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Gold Medal | Barca Boys

Summary: The moments after the World Cup Win 🏅

Warnings: Cursing.

Pairing: Pedri, Ferran, Eric, Gavi, Pau and Lamine.

A/N: Hello, darlings! I'm back after my long hiatus. Our boys won the World Cup, I am really proud and I want to celebrate with a Barca Boys World Cup Edition!

MR. FROWNY FACE - p. gavi

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!

Brother's Best Friend: Pablo Gavi

Pablo Gavi x Reader

Content Warnings: Mentions of false incest rumours involving siblings (explicitly denied), shouting/anger, and an unexpected kiss.

word count ~ 1.2K

You sat in the stands with your knees tucked up, arms folded across your chest, trying to look like someone who belonged. The crowd around you was restless, voices rising and falling in a thousand different rhythms, but your gaze was fixed on the field—on your brother, Pedro González. People always seemed to whisper when they saw you two together. Sometimes you’d catch the comments—“They must be dating, right?”—and roll your eyes so hard you’d get a headache. You’d corrected them so many times you’d lost count, but the rumours clung like static. Once, someone even muttered, “Keep it in the family, I guess,” and you’d had to swallow a wave of nausea. It was gross. Pedro was your brother—not your secret lover, not your forbidden crush—just your brother. Sure, he was attractive, but not to you. Not like that.

You tried to push the thought aside and focused on the game, your heart quickening as the play unfolded. Pedro was closing in on the goal, weaving between defenders with the kind of confidence that made you proud and a little bit envious. The stadium seemed to hold its breath. And then—he scored. The net rippled, and the stands erupted. You shot to your feet, hands cupped around your mouth as you screamed your brother’s name, your voice lost in the roar. Pedro threw his arms wide and celebrated with that ridiculous little dance he’d been doing since he was seven.

But as the game rolled on, your attention drifted. Your eyes kept finding one player—Pablo Gavi. He moved across the pitch with a kind of raw energy that made him impossible to ignore, like he was always on the verge of breaking into something wild. Most people called guys like him “handsome,” “hot,” “talented.” But for some reason, none of those words fit. Gavi was beautiful, and the thought startled you every time it crossed your mind. You’d catch yourself replaying little things about him—how his hair flopped over his forehead, the way he laughed with your brother, the intense focus in his eyes when he thought nobody was watching. You’d rambled about him to your friends more times than you cared to admit, but you always laughed it off. It was easier that way.

You forced yourself to look away as the other team took possession, but Gavi drew your gaze again a moment later, crashing into an opposing player with reckless abandon. They hit the ground hard, and then an argument exploded—gestures, shouting, faces red with anger and adrenaline. The ref flashed a yellow card at both of them, and you saw Gavi’s jaw clench. He stomped off the pitch as he got subbed out, anger radiating from him like heat.

You watched as Pedro jogged over to the sideline, gesturing toward the coach, Xavi, his face earnest and pleading. You couldn’t hear the words, but the answer was clear enough from Xavi’s tight shake of the head. Pedro looked frustrated, but then he turned to you, a plan forming in his eyes. Before you could even process what was happening, a staff member waved you down from the stands and led you behind the scenes. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, grass, and old liniment.

Pedro was waiting, breathless, as you emerged from the stairwell. “Y/N, can you calm Gavi down? Please.” He looked at you with desperation, a flicker of vulnerability you rarely saw from him.

“Why me? I barely know him,” you replied, voice low, confused and a little defensive.

Pedro hesitated, glancing around before leaning in. “Don’t tell anyone, not even Gavi, but... he likes you. He wouldn’t shut up about you for an entire week after he came over.” His eyes narrowed, half annoyed, half relieved.

Your mouth fell open, words caught in your throat. “Wait, really?”

Pedro winced. “I shouldn’t be saying this. Just... talk to him, okay?”

You sighed, letting the breath rattle in your chest. “Fine, I’m going,” you muttered, rolling your shoulders back as if you could armour yourself with determination.

Pedro gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering a soft, “Thank you,” before darting back toward the field, leaving you to navigate the maze of corridors alone.

You paused outside the locker room door, nerves buzzing in your fingertips. You knocked, the sound echoing in the empty hall. “Gavi? Are you here?” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it trembled anyway.

“What?” His reply was sharp, brittle, like glass about to crack.

You hesitated. “Just checking if you’re okay.”

The door swung open, and there he was—shirtless, hair damp with sweat, eyes stormy and dark. He looked you up and down, his jaw tight, then yanked you inside and shut the door behind you with a soft click. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thick with the scent of soap and adrenaline.

“See? I’m fine,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield.

