#joan garcia fluff

[bobskysworld]

I want reader x joan garcia plsss

Caught red-handed- Joan Garcia

pairing: Joan x Balde!older sister (because why not)

summary: you get caught baby-ing Joan, except, no one knew you were dating... since his ESP days

note: BACK ON MY SIBLINGS SHIIIIIT

Holding the ice pack to his cheek, Joan made his way to the medics room for a further examination. As the nurse flashed the light across Joan's face to make sure he was not concussed, a knock came from the door.

Joan instantly lit up at the sight of you, his attention falling from the questions being asked to you, clad in a Barca kit that despite having your brothers name on the back, still made his heart skip a beat

"I'll leave you two to it then" the nurse smiles "not too much thinking Garcia!"

"yes ma'am" he says with a salute that make you both giggle

once the door is closed, you slot yourself between your boyfriend's spread legs, examining his cheek where the player's boot had made contact with his cheek

"oh my poor baby" you say, thumb grazing the wound softly

"they want to take me out" Joan mumbles putting his face into your chest

"I'll kill them first!" you say making him laugh

"I won't survive with you in prison" Joan says hands finding their way to your waist

"you'll live off of take outs and spaghetti" you joke

"hey I can cook!" Joan says pinching your hips

"you burnt eggs the other day, and served burnt bacon that was raw inside" you remind him "you're a health hazard my angel"

"you're being mean to me while I'm injured" Joan says with a pout

you pull him before your chest and kiss his cheek

"missed a spot" he said puckering his lips

"how could I!" you gasp

leaning in you connect your lips in a sweet kiss, feeling the noise of Camp Nou fading into the background, and subsequently the sound of the knocks coming at the door which results in the person on the other side opening the door anyways

"oh my God" you hear Pedri say

"oh this is going to be good" Lamine says

"where's my phone?" Ferran adds

behind them is your brother, jaw slack, eyes wide

"Ale, I can explain" you say quickly detaching yourself from your boyfriend

" YOU'RE FUCKING MY TEAMMATE!" He yells

"okay not so loud maybe" you say

"I'll be as loud as I want!" he hisses

"and you have every right to be but I was fucking him before he was your teammate actually" you say

"so you were fucking the enemy?" Dani asks

"can we stop saying shes fucking him, I don't want that visual" Pedri hisses

"is sleeping with a better word for you princess?" Ferran teases

"can we get back to the issue at hand here?" Gavi says from the back

"yeah why the hell are you all here?" you ask "and not knock?"

"because we were coming to check on Joan but I guess we were in for some real news" your brother sasses

"also we did knock but I guess the lip smacking and moans were louder" Ferran shrugs earning a slap on the back of the head

"I'm kind of concussed and you're being loud, and I want to go home and cuddle my girlfriend" Joan cuts through "can we schedule this for another time?"

"you're lucky" your brother says narrowing his eyes at you "we will be having a family meeting about this"

"dramatic ass"

[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.

[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.