#joan garcía

[peligrosapopagain]

How it started vs how it ended

[andy-15-07]

Can I request a fic about Joan Garcia x tennis player? Grazie!

Love in Recovery

Pairing: Joan Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 793

Request open!

Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II | 24 days of Christmas

You first meet Joan García because you’re both injured.

Which is, frankly, annoying.

You’re sitting on the edge of a physio table, ankle wrapped, hair in a messy bun, scrolling aggressively through your phone like that might undo a badly timed slide on clay. The recovery room smells like disinfectant and frustration.

Then someone sits beside you.

“Tell me that look isn’t directed at the ankle,” a voice says in Spanish, amused.

You glance up. Tall. Dark hair still damp from a shower. Broad shoulders hunched slightly like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

Unfortunately for him, he does.

“Depends,” you reply. “Is your knee the one that betrayed you?”

He looks down at the ice pack taped to his leg and sighs. “I knew it.”

You smile despite yourself.

“I’m Joan,” he says, offering his hand. “Professional disappointment.”

You shake it. “Y/N. Also a disappointment. Tennis.”

His eyes light up. “Ah. That explains the murder stare.”

,

Two weeks later, you’re both still there.

Same room. Same physio. Same stolen glances when you think the other isn’t looking.

You learn that Joan hates being injured more than losing a match. That he watches old games just to critique himself. That he pretends not to be competitive but absolutely is.

He learns that you talk to yourself on court. That you hate grass. That you pretend pressure doesn’t get to you even though it absolutely does.

“You’re going to overthink it,” he tells you one day, watching you stretch.

You scoff. “I don’t overthink.”

“You just stared at the wall for a full minute,” he points out. “I timed it.”

“You timed me?”

“Goalkeepers notice things.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do.”

,

The first coffee isn’t a date.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

It’s raining outside, physio ran late, and Joan gestures toward the café across the street like it’s no big deal.

“Come on,” he says. “If we sit here any longer, I’ll start icing my soul.”

You laugh. “That bad?”

“Tragic.”

So you go.

You talk about everything except expectations. Except rankings. Except the weight that sits on both of your chests like a second ribcage.

“This is the first time I’ve been with someone who gets it,” he admits quietly, stirring his coffee.

You look at him. “Gets what?”

“The silence,” he says. “After a bad game. When everyone expects you to explain, and you don’t have the words.”

You nod. “Tennis is lonely. You win alone. You lose alone.”

He smiles softly. “Goalkeepers too.”

,

The media figures it out before you do.

A blurry photo of you leaving the café. Joan’s hand hovering near your back, not quite touching.

Espanyol’s rising star linked to international tennis sensation.

You stare at your phone in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter.

Joan, pacing your living room, runs a hand through his hair. “I told you. They notice everything.”

“Well, they can notice this,” you say, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him down onto the couch.

He freezes.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect that.”

“Me neither,” you admit. “But I don’t hate it.”

He exhales, relieved. “Good. Because I don’t either.”

,

Your first match back is brutal.

The crowd is loud. Your opponent relentless. Your ankle feels fine physically but your head,your head is a mess.

You lose the first set.

When you sit down, towel over your face, you hear someone shout your name.

You peek.

Joan, standing near the tunnel, fists clenched like he’s about to sub himself in.

“You’ve got this!” he yells. “You always fight back!”

You laugh, shaking your head.

You do.

You fight back.

You win.

After, he’s waiting.

Sweaty, smiling, eyes bright.

“I told you,” he says.

You step into him without thinking. His arms wrap around you instantly, secure, grounding.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“For being here.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “Always.”

His match comes next.

Penalty shootout.

You can’t watch.

You watch anyway.

When he saves the final shot, you scream louder than anyone.

After, he finds you in the tunnel, adrenaline still buzzing.

“I saw you,” he says, breathless. “You were pacing.”

“I was dying,” you admit.

He laughs and pulls you into him. “Guess we’re even.”

That night, lying beside him, city lights spilling through the window, he traces lazy circles on your arm.

“You know,” he says softly, “we’re going to have to get used to this.”

“To what?”

“Being each other’s calm,” he replies. “In the chaos.”