You took a step back, searching his face. “You sure?” you asked, softer now, reading the tension in his posture.

“Yes! I’m fine, seriously!” he shouted, voice raw. But there was something behind his anger, a need for someone to see him, to stay, to not leave him alone with whatever storm was raging inside.

You lingered a moment longer, watching the way his hands shook just slightly. “Okay...” you said, not believing it for a second. You turned to leave, the disappointment heavy in your chest.

“Wait!” His voice cracked through the silence.

You turned, eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

Before you could react, his lips crashed into yours—warm, urgent, a little clumsy. For a heartbeat, you froze, shocked by the suddenness, then the realisation hit you like a wave. He was kissing you. Gavi was kissing you. You felt the world tilt and then right itself, as if this was the way things were always supposed to go.

He broke away too soon, eyes wide with fear. “Shit, I shouldn’t have... Pedro’s going to kill me,” he muttered, already backing away.

You caught his wrist, grounding him. “Pablo, he won’t.” You tried to sound sure, but your heart was pounding so loudly you couldn’t hear yourself think.

He looked at you, eyes searching, desperate for reassurance. “How do you know?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. This time, he melted into it, arms winding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hands found his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the kiss deepened—soft and frantic all at once, as if you were both afraid to let go.

You were so lost in the moment you barely noticed the door creak open behind you, voices filtering in from the hallway. Gavi held you tighter, refusing to let you pull away, even as you tried to wriggle free, laughter bubbling in your chest.

A loud, exaggerated “Ahem” made you both freeze. You broke apart, cheeks burning, and turned to see the entire team clustered in the doorway, grinning like idiots. Pedro stood at the front, arms crossed, an exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I guess he’ll be in a better mood now,” Pedro said, shaking his head. “But get ready—he won’t stop talking about you for days.”

You looked at Gavi, who was already blushing, and then at your brother, whose annoyance couldn’t hide how happy he was to see you smiling. For the first time all day, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything was about to change.

Who is your plus one? ~ Pablo Gavi

"Who is your plus one?" "I don't have one."

pairing: Pablo Gavi x fem!reader

summary: You're invited to your best friends wedding in which she told you to bring bring a plus one, but you ended up not doing so.... instead you met someone

warnings: first person pov, fluff!!, (asking for)consent, drinking (alcohol), reader is not from Spain (just knows a bit of the language, you don't need to tho), spanish phrases used, Gavi speaks good english (better than irl), he can dance - you not so much, teaches you basic bachata, oc friend group, not proofread!!

a/n: in celebration of the world cup and recently reading a fic about him and Pedri coincidentally, it brought be back to my hyperfixation from years ago 😫 so I felt like writing something hehe

I somehow always loved going to weddings. It's always so nice to see everyone's traditions and cultures clash on one another. Meeting new people and eating (and drinking) a lot is also a bonus.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #x you #gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #gavi imagine #gavi x y/n #world cup #pedri #spain #spain national team

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!

#fc barcelona #football #footballer x reader #football imagine #pablo gavi #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi fluff #gavi #gavi x reader #gavi imagine #gavi x yn #gavi x you #gavi fluff #pg6

It's a Soulmate Thing (Pablo Gavi X Sainz/Soulmate! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/FCB

Requested: Yee (Gavi Soulmate Anon, luckily I was also able to find the original req in my doc, so I made sure to add protective older brother moment. Also hope you don't mind I did Sainz, granted i strongly dislike him but felt like it made the most sense for the meet up)

Warnings: jokes about running on track and streaking, kinda disconnected Sainz

POV: Second Person (You/your/She/her)

W.C. 1570

Summary: What does a red string on my finger mean? Why did a red string appear on my finger? Is a red string bad?

~~(^Pinterest/funny asf)

Centimeters

Gavi x physiotherapist! Reader

A/N: no one asked for this but lord have mercy the photos from today had me heavy breathing

#gavisuntiedboot #gavi #gub just pretend #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #pablo gavi smut #pablo gavi x reader smut #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fanfiction #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x reader #gavi one shot #gavi barca #gavi imagine #pablo gavi imagine

greatest to ever do it | pablo gavi

note: hope you all enjoy. requested by anon: 'can you please do a fic where gavi is dating a new pwhler and it's super cool bcz they're two of the best in their sport? maybe she's born in barcelona and they're dating for a while.' make sure to follow me for more fics like this! feel free to send in requests (check out my rules). my spanish is mid at best, but i did use google translate for the catalan (and some of the spanish) bcz i'm very bad at it- or i just wrote [translated] if i didn't trust google

pairing: gavi x (not really secret) girlfriend!reader, toronto sceptres!player reader, catalonian!reader.