summary: taking care of eric garcia, kenan yildiz, pablo gavi, pedri gonzalez, pau cubarsi, pau victor, marc guiu, noni madueke, ferran torres, lamine yamal, marc casado and hector fort while they're either injured or sick.
a/n: to celebrate 5,000 likes!
masterlist requests
genre: fluff/comfort.
warnings: some of them are sick with stomach bugs, nothing graphic though.
Hair rumpled, hoodie sleeves covering half his hands, nose red from constant blowing, he sniffled from the couch and looked at you like a sad, flu-ridden puppy.
“I don’t remember what it’s like to breathe through my nose,” he mumbled, voice all stuffed up.
You set down the tea and tissues with a soft smile. “You’ve had a cold for two days, cariño. Not a decade.”
He pouted, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Feels like forever.”
You sat down beside him and he immediately rested his head in your lap, like it was the only place he wanted to be. You stroked his hair gently as he let out a tired sigh.
“Do I look gross?” he asked, blinking up at you.
“No,” you said. “You look like someone who needs sleep, soup, and maybe a new box of tissues.”
He gave a weak laugh. “You really know how to charm a guy.”
You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “You’re still cute. Just slightly germier.”
Pedri grinned, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers moved slowly through his hair. “You’re the best,” he mumbled. “Even when I’m disgusting.”
“Especially when you’re disgusting,” you teased, your voice soft.
He gave a hum of contentment, already half-asleep.
And even with the sniffles, the blanket cocoon, and his red nose, you still thought he looked like sunshine.
Just slightly... congested.
Pau had been glaring at his crutches for the last ten minutes like they’d personally assaulted him.
“I hate this,” he muttered, shifting on the couch for the third time in two minutes. “I feel like a grumpy old man in my nineties.”
You set the ice pack back on his knee gently. “You’re eighteen and healing. You’ll survive.”
He didn’t look convinced. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, bottom lip stuck out — he was one more day of forced rest away from a full tantrum.
“It’s just annoying,” he grumbled. “I was finally getting into rhythm. Now I have to sit here while everyone else trains.”
You crouched beside the couch and rested your chin on the armrest. “Yeah, but if you don’t rest now, you’ll miss more. It’s short-term pain for long-term gain, remember?”
Pau sighed and glanced at you, frustration fading just slightly. “You sound like my physio.”
“Maybe. But I’m cuter than he is.”
That earned the smallest small. Progress.
“You want me to stay and annoy you with bad TV and snacks?” you offered.
He nodded almost immediately. “Don’t leave. I’ll just get more in my head.”
You got up, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and handed him the remote. “Fine. But you pick the movie. I picked last time, and you complained the whole way through.”
Pau cracked a smile, settling back with his knee propped up and your hand in his.
“Deal,” he said. “Just don’t leave.”
You didn’t plan to.
Ferran was sitting in the darkened living room, one hand pressed firmly against his temple, eyes closed tight.
The world outside was bright and noisy, but inside, his head throbbed with a relentless, pulsing pain.
He didn’t say much. He rarely did when the migraines hit, just sank into himself, waiting for it to pass.
You moved quietly to his side, pulling a soft blanket around his shoulders. “Hey, I made the room darker.”
He barely nodded, jaw clenched, trying not to wince when even the faintest sound echoed inside his skull.
You grabbed a cool, damp cloth and gently pressed it to his forehead. “I’m here,” you whispered.
Ferran’s hand found yours, gripping it tightly.
“I hate this part,” he admitted quietly. “Everything hurts - the light, the noise, even breathing.”
You squeezed his fingers. “I know. But you’re not alone.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of his slow breaths and your heartbeat.
“You don’t have to talk,” you said softly. “Just let me take care of you.”
He finally opened his eyes, still red-rimmed but grateful.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
You kissed his temple and settled beside him, hands laced together in the quiet darkness.
Lamine lay on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, his face pale with streaks of flushed redness across his cheeks and nose. His usual energy was gone, replaced by a sluggish heaviness that made even the smallest movements exhausting.
He coughed softly into a tissue, then looked up at you with tired, glassy eyes. “This is brutal,” he muttered, voice rough and low.
You didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you moved over and carefully tucked the blanket more securely around his shoulders. His body shivered despite the warmth.
“You’ve barely moved all day,” you observed quietly, setting down a small tray with a mug of tea and some honey on the side table. “You need to rest.”
Lamine’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. He reached for the tea, blowing on it gently before taking a slow sip. The steam curled against his face, and you could see a flicker of relief cross his features.
You sat beside him, keeping your movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle him. When he shifted uncomfortably, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on his back. You rubbed small circles, trying to ease the tension.
“It’s weird,” he said after a moment, voice soft, “how being sick makes everything feel so much heavier and slower.”