You smile. “I think I can live with that.”

He kisses your temple. “Good. Because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, neither do you.

[sportswriters]

like it's just us - j. garcía

pairing: joan garcía x female!reader | fluff | situationship | wc: 3,116 | warnings: none | note: none

joan garcia was a very simple man. well established and happy in his chosen career, he had few ambitions beyond it. nothing too far-fetched or impossible to achieve, even for someone in his position. he would've stayed with his previous team if they'd decided so, but he couldn't deny his dream of playing for a bigger team, which came true a short time later. he didn't imagine that he would be so well received by the barcelona fans, let alone by his teammates, who embraced him as if he had always been part of that family.

since then, his micro goals, as he used to call them, were being achieved. small ambitions that were being fulfilled through his effort and dedication, such as becoming the team's main goalkeeper, when he thought he had been hired only to be a substitute. not that he didn't have as much prestige in his previous team, but it was a different feeling. a dream. because that's what barcelona was for many players: a dream.

his professional life was going well, very well, he had nothing to complain about. if he were to be honest, perhaps this was the best phase of his career, so he dedicated himself to enjoying it to the fullest, with no idea if he would ever experience a similar phase again; the world of soccer was full of inconsistencies and impossible to predict, which was perhaps why he enjoyed being part of that universe so much. the unpredictable always seemed a little more attractive than the predictable, but he was starting to change his mind. because when it was a matter of unpredictability, he didn't like it when it came to you.

you, who were right now in his bathroom, with the door open, fixing your hair in front of the oval mirror hanging on the wall above the small sink. you were wearing his old brown t-shirt and only tiny panties, your bare feet against the cold marble floor. from the bed, he had a privileged view of you. it wasn't very common for you to spend the night, but he'd grown to like it when you did.

“i have an invitation for you," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, his words echoing until they reached you.

you tied your hair back the way you wanted and turned your face just a little toward him, arching one eyebrow in genuine suspicion. you hardly ever accepted his invitations, except for those that meant getting into his bed immediately.

“don't make that face, it's a good invitation,” he shot back, adjusting himself on the bed.

“i don't know, joan, you've been having some ideas that are a bit. . .”

“we've been at this for what? six months?”

you bit your lip after splashing water on your face and drying it with a small towel. you left the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, not taking your eyes off him for even a second. you had the impression that you had had this conversation before, maybe a month ago.

“that's about right. maybe,” you replied, even though he had gotten the exact time right.

was six months a long time? a short time? reasonable for casually sleeping with someone? you had never had many long-term relationships, and because your job wasn't stable, your relationships didn't last. not really. not that long.

“that's half a year, y/n.

you sighed. hanging the towel back in the bathroom, you said:

“make the invitation."

the goalkeeper dragged the blanket to the side, patting the bed, silently calling you. you offered a small smile, nodded, and walked back to the bed, sitting down in front of him with your legs crossed. joan scratched the back of his neck; there was a hesitant smile on his lips, his beauty subtly softened, you had no doubt that he was handsome.

“come watch the supercopa final,” he finally asked.

you had been waiting for this. it was strange that you knew him so well at this point, but joan wasn't exactly a mysterious guy; in fact, he tended to be a little transparent. you could almost guess his thoughts sometimes.

“you remember that i'll be working, right?” you pointed out.

he was aware of that. somehow, though, he wanted to be foolish enough to try the approach. since you started seeing each other, you had never formally attended the games, let alone the important ones. at first, he didn't mind; after all, what you had wasn't anything special. every now and then you were together, but you always went your separate ways afterwards. however, joan realized at some point during those months that things were changing. he began to enjoy your company more, wanted to have you around more often, and always found some excuse to get you to go to his apartment or the hotel where he was staying.

you never accepted invitations to dates, casual dinners, or anything like that, always claiming that you didn't want too much exposure. getting involved with players, especially from big teams, always meant constant harassment from fans.

“can't you, i don't know, trade with someone?” he tried.

at that moment, joan didn't understand how his heart was beating so fast and so hard in anticipation of an answer. he wasn't that stupid; he had been trying to make it clear to you that what they had wasn't working for him anymore because he wanted more. he tried to bring up conversations about relationships, trying to understand what you were thinking, but unpredictability always hung around you. he understood your fears, obviously, it made perfect sense, but he couldn't help but wonder about giving it a try.

he liked you enough to make it work.

