so minutes, your husband was recklessly firing goals at your poor girl in goal; scoring 8 out of the 11 he shot.
although, she seemed quite composed and relaxed as the score was 8-7 to pablo. generally speaking, the score would have been 20-3 if you didn’t remind him to go easy on her.
it was julia’s turn for the next kick. pablo was stood defensively in goal, bouncing on his heels.
“watch this mom!” she tried to, subtly, half whisper across to you, a cheeky smile curving on her lips. she took a few steps back and swept strands of her hair away from her sticky face.
as jules went to kick the ball, she accidentally stepped forward before kicking it, sending it flying past gavi’s reach, in the bottom corner of the net.
“tramposa,” (cheater) he shouted, quickly swerving up from the grass; the muscles in his face contracting. “you’re cheating jules!”
“haha, daddy is a loserr!” she mocked, pointing and giggling at him. you couldn’t resist to laugh too. the grown nature of a man, 20 years old, getting angry at losing to a 4year old girl.
mocking him when he loses..
she learnt from the best.
pablo snorted, now chasing her with open arms. “c’mere you!”
she continued to scream; tried to outrun her father, hoping to reach you in time. “mamaaà,” she wailed, the panic in her eyes laughable.
“quick! quick jules!” you urged, subtly shuffling closer to her without having pablo kick up a fuss.
she swiftly jumped into your arms, tightly fisting your shirt and snuggling her head into your stomach, quirking her brows up at him.
you chuckled again at how she surprisingly outran gavi, something that you would definitely—now—wind him up about. “she’s already faster than you. that didn’t take long.”
“okay, that’s it,” he warned, before pushing you mellowly down on the grass, tickling both you of you until all you were spouting were pleads.
“papá stooopp!” she giggled, trying to smack away his hand.
you laugh with her, even by looking at the utter frown on his face. “you should get used to this angel, he does this when he doesn’t win.”
“ey!”
pablo crushed ontop of you both until julia wriggled out from under his weight and nestled on the right side of your chest, with gavi on your right.
he enveloped one arm around you, his other around his daughter and held you both close to him.
“las amo a las dos chicas,” (i love you both my girls) pablo said mid-laugh, placing a wet kiss on your cheek, and unstyling julia’s hair.
all three of you lay on the grass of your garden, keeping eachother near and warm, enjoying the wave of silence before they began chasing each other round again and screaming like monsters.
moments like this you cherished. the two people you loved most in the world right next to you. it’s an honest thing to say you’d be lost without them.
pablo cleared his throat, shuffling his head closer along your shoulder. “so..”
Gavi X Physiotherapist! reader (birthday special!)
Word count: 3.8k
Warnings: suggestive content!
A/N: I am back once again with more self indulgent fics for my baby boo thang's birthday !!!
~~~
"Doctoraaa! When are you coming home? I'm withering away from boredom and loneliness."
You could practically hear his pout through the phone, imagining him sprawled out on the couch with his feet in the air.
"Gaviraaa I am studying so that I can graduate on time! Or do you want me to keep making a student salary forever?" You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, still furiously typing away at your sample notes for your advisor.
"What are you even studying? You basically run our whole club's rehab program by yourself. What else do they need to test you on?"
That was actually an excellent question. It was coming up on the two year anniversary since you had become a Barca employee, and you had almost fully taken the reigns. Dr. Gonzalez had checked out, waiting for you to get your degree so that he could finally retire. Nicolas was a good assistant, but was still heavily lacking in his ability to make quick decisions, so he was stuck doing basic PT most of the time. The show was essentially yours to run.
"This last year is testing my leadership ability and teaching skills. When I graduate, I will start running the intern program at the club, and so they have to make sure I can correct staff mistakes."
Your typing was getting progressively louder as you continued angrily editing the note in front of you.
"Take this idiot Aaron. He has not written a single coherent note since he got assigned as my mentoring project. If he were an employee he would have been fired weeks ago. But since this is a "training and learning" opportunity or whatever, I have to fix all his notes and send him the edits so he can learn."
You heard shifting on the other end of the line, and then a soft thud followed by some whispered profanity.
"Pablo please don't injure yourself."
"Maybe it will bring you home faster. Oh no my other ACL!"