You nodded, eyes on him. “I know. It’s like your body’s forcing you to pause.”
He gave a faint smile, then coughed again, his voice hoarse. You pulled the blanket up a little higher, making sure he was comfortable.
The room grew quieter, except for the soft hum of the heater and his steady breathing. You stayed close, not saying much, just present, offering the kind of comfort that didn’t need words.
Lamine’s eyes fluttered closed. “Thanks for sitting with me,” he said quietly.
You squeezed his hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not sick,” Pau insisted, voice hoarse and completely unconvincing as he rubbed at his nose for the hundredth time.
You raised a brow. “Your nose is red, your eyes are watery, and I literally watched you sneeze six times in a row.”
“Coincidence,” he said stubbornly, reaching for his water and missing the coaster entirely.
You sighed and took the glass from him, setting it down safely. “You’re sick, Pau. Just accept it so I can take care of you properly.”
He leaned back against the couch with a groan, dragging the blanket higher over his chest. “I hate resting. I feel like I’m wasting time.”
“You’re letting your body heal. That’s not wasted.”
He gave you a tired half-smile, eyes soft. “You always know how to make everything sound better.”
You kissed his temple and handed him a warm mug of tea. “That’s because I am better. Nurse of the year.”
He chuckled weakly and took a sip, eyes fluttering closed at the warmth. “Mmm. Okay, maybe I’ll let you take care of me.”
“Maybe?” you teased. “I already am.”
He rested his head against your shoulder and tugged you a little closer, his voice quieter now. “Don’t leave me to be sick and sad alone.”
You wrapped an arm around him gently, letting him curl in. “Never. You’ve got me until that sniffle disappears.”
And even then, probably longer.
Eric looked absolutely miserable. He was buried under two blankets, hoodie strings pulled tight around his face like a sulky little marshmallow, sniffling pathetically every five minutes.
Eric looked absolutely miserable. He was buried under two blankets, hoodie strings pulled tight around his face like a sulky little marshmallow, sniffling pathetically every five minutes.
“I think this might be it,” he croaked, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell the team I went out bravely.”
You raised an eyebrow as you set a bowl of soup down on the coffee table. “You have a cold, not the plague.”
He peeked out from his hoodie dramatically. “You don’t know that. It feels fatal.”
You tried not to smile, truly. But it was hard to take him seriously when he looked like a child playing sick to skip school.
You walked over and gently touched his forehead. Warm, but nothing scary. Just enough to explain the whiny, clingy behavior. He leaned into your palm like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Do you want to try the soup?”
“If I have the strength,” he sighed.
You rolled your eyes and picked up the bowl. “Shall I just spoon-feed you then?” you ask sarcastically.
He grinned, barely, and opened his mouth obediently. “You’re the best nurse I’ve ever had.”
“You say that every time you’re sick.”
“Because it’s true,” he whispered dramatically, before coughing into his sleeve.
You pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ll survive, drama king.”
“I’ll try,” he muttered, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Only because I still haven’t watched the last episode of that show with you.”
Pablo looked like death warmed over. Pale, sweaty, hair a mess, and still, somehow, he was arguing with you about staying in bed.
“I’m fine,” he croaked, trying to sit up straighter. “I just need a shower and some food. I’ll be good as new.”
“You’re literally shaking, Pablo,” you said, pressing a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He huffed and flopped back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed. “I hate this. I hate feeling useless.”
You softened a little, running your fingers through his hair, brushing the damp strands away from his forehead.
“You’re not useless,” you said gently. “You’re just human. Even the great Pablo Gavi gets fevers sometimes.”
He cracked one eye open. “Don’t say that out loud. You’ll ruin my image.”
You laughed and leaned down to kiss his cheek, your lips cool against his warm skin. “Your image is safe. Nobody else sees this soft, whiny side of you.”
“I’m not whiny,” he muttered, but he didn’t fight you when you tucked the blankets tighter around him. He actually leaned into it, tired, vulnerable, a little boyish in the way he curled up when you sat beside him.
“Get some sleep,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll be right here.”
His fingers found yours beneath the blanket.
“Good,” he whispered. “You make everything feel better.”
Noni was trying so hard to act like his injured shoulder was no big deal.
“Just a tweak,” he said, wincing as he tried to reach for the TV remote.
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “You call that ‘just a tweak’? You’re barely moving your arm.”
He shrugged, flashing a grin. “I’m fine. It’s just a little sore.”
You weren’t buying it. You eased closer and gently lifted his arm. “Let me see it.”
He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“I’m glad that I’m here,” you said softly. “Otherwise, you’d probably keep trying to play through this and make it worse.”
Noni sighed, finally settling back into the couch cushions. “I hate being sidelined.”
“I know,” you said, wrapping your fingers around his. “But you’re not invincible, no matter how much you pretend.”