“i don't know if anyone would want to trade covering the final of el clásico for covering a simple rayo vs. mallorca match,” you joked, hiding your expression.

you made up an excuse, of course. you would be working on another game on the day of el clásico in the super cup, but if you wanted to, you could find someone to trade with. even though it was an important game and a classic rivalry, there was always someone with whom you could negotiate a swap in your line of work, but you didn't know if you wanted to.

being there would mean... a lot.

joan realized this, let out a low sigh, but didn't abandon the smile on his face. on the contrary, he just pulled you a little closer, touching the base of your face in a caress. the intimacy of the gesture melted you, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep acting like an idiot just because you were afraid to try and not succeed, collecting yet another failed relationship.

“i would be very happy if you were there, watching me, but i also understand, y/n, ” he said, his voice gentle, his heart gradually calming down. “it's okay. when you feel ready. you know how i feel.”

you swallowed hard, but forced a smile and returned his kiss on your lips, while your mind became a little messy again in terms of thoughts, because even though he had never said a single word directly about his feelings for you, he was right. you knew it.

you just pretended you didn't.

⚽⚽

the coffee was untouched. the cup remained in the same place you left it thirty minutes ago, cold and untouched. your computer screen was fixed on some website you didn't pay attention to, something like an article about the next game you needed to cover, but the words just weren't making sense to you. the office wasn't busy that day, most of the journalists were out in the field, which gave you some freedom to act as if you weren't thinking straight.

your mind was swirling with a million thoughts. at some point, you sighed and rubbed your face with both hands, trying to shake off your thoughts, spinning your body in your office chair. quite close by, on the other side, kaylen and ben, your two colleagues, exchanged glances. neither of them needed to say anything to get up at the same time and walk straight over to you.

“okay, spill it,” ben said, coming up on your left, leaning against your desk.

kaylen just joined him on your other side, dragging her chair closer. you took your hands away from your face and stared at your two friends, looking at them both in confusion.

“spill what?”

“you’ve seemed distracted since you got here,” kaylen explained. “you haven’t taken a single sip of your coffee, you didn’t complain about the last game you covered, and you can’t even concentrate enough to write a simple article.”

“what happened?” ben asked.

you huffed again.

“nothing happened, it's stupid and. . .” you were about to say, but stopped when you saw the look on their faces, which showed they didn't believe your words. you sighed, realizing very quickly that it would be useless to try and lie to them, so you leaned back in your chair, crossed your arms, and said, “it's the guy i'm seeing.”

“the mysterious hottie?” kaylen wanted to know.

you almost laughed.

“you don't even know if he's hot.”

“well, i may doubt everything, but not your good taste,” kaylen shrugged.

“so what about the mysterious hottie?” ben brought the subject back.

you thought there was no way to explain the situation without revealing the identity of the mysterious hottie, so you decided to come clean. ben and kaylen knew how to keep a secret, even if you didn't want to tell them before.

“the mysterious hottie is joan garcia,” you revealed. “and he wants me to go watch him in the spanish super cup final.”

ben's eyes widened.

“you're dating the hot barcelona goalie?!”

kaylen almost laughed at her friend's reaction.

you started to explain the context of the whole situation, confirming that, yes, it was the hot barcelona goalie. they didn't need many details, because even though you hadn't told them who you were dating, they always knew what was going on.

“okay, hold on, you didn’t say yes?” kaylen asked.

“i didn’t say no directly, i used the work excuse, which isn’t exactly an excuse, because i’ll be working that day,” you explained.

“what game are you covering?” ben wanted to know.

“rayo and mallorca.”

“give me a fucking break, y/n, you know i'll cover for you,” he complained. “what's the real reason you don't want to go? exposure? the inevitable fame of the players? you don't like him?”

you took a deep breath, uncrossing your arms. to outsiders, your decision was simple and easy, but they weren't in your shoes. you couldn't downplay your fears; you had made that mistake once and were trying not to do it again.

kaylen stared at you for a moment.

out of the three, she was the most perceptive. she understood her friend's fears about relationships, they were all valid, but she also realized that you were too attached to something that could be hurting you. you deserved to experience all of that, you didn't even realize you were sabotaging yourself.