Despite his giggle, you went quite on the other side of the line. The day of Pablo's injury had been one of the worst of your life. He had been playing for the national team, so you had no choice but to stare at your TV through glassy eyes, utterly and completely helpless. One of your friends literally had to prevent you from collapsing (though to this day you maintain that it was dehydration, not hysteria). He had called you from the sideline, and the pain in his voice just made you break further.
"I need you."
You had been waiting at the airport to receive him, official team gear on in an attempt to distract fans from the fact that you were fully embracing him and crying into his shoulder. You had almost gone insane in the lead up to his surgery, triple checking the credentials of everyone involved. You stayed by his bed for his entire stay, spending most days and night making sure he wore his brace and didn't make any stupid decisions. It was on one of these nights, when you were once again complaining about not having your favorite undereye cream at his house, that he once again asked you his favorite question.
"Why don't you just move in?"
As usual, you brushed the comment off. Gavi had been asking you to move in weekly for over a year now, always unfortunately dead serious. There was an innocence and simplicity in the way Pablo say the world that you wished you could emulate. He liked you, he was comfortable around you, and he wanted you to live with him. Simple, right?
But it terrified you. You loved Gavi, probably more than anything else in your life. But long withstanding trauma lives up to its name of being long withstanding. That feeling that the expiration date of your perfect relationship was approaching? That never went away. It was like the more time you spent with Gavi, the more you were terrified that he was going to figure out what was wrong with you, why no one could love you until this point in time, and run for the hills. Your apartment was the one space you still had to be irate and disgusting and genuinely yourself without being afraid of scaring him. And it would make it much easier when he eventually broke up with you to date a pop star or a model or Pedri.
"I'm being serious, princesa. You're here every night. You spend more time here than at your own place. You barely sleep in your own bed because you're just obsessed with me and want to take care of me all the time."
"Pablo, we've talked about this..."
"Yes," he said, sitting up and opening his arms in a gesture for you to come cuddle with him. "We have. Back when we had only been together for only three months and we didn't know if you would be able to put up with me."
"Hey!"
"Let me finish." He hugged you closer to his chest, resting his chin on your head and rubbing slow circles into your skin. It was hard to maintain your composure when you were like this, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin and the pressure of his lips kissing your crown every so often.
"We've been together for a year and a half now. I've seen you in bad moods, heard your yelling, plucked your chin hairs-"
He restrained you from getting up, giggling at your embarrassment. He really was the most adorable little thing on the planet.
"I've seen you at your lowest points. Which, admittedly mi amor, were not that low. I saw a tiktok of this guy who had to pull out his girlfriend's tampon. This could be much worse. Hey, look at me."
You turned over, your chest pressed to Pablo's as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. You had learned how to do this in the last year, how to steel yourself under his intense gaze. Pablo Gavi looked at you like he was in the presence of a divine being, eyes big and soft and filled to the brim with adoration. He looked at you like just your image was all he needed to keep breathing.
"I love you. So much that sometimes I don't know what to do with it. I want you to move in so I can take care of you, and so that it's easier to let you take care of me. I want to annoy you with my morning training alarm and make you coffee and maybe mess up your laundry when I try to do the washing."
"This is not a convincing argument so far, baby."
"I just want to live with you. And be around you. And hold you like a weighted teddy bear while I sleep."
"What if you get tired of me being around all the time?" You asked between smooshed cheeks, finally losing your ability to maintain his stare.
Gavi refused to even dignify the question with a verbal response, instead letting go of your face to lift the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your cheek was practically burning up pressed against his abs, still defined and solid despite days of immobility.
"Doctora, this is how close I want you to be. At all times. I am about to sew you to my torso. So will you please move in?"
And it was then that you agreed to it. Now the house was littered with so much merch on the walls and shelves it looked like a sports store, but it was yours. A home. You spent months taking care of Gavi, from driving him to appointments to at-home physiotherapy sessions. You took every opportunity to place a gentle kiss on the scar on his knee (ya know, when you were down there ;) ) and avoided all clips that showed him in pain.
"Come on, Doctora. I'm okay."
"I know, I know... it's just not a memory I can bring myself to joke about. Not while you're still in recovery."
"I'm sorry, amor. Can you come home and scold me about it?"
You groaned again, resisting the urge to slam your head into your keyboard. The progress notes were really terrible.