He looked at you with a mock glare but then smiled. “Fine. So what’s the plan?”
“First,” you said, reaching for the ice pack, “you’re going to stay right here and let me take care of you.”
He groaned dramatically, but you caught the smile that slipped through.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“But I’m your nurse.”
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Best nurse ever.”
Marc wasn’t the type to complain.
So when you walked into the living room and saw him sitting stiffly on the floor with a bag of frozen peas strapped to his knee, you knew it had to be bad.
“Marc,” you said slowly, setting your bag down, “what happened?”
He gave you a sheepish look and shrugged. “Collision in training. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why are you icing it with frozen peas?”
“Because I couldn’t find the proper pack and I didn’t want to get up again.”
You blinked. “You’ve just been sitting here? On the floor?”
He nodded.
“For how long?”
Marc glanced at the clock, then winced. “...An hour?”
“Oh my god.” You crouched in front of him. “You big idiot.”
“I didn’t want to make it worse,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t know if I should bend it or not. So I just... didn’t move.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that came out of you, even as you gently pried the peas off his leg. “You’re the most stubborn guyI’ve ever met.”
“I didn’t want to bug anyone.”
You looked up at him, heart softening. “You’re not bugging me. Ever.”
He looked almost relieved as you helped him up and guided him to the couch. When you tossed the peas aside and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he finally smiled.
“Thanks,” he murmured, resting back with a sigh. “Next time I’ll text you before I turn to frozen vegetables.”
Marc was curled up on the couch, his injured knee resting on a pillow beside him, leg brace on. He looked a bit restless, but when you settled next to him, his expression softened.
Without saying a word, you scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into you, eyes closing for a moment as he sighed quietly.
“I don’t like being stuck like this,” he admitted, voice low.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I know. But maybe it’s okay to slow down for a bit.”
Marc shifted carefully, then rested his head against your chest. You tightened your hold, fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns over his arm.
The room was calm, the only sounds the quiet hum of the heater and his steady breathing.
“You’re really good at this,” he murmured, half-smiling.
“Being your human pillow?” you teased softly.
He chuckled, the tension in his body easing. “Exactly that.”
For a while, you stayed like that, tangled up and warm, letting the rest of the world wait while Marc took the time to heal, wrapped safely in your arms.
The bathroom light was still on when you padded down the hallway. The door was open slightly, and you found Héctor hunched over the toilet, one hand gripping the edge of the porcelain bowl, the other pressed against his forehead.
You crouched beside him wordlessly, tying his hair back loosely with the band you'd kept on your wrist. He flinched when another wave hit, and you stayed beside him, steady, rubbing slow circles on his back as he threw up again.
When it passed, he slumped back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing shaky.
“I didn’t think it’d hit me this hard,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.
You grabbed a cool washcloth and pressed it gently to his neck. “Stomach bugs don’t mess around. Just breathe, okay?”
He nodded slightly, swallowing hard. You got up to fetch a glass of water and knelt again to hand it to him.
“Small sips,” you said softly, watching as he took one, then another, slow and careful.
After a few minutes, when the worst had passed, you helped him to his feet and guided him back to bed. He looked pale and drained, arms loose around your waist as you settled him under the blanket.
“You don’t have to stay,” he whispered as you sat beside him.
“I know,” you murmured, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “But I’m staying anyway.”
He didn’t respond, just shifted closer and let his eyes close, finally letting himself rest.
Kenan was the worst at sitting still.
He’d been injured for just a few days, a light ankle sprain, nothing detrimental, but you’d think someone had banned football forever by the way he sulked around the apartment.
“This sucks,” he mumbled, tossing the remote onto the couch as he shifted uncomfortably. “I feel useless.”
You walked in with a heat pack and a bowl of grapes, setting them both down beside him. “You’re not useless. You’re healing. That’s, like, the most productive thing you could be doing.”
He gave you a pout, tugging the hood of his hoodie up like he was trying to hide. “I’m so bored. I miss training. I miss the ball. I even miss the gym.”
You laughed as you sat down beside him and propped his leg across your lap. “Wow, it is bad if you miss the gym.”
“Tell me something to take my mind off it,” he said, turning toward you with his head against the cushions.
You hummed, brushing your fingers over his knee gently. “Did I tell you how hot you look limping around like a broody action hero?”
That got a chuckle out of him. “No, but keep going.”
You leaned in, kissed the edge of his jaw. “You’re the most annoying patient I’ve ever had.”
Lamine with the ugly cap and giant speaker, Hector doing his best Anuel AA impression, Dani calling the locker room "a schoolyard" and Balde saying it's "a kindergarten", Casado taking Lamine's phone to put on "un dia de partit", Iñaki Peña getting changed in the background, Balde fucked up his medal and tried to fix it while looking into the camera like he's in The Office, Ronald dropping it low.