“y/n,” she called, turning her friend's chair to face hers, “i know you have fun with him, but it's also time for you to admit to yourself that this stopped being just sex a long time ago. you always walk away when you realize that casual is no longer casual, so what makes this guy different?”

you blinked and swallowed hard, seeking ben's gaze, who just shrugged, silently agreeing.

“you don't have to answer that now, just... maybe it's worth giving him a chance, even if it comes with public exposure and everything, because, girl, you like this guy,” kaylen continued with a smile. “it's clear, and i think it was always inevitable.”

“besides,” ben interjected, "i think the exposure of him going public with you will be the least of your worries compared to how stupid you would be called for letting a hottie like that get away."

you and kaylen laughed, cursing him under your breath. you stared at them both, your smile faltering.

“what if it doesn't work out?” you whispered.

kaylen squeezed your hand, but it was ben who smiled and replied:

“what if it does?

⚽⚽

he was the star of the match.

the stadium couldn't have been any different on a day of el clásico: packed with fans from both teams, the singing and cheering louder than any other sound echoing in the environment. you used your position as a sports journalist, working for a renowned company that covered both teams' games, and entered as part of the crew, wearing a badge that identified you, but you weren't working.

ben insisted on covering the game that would be yours that day and did not accept that you were going as a journalist to the game, but as a personal guest of one of the players, which explained why you were wearing a barcelona shirt with joan garcia's name on the back, something that was not very common, since he was the team's goalkeeper and had his own uniform color.

this also meant that you weren't in the usual crowd. you preferred to be close to the vip area and didn't tell joan you were there. he had no idea, and you chose to reveal yourself only at the end of the game, preferably with his team taking the cup in that fierce final.

both teams were taking advantage. the score was tied, pointing to a possible overtime, so barcelona and real madrid increased the pressure, both teams trying to turn the game around to gain the upper hand at the end and secure the title.

even with barcelona down a player, the players did not seem shaken. you were one of the voices shouting joan garcia's name, watching him excel in the game. when barcelona finally turned the score around and broke the tie, gaining the advantage to secure the title, real began to press at the end of the second half. stoppage time was an important part of the goalkeeper's performance, as he continued to defend clear scoring chances by carreras and asencio, keeping barcelona ahead on the scoreboard. joan showed throughout that he was secure between the posts, confident in his own defensive work, his performance being crucial to his team's 3-2 win.

when the referee blew the whistle, securing the title for barcelona, you finally took a deep breath, letting go of that tension. for a moment, you really thought the game might go into extra time or that maybe they wouldn't come out on top. you watched the culé fans cheer in the stadium and kept your eyes on him on the field the whole time. you waited a moment before starting to leave the section, taking the path that led to the field.

you wanted to find him before the title was awarded.

on the way, you greeted some familiar faces, genuinely happy to be there, as if a few days ago you hadn't been racking your brains with doubts, which made you think you were making the right decision. when one of the security guards allowed you to pass onto the field, your hands sweated a little, your pulse quickening. you looked around; you had lost sight of him along the way, but he always stood out in that uniform color, so he would be easy to find.

and so it was.

a little further ahead, he was talking to pedri and ferran. you walked towards them, ferran seeing you first, but you asked for silence, receiving a nod from him. joan didn't see you because he had his back turned, and you took advantage of that. getting closer, you stood on your tiptoes and stretched out your hands, covering the goalkeeper's face.

“man, that's not…” he started, but stopped when he touched your hands. he felt the texture, but what gave you away was the scent of your perfume, which he noticed right after, dismissing that it was just one of the boys trying to mess with him. “y/n?”

pedri smiled at you and pulled ferran away to leave you alone.

you kissed joan's shoulder and took your hands off him. he turned to you, his face genuinely happy, his eyes surprised by your presence.

“i thought you weren't coming,” he said. “did you just get here?”

“no, i watched you from the beginning,” you replied, biting your cheek. “i think you should win mvp of the match.”

the sound of his laughter made your smile even wider.

he broke the distance, touching the side of your face.