"And besides, you need to finish packing."
This was true. In about 6 hours, you and Gavi would be on a plane for his birthday trip to Ibiza. He had been buzzing with excitement about his birthday trip for months now, eager to take you someplace where there would be nothing to distract the two of you. Just perfect sand and perfect sea for a perfect weekend. He had talked about going farther than Spain this year, maybe Italy or at least Portugal, but injuries have a great way of canceling travel plans.
You reluctantly agreed, telling Pablo you would be home in about 30 minutes, before you began to tidy your workspace. You sent a polite yet pointed email to Aaron (with the head of department CC'ed) explaining that the work was too terrible to be corrected, and he should clear up some time in September to train with you before the season began in earnest and you would be too busy to teach him how to spell "bradycardia".
It was always a humbling experience to pull into the driveway and park your beat up little car next to Gavi's team-sponsored beauty. You were dreading the day he upgraded to something nicer - the neighbors would start thinking that someone was there to rob him. He was already standing at the door smiling wide when you pulled in. He walked up to your door, grabbing all your bags and ushering you inside away from the heat. This had become a regular for Gavi - tracking your location to greet you the second you arrived - so there was really no need to question it anymore. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, eternally grateful for the gentleness he showed you. After a quick yet heated rant about the incompetence of some of the students in your program, you headed upstairs to continue packing.
"Pablo, you think I need to pack more than two dresses?" You asked, looking over the satins and crocheted pieces that your friend ensured you was "totally in".
"I don't think you need to pack any dresses. Or even clothes for that matter."
You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, who was leaning casually against the doorframe.
"Am I supposed to be naked for the whole trip?"
"Not the whole trip. Just pack some bikinis for during the day and some cute underwear for the night. The outfit you wear to the airport should be more than enough incase we ever need to leave." He walked over to where you stood in contemplation, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and his head resting on your shoulder in the perfect position to kiss your neck.
"Be serious, Pablo. What if we want to go for a nice dinner for your birthday? I can't go in a thong or in my plane sweats."
He didn't stop his attack on your neck for an instant, addicted to the warmth and taste of your skin on his tongue.
"Mi amor, mi sol, mi vida - at the risk of being vulgar, I have to say that you will be the nice dinner on my birthday."
Your eyes went wide at this statement, and suddenly you were glad for his arms there to keep you upright.
"I don't even think I have more than one bikini that still fits."
At this, Gavi released you, running to the closet with your yells to slow down behind him (if you had a euro for every time you told him not to run in socks, you could pay off the club's debt). He came shuffling back out with a large black bag, which he promptly dumped out onto the comforter. There were at least ten swimwear sets in various colors and prints, ranging from polka dots to stripes to... was that cheetah print?
"I picked these out the other day. Well, actually, that's a lie. I sent your size to Aurora, and she placed the order online and I just picked up the bag at the store. Can you imagine what Instagram would do with pictures of me buying lingerie?"
"But there's no lingerie here?"
"Fuck." He scampered off once again, returning with another bag to repeat his previous actions. This time the contents were much more sultry, with dark silks and satins staring back up at you. Mainly reds and blacks littered the pale covers.
"Pablo, you shouldn't have. This is too sweet! But we are only going for three days. There's like a month worth of stuff here."
"Are you planning on never going out again after this trip? Just pick your favorites for this weekend. The rest will be waiting for you when you get back, just in case we ever go to the pool or you want to surprise your football star boyfriend by wearing these to work."
You couldn't even be mad at his words when your heart was so full from his gesture. Pablo was always buying you things - that was nothing new. But you had been worrying for days about not looking good on this trip, not having anything new to wear, and he took that burden off your shoulders.
"So I can pick any of these? They look expensive."
"Ay Doctora, don't upset me. Nothing is worth more than your happiness. I do have one request though."
"Yes, mi amor?"
"You have to wear this one on my birthday," he said while reaching past you to pick up a white bikini with red cherries printed all over.
"Why is that?"
"Because you're like the cherry on top of my birthday cake. You always look good, but I want you to look irresistible."
"Okay, let's relax that's a lot of talk for a- oh my God." Your eyes widened, and you grabbed Pablo's face with a dropped jaw.
"Are you okay?"