“that means more to me coming from you than actually being awarded mvp,” he confessed.

you stared at each other for a moment, letting the silence prevail between you, even though there was a lot of noise around. you felt his tenderness on your cheek and held him by the waist. you were fully aware that you were right in the middle of the world's spotlight, in front of hundreds of cameras, but you didn't care.

all you cared about was being there with him, being the target of that smile. you raised one hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the goalkeeper's heartbeat, which wasn't normal.

“is all this because of me?” you joked.

but joan took it seriously, swallowing hard.

“i just won my first title with barcelona, and even so, i'm ecstatic because of you,” he confessed, quietly, just so you could hear. “i'm going to kiss you, y/n, here in front of everyone, may i?”

instead of answering, you kissed him. he held you so tightly, as if afraid it was a dream, that you almost lost your breath. he kissed you as if no one was watching, as if you were alone, as always, in your own space, not caring about the stares or comments around you.

“what does this mean?” he asked after breaking the kiss.

you licked your lips and turned your back just a little, just enough for him to see his number and your name on the shirt you were wearing. you felt something different, something you couldn’t explain, wanting to freeze that moment right there.

“it means whatever you want it to mean,” you replied, reaching out your hand to him.

without thinking twice, joan garcia accepted it, because if it meant what he wanted it to mean, then from that moment on, everyone would know he was yours.

[the-offside-rule]

Joan García (FCBarcelona) - Fort

Requested: yes

Prompt: pillow fort building with Joan García

Warnings: super short

Y/n stretched her arms above her head, letting out a small yawn as she sat cross-legged on the living room floor. The coffee table had been pushed aside, and blankets and pillows were scattered around her, half-built into what she hoped would soon be the greatest pillow fort known to mankind. She glanced up at Joan, who was standing nearby, hands on his hips, a look of pure skepticism on his face. He was still in his training kit, and his hair was damp from a post-training shower, and there was a faint crease between his brows as he surveyed her work. "You expect me to fit in there?" He asked, nudging one of the cushions with his foot.

"Yep." Y/n said firmly. "I measured."

"With what?"

"My imagination."

Joan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "And why are we building a pillow fort again?"

"Because it’s cute." She said, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. "And because you always look so serious when you come back from training, and I want to see you be unserious for once." Joan exhaled, crossing his arms, but there was already a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You know I can’t say no to you."

"Iknow." Y/n grinned, holding out a hand. "Come on, you’re tall, help me with the roof." With a dramatic sigh, Joan crouched down beside her, picking up one of the blankets she had set aside. "Alright, but if this thing collapses on me in the middle of the night, I’m blaming you."

"It won’t. I’m a pro."

"Are you?" He grinned. "No, but that’s beside the point." Together, they draped blankets over the backs of the couches and tucked pillows along the edges for support. At one point, Joan got so into the construction process that he started using actual strategic planning, muttering things about reinforcement and structural integrity like they were about to submit their fort to an architecture competition.

By the time it was finished, Y/n crawled inside, eyes shining. "This is perfect." She declared, patting the spot next to her. "Get in." Joan hesitated for a moment before giving in, ducking his head to fit through the entrance. He was too broad for the space, but he made it work, lying back on the pillows with one arm stretched behind his head. His other hand instinctively found Y/n’s waist, pulling her closer until her head rested against his chest.

"Comfotable?" He murmured. "Mhm." Y/n sighed happily, snuggling into him. "You’re the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?"

"I do now." She tilted her head up, catching his gaze. "I love you, you know." Joan’s face softened, and without hesitation, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too." He murmured.

[fcbarcelona-media]

models fc

Íñigo is still with us I don't care I can't get over him he's still blaugrana in my heart

They are all gorgeous I don't understand

Joan García's face is from another world idc I'm biased I'm just a young woman with a crush don't mind me they are all handsome af including the ones not posted here

[srztwce]

oh joanet you are so dear to me 😔😔😔😔

[pdriesta]

only balde and joan playing like futbolistas.

[dan-lvscas]

thanks to eric and his earphones for making me imagine him and joan sharing them and listening to their playlist together during the flight. <3