"Oh my God."
"You said that already."
"Pablo!"
"Yes, princesa?"
"An adult. You're going to be an adult tomorrow. As in not a teenager."
"We arrive at like 11pm so it's more like I won't be a teenager anymore tonig- are you crying?"
"I'm not going to have a teenage boyfriend anymore!" You threw your arms around him, hugging him so tightly there was a fear of his ribs cracking.
"I feel like I should be offended by this statement."
~
"3...2...1... Happy 20th birthday Pablito!" You said softly, a single cupcake with a lit candle on the top held before the birthday boy. It was the same as the previous year (iykyk), but this time with a red and yellow swirl to match the Spanish national team.
"Thank you, mi vida." He closed his eyes, deep in thought regarding his wish, and blew out the candle. He scooped up a dollop of frosting, placing it on your lips before kissing it gently away.
"I can't believe I get to spend another birthday with you," he whispered out, scared that anything louder would destroy the gentle atmosphere around the two of you.
After sharing more sugary kisses, you fell asleep on Pablo's chest, soothed to sleep by his slow heart beat and rhythmic breathing. You woke before him, placing a kiss on his forehead before getting up to dress, snickering quietly at his snoring. The poor boy was so exhausted. You put on the swimsuit he had picked for you, the material fitting you stunningly. You looked at yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. The white and red complemented your skin, your hair framing your face still bare and slightly puffed with the remnants of sleep. Gavi's necklace dangled between your collar bones, the metal cool on your skin. Everything on your body was an expression of love.
Stepping out of the bathroom in your bikini and wrap around skirt, you found the bed suspiciously empty. There was a light breeze coming from the terrace, where you found your boyfriend leaning shirtless on the railing. As if sensing your stare, he turned over his shoulder and wave you to join him. The sun was starting to shine in earnest, the smell of the ocean filling your senses. There was no place you would rather be.
"Good morning, beautiful. I know I asked you to wear that, but I almost want you to take it off. You look too good - I'm scared I'll have to beat every other man away with a stick."
He took a seat on one of the deck chairs, and you took your rightful place on his lap, arms around his neck.
"Good thing this strip of beach is private then."
Your lips found his in a deep kiss, fingers traveling to play with the short strands at the nape of his neck. It was an intoxicating thing to kiss Pablo Gavi. His plush lips molded perfectly to yours, bringing you in impossibly closer. He was always so eager, gently nibbling on your bottom lip whenever he could catch it, soft breaths and little whines spurring you on. Neither of you could bring yourselves to stop, tongues tangled like high schoolers as you made out in the early August sun. His hands were firm on your hips, more for his benefit than yours. He was eager to drag you to the sand, but knew neither of you would leave the room if he allowed your hips to act on their own accord. He relaxed back, allowing you to take the lead, and whimpered a little louder when you bit his lip. It was your giggling that broke the kiss, and you rested your forehead against his, breathless and chest heaving.
"Big Bad Gavi likes having his lip bit. Who would've thought?"
He whined again, finding the column of your neck and to town, nipping and sucking, unwilling to not have his lips and tongue occupied by you just yet. When you started digging into his biceps, he released you, admiring his handy work.
"Pablo people are going to see." You said, pout on your lips and big eyes trained on your boyfriend. He kissed your jutting bottom lip and lifted you off him.
"Like you said - good thing this beach is private."
~
Pablo had so many moments with you where he thought "she could never be more beautiful than this". The first was the first night you fell asleep on his couch, face peaceful with sleep. The next was under the stadium lights, as he thrust a trophy in your hands and lifted you above his shoulders. Then it was in some French hallway, in a ballgown with no heels as he kissed you senseless, finally brave enough to take what he wanted. In coffee shops and grocery store aisles and on his mattress, he always thought there was no possibility for you to be more stunning. But as you lay stretched out on the sand, eyes closed and muscles relaxed, he had the thought again. The sun tinted your skin slightly, making you gleam like a goddess that had just emerged from the sea. The bright white against your skin had Gavi tingling, wanting to remove the pure material and access what it was protecting.
Your hair was soaked, and you laid on your stomach in the sand to gain some color and dry off after the exertion of swimming with Gavi. The sun was phenomenal on your damp skin, and you had never been more at piece. You felt a hand creep up your back, and suddenly your chest wasn't as supported as it should have been.
"Pablo! Did you just undo my top?"
"I'm just unwrapping my present."
He brought you to sit on his lap once again, your loose top fighting to remain around your neck.
"How private is this beach?"
"You think I would let you go topless if there was a chance another soul would see?"
You felt like a teenager again, embarrassed and looking around frantically for someone who would catch you in such an act with your boyfriend.
"I heard beach sex sucks and I'm not eager to get sand in my vagina."
"We're not going to have sex on the beach. I may be more grown up, but I still like seeing boobs every once in a while."
"So you just want to look at them?"
"Among other things. You want to see my checklist?"
You wrapped your arms around his neck once again, kissing him deeply as he fully removed the fabric from your chest. He brought a hand to your back, pressing you against him, your breasts flush against his chest. It was a thrilling sensation, being topless and against your boyfriend with the sun beating down against you both.
Gavi laid back on the sound with you atop him, unclipping you hair to allow it to fall down your back. In your current situation, you were still covered enough to not face public indecency charges. He played with the strands of hair, weaving his fingers into the locks as his teeth caught your bottom lip and sucked on it like his favorite hard candy.
"I'm going to have sand in my hair."
"Guess we'll just have to take a bath together so I can wash it for you."
You kissed him again, his fingers trailing up your torso and brushing the sides of your boobs, sparking electricity in their path. It was so high school: topless on a beach, making out with your boyfriend. But made you stir low in your stomach, a mix of desire and the deepest form of love. You loved Pablo Gavi. You loved his little antics, you loved the pleasure he brought to every aspect of your life.
"Enjoying your birthday so far?" You asked, reluctantly pulling away from his lips, chest heaving against his. Gavi took the opportunity to grab your breasts and squeeze lightly, playing with them like it was his favorite activity in the world.
"More than I can even express."
He brought you against him, arms around you and bodied pressed together, and laid back down.
"So you just wanted to feel me up while we make out?"
"I want to feel you against me, mi amor. I want you to feel how hard my heart beats when I'm around you. I want to do everything that comes to my mind with you. Being topless on the beach. Ordering everything on the hotel menu. Skinny dipping at midnight. Every experience in my life is better when you're in it. I want to make every memory with you, so that when we're old and hold hands in our matching wheelchairs, I can say "Hey remember when we were hot and young and topless making out in Ibiza?" I want to do everything in the world with you."
You pressed your lips to his again, a deep kiss that winded the both of you.
"I love you, Pablo. Happy birthday."
"I love you more, Doctora."
~~~
Okay here it is!! Happy birthday to the love of my life, the light of my soul, Pablo Gavi. I love this boy more than I can express, and he represents so much good in my life. I hope his 20th year is filled with every happiness in the world.
As usual, please like, comment, reblog - all the good stuff. If you like this dynamic, I have a full 10 part series of these two idiots in my masterlist. I also have an ongoing Pedri series! Check that out if it's more your speed.
Please also take a moment to check out the links on my pinned post to help families in Palestine. If you don't have the money to donate but still want to help, every comment with a watermelon emoji under my pedri posts = $1 I donate on your behalf. I think that's all I have to say. Love y'all <3
summary: your ex boyfriend picks you up from an event and takes you home.
warning: smut!!! minors do not interact!!
The only sound in your ear was the rain hitting the pavement of the Catalan city. Your hair and dress were drenched, your make up smeared and you held your heels in your hand while waiting for your ex boyfriend to pick you up. Why him? Well, it wasn't practical for someone as famous as you to take an Uber home in the middle of the night, was it?
Truthfully, you and Pablo could never quite stay away from the other. Ever since you two had broken up mutually, it felt like you two got along even better. You two were healthier, you didn't need to deal with his constant jealousy and he seemed to enjoy his freedom, it was a win-win situation.
When you called him, about 30 minutes ago, he picked up on the 3rd ring and he was in the car the second he hung up the phone. Sure, he was a famous footballer in his early 20s who loved women and loved having fun, but there wasn't anything Pablo wouldn't do for you, in a relationship or not, he'd give you the moon and the sun if he could.
"Get in, bonita," he said as he rolled down the passenger window to look at you from his expensive car, his left hand on the steering wheel while the right was on his thigh.
You sat in the car and you practically heard Pablo's hiss as the leather seats got drenched under you.
"Thanks for picking me up," you said dragging your voice as Pablo started the car, his eyes never leaving the wet road, your own eyes watching the rain drops on the windshield.
"You're welcome, you know I don't mind," he spoke with his little Spanish accent, the small acting already sending a jolt of pleasure from your stomach to the spot between your thighs.
The rest of the drive was silent, you watched the wet road, the puddles, the lights of Barcelona, anything but the football player because you knew that one look was enough for him to pull over and for you to ride him right there, in the driver seat. It didn't stop you before. Pablo kept stealing glances at you, a small smirk on his face, the strip of three condoms in his pocket were proof that the thought of picking you up was not so innocent.
One thing leading to the other and you two were stumbling across the hallway of your apartment complex, trying to get to your door as he walked you towards it. His hands on your waist, yours around his neck as you kissed sloppily, the sounds of your kisses echoing through the hallway.
Pablo pushed you against the door, the wood cold against your bare back as you searched your purse for your keys, your hand moving over Pablo's boner and making him groan into your mouth.
"Your keys are definitely not there," he spoke lowly but with a hint of amusement, making you chuckle breathlessly before taking your keys out and twisting the doorknob, Pablo almost pushing you inside and his lips attacking yours once again.
Your hands were everywhere, his brown hair, his shoulders, his chest, his belt while trying to pull him closer to you.
"You always were impatient, nena," he hummed with a smirk, his fingers running through your wet hair while his other hand cupped your breast, caressing it over the material of your dress as his brown orbs were glued to your face, watching your lips part as a small moan escaped them, a sound only Pablo was able to get out of you.
His lips parted, dropping to your shoulder as his finger hooked in the strap of your dress, pulling it off your shoulder and replacing it with his warm, soft lips. Your head fell back, your fingers hooking in his hair, making him smirk against your silky skin as he continued to press wet kisses to your shoulder.
"Bedroom," he murmured, his hand creeping shamelessly behind you and pulling the zipper of your dress down, letting the light material fall off your body, revealing your bare chest and violet, lacy underwear, the very pair that was his personal favorite.
You nodded, immediately walking towards the stairs of your penthouse, Pablo following closely behind you, smacking your ass as you neared the bedroom, the skin to skin sound filling the air.
In your bedroom, Pablo sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread the tiniest bit so you could stand between them as he caressed your near naked body. His rough hands roamed over your ass and thighs, squeezing as he did so, his mouth catching your nipple, all while he looked up at you and watched you fall apart on front of him.
His tongue circled your nipple as he hummed appreciatively, his hand squeezing your ass until you hissed, you looked down at him as he sucked on your nipple, your pupils dilated and your cheeks flushed.
"Pablo, I need you, please," you spoke quietly, the words slipping out of your mouth like a prayer.
"Get on all fours, hermosa," he said, your breast falling out of his mouth and his brown eyes looking up at you with such innocence it made your head spin. How can he look so innocent with those big eyes, yet so sinful at the same time?
You gulped and nodded, immediately taking the position on the bed, your ass up in the air while your cheek rested against a pillow. Pablo fidgeted with his pants, throwing the strip of condoms carelessly between the bedding before he stripped, throwing his shirt and pants somewhere in the room, he didn't look, his eyes were glued to your damp panties, your clothed core displayed perfectly in front of him.
"You're so ready for me, mi vida," he whispered, bending down and his finger running over the damp material before his finger hooked in the violet lace, pulling the panties to the side, his tongue running along your folds and making you moan and arch your back, pushing your pussy in his face as he ran his tongue up and down your core before pulling away.
Pablo delivered a smack to your ass as he stroked his cock, positioning himself behind you, running the tip of his dick along your wet folds, only making you moan in anticipation. He grabbed the condoms, opening one with his teeth and spitting the plastic out, rolling it onto his throbbing member.
He grabbed your hip as he began to push into you, feeling you stretch around his dick and cursing under his breath, praising you at how good you feel as your juices soaked him. You felt him hit every spot, your pussy clenching around him as you whimpered and moaned, knowing that Pablo Gavi would bring eternal bliss to you. Always.
"Mierda," Pablo hissed, picking up the pace, his skin slapping against yours louder with each movement, "I can't get enough of you."
Pablo Gavi was far from the most perfect man you've been with, he was jealousy, angry and possessive, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You were addicted and and just couldn't get enough.
The annual FC Barcelona Christmas dinner was supposed to be formal. Elegant. Professional. The kind of event where everyone behaved perfectly, sat up straight, clapped politely, and listened to long speeches about sportsmanship and tradition.
But nobody warned them that putting you and Gavi next to each other was a terrible,terrible,idea.
You sit side by side at the enormous round table, surrounded by players, staff, and their families. The room is decorated in shimmering silver and deep Barça blue, warm lights strung across the ceiling like stars. Everyone looks beautiful, festive, cheerful.
Everyone except your boyfriend, who is currently failing miserably at pretending he’s paying attention.
Gavi sits stiffly, jaw tight, face slightly pink, doing everything humanly possible to appear normal while your fingers brush against his under the tablecloth.
You bite your lip to hide your smile.
He shoots you a quick glance,soft, pleading, adorable. You nudge his knee with yours.
He jolts.
Pedri, sitting across from you two, raises an eyebrow.
Gavi clears his throat aggressively. “Water. I need water.”
“Claro, bro,” Pedri snorts. “You look like you’re overheating.”
Gavi glares at him, then tries to act casual by taking a long sip from his glass… except you slide your hand onto his thigh at the exact same moment.
He chokes.
“Are you okay?” you ask innocently, patting his back as he coughs.
Across the table, Fermín mutters to Lewandowski, “He’s dying and she’s smiling. This is suspicious.”
You squeeze Gavi’s hand beneath the table, fingers intertwining. He squeezes back immediately,urgent, warm, comforting.
The speakers start their usual holiday speeches, thanking fans, honoring staff, listing achievements. Everyone turns their eyes to the stage.
Everyone except Gavi, whose eyes keep flicking to you like you’re the only person in the room.
He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. You let your foot slide against his under the table,slow, teasing.
He inhales sharply.
“Bro,” Nico whispers from the next table over, leaning just slightly in your direction, “are you two, like… fighting for dominance under there or something?”
Gavi’s ears go flame-red.
“We’re literally sitting here,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Quietly.”
“Quietly?” Ferran asks with a grin. “You kicked the table so hard it almost shook.”
The entire table looks between the two of you slowly.
Gavi tries lying. “It wasn’t us.”
Pedri leans forward, smirking.
“Then why is Y/N’s shoe missing?”
You freeze.
Gavi freezes.
You look down.
…Your shoe is, indeed, gone,somewhere under the table because your boyfriend accidentally pulled it off during a very intense game of footsie.
Gavi knocks his forehead onto the table with a groan. “Dios mío…”
You press your hand over your mouth, trying desperately not to laugh.
The boys do not spare him.
Fermín: “He’s finished.”
Alejandro: “No recovery.”
Lewandowski, very dramatically: “Young love is a battlefield.”
Raphinha, clapping his shoulder: “Hold strong, hermano.”
Gavi looks at you with a mixture of embarrassment, disbelief, and absolute affection.
“Why do I love you so much?” he whispers.
“Maybe because you stole my shoe,” you whisper back.
“And your heart,” he mutters, cheeks still red.
Pedri groans theatrically.
“Kill me. They’re disgusting.”
You put your hand back on Gavi’s thigh,not teasing this time, just gentle.
He laces your fingers together again, holding on tight.
Throughout the next part of the dinner, you two settle into your own little world. Soft touches. Secret smiles. Gavi leaning close to whisper random thoughts he claims are “important.” His hand finding yours under the table over and over again, like he can’t help it.
When dessert arrives, he finally retrieves your shoe from under the tablecloth and quietly slips it back onto your foot.
Nobody misses it.
The whole table erupts in teasing, hollering, and dramatic applause.
Gavi turns to you, red but grinning, and mutters,
“I don’t care. They can tease all they want.”
He squeezes your hand once more,warm, certain, sweet.
“You’re my favorite part of tonight.”
You lean in just enough for your shoulder to brush his, and whisper back:
“You were mine before we even sat down.”
And under the table, where nobody can see, he links your pinkies together and refuses to let go until the dinner ends.